Mark has gone back to work and I could not think of any more decent reasons not to run up the fell this morning, so I had to get on with it.
Even despite having to run, it is undeniably lovely on the fells at the moment, and when I have got enough air in my lungs to permit the gentler kind of breathing, by which I mean the through my nose sort, everywhere smells fantastic as well. Mostly I am gasping and panting too hard to be able to tell, but in the rare moments when I can take notice, the world is spring scented with fresh grass, and hawthorn, and damp moss, and sheep.
I went to the bank and posted some letters, and then the lodger came to visit, which was the most splendid waste of a day that I could have come up with. Instead of flapping around polishing things, I sat in the warm garden, drinking tea and speculating about the best things that she could do to live her life more effectively.
It is nice to interfere in other people’s affairs, especially when they are the ones making all of the effort, and all that I need to do is sit in the sun pontificating. I had a happy morning impressing her with my cleverness and superior knowledge of the world, until eventually she said that she had got to go. She did not roll her eyes and look bored even once, which rather suggests that she has got more self control than any of my own children.
Roger Poopy chased wasps, and a couple of bumble bees. Fortunately he did not catch any, and the worst injury that he sustained was when he forgot himself and ran into the french window, which turned out not to be open.
Once the lodger had gone I was suddenly overwhelmed by a remorseful conscience, and by the list of things that I really ought to have done instead of loafing about in the garden going pink.
The most urgent thing on the list was bathing the dogs. I did not want to do this, because they do not like it much. They sulk and shake water everywhere, and then try to dry themselves off on the carpets, even though they have got perfectly good towels. However it had become necessary, because we had discovered that Roger Poopy had done a wee on his father’s head, leaving behind a malodorous yellow stain. Dogs are revolting creatures.
After bathing the dogs then obviously I had to clean the bathroom.
Since I was cleaning the bathroom I thought that I might as well get the rest of the house over and done with as well, so that I would not have anything to feel gloomy about tomorrow.
I rushed through the cleaning as hastily as I could. It was the sort of cleaning that used to be called spit and polish, except without the spitting, which is not civilised, and in any case unnecessary when you have got a tin of Shiny Brite Pretend Beeswax Spray On Polish. This does not really make anything shine britely, but it smells quite pleasant and drowns out the smell of the dogs.
I had got to make a cake, because Mark takes it to work, to sustain him in hungry moments. His friend Ted is back at home this week, and Ted has hungry moments as well, so I did not want to run out.
I made a banana and walnut cake, and by then I was late for work. I threw some picnic things into boxes as quickly as I could, emptied the dogs again, not on one another, and then dashed off.
Mark will be working late all week this week, because of Ted being home, so I left his picnic on the table
I have seen him since, but not for very long. He has had to go home to bed.
It is going to be a busy week.
PS. I can spell ‘bright’ really. It is irony.
