Lucy has been dreaming that she is looking after five kings and queens.
In the dream she was obliged to pack up all of their stuff and then they cut off their own heads and told her to take them with her as well. She had to struggle along a cliff edge with bags full of stuff and five heads, none of whom stopped nagging her all the way. The chap with her was so fed up of them that he threw himself off the cliff and laughed as he fell.
We thought that five heads would very probably equate to three A Levels, a driving test and an interview, all of which are looming horribly large. She is looking increasingly white-faced and grim as the days go on.
Today she and I went out driving again.
I am an absolutely awful driving instructor.
I have this on good authority. I have only ever had the one pupil, but this afternoon she expressed her positive determination never to get in a car with me again.
I am trying not to think that the feeling is mutual.
Today we have driven around and around Kendal, trying to practise the routes I think she is likely to come across on her driving test. It will be an absolute breeze as long as there are no pedestrians or other cars, and as long as the examiner waves the appropriate hand when instructing her to go left or right, and does not bellow in horror when she gets confused.
On the positive side, we have not died, and the car is still in the same number of bits as it was when we set off.
I made the mistake of visiting Asda during the excursion, and purchasing fruit. Thoughtlessly, I put this in the boot whilst we continued on our merry way.
I suppose it could be said to save the bother of a food processor.
I will not be taking her for her test anyway. It would not be very good for her chances to be seen with me as once, albeit years ago, I had a discordant encounter with one of the examiners, which culminated in a stand-up row, and we have not been on speaking terms ever since. I do not like to think that he might be enough of a rotter to look for a reason to fail Lucy just because of her misfortunate parentage, but you can’t be too careful about these things, and hence I am going to stay well out of the way.
Whilst Lucy and I were kangarooing around Kendal, Mark was occupied with the construction project in the back garden, and we now have foundations for our conservatory.
He is going to give them a couple of days to set solidly, and then start laying bricks.
I will be very glad about this, not least because I would like to get rid of the bricks, which are in an enormous pile blocking the path in the back garden. It is not easy to store enough bricks to build an extension in a very small space without them becoming a nuisance. We have got some more arriving soon, because when I was in the sauna after tonight’s exhausting gym marathon, the chap sitting next to me said to tell Mark that he has got a load stacked up and waiting for him.
I would have sworn that I had never laid eyes on the chap before, but I suppose they all look much the same in their swimming shorts.
My legs were wobbling so much when I had finished that I could barely stagger back to the car.
I got home, and it was one of those moments where I was very glad indeed to be married, because Mark had stopped shovelling concrete, and had cooked pasta and olives for dinner. The candles were lit and there was a glass of wine.
He had cleaned the bathroom as well.
Hurrah.
