I am not sure that I want to read the third Wolf Hall book when it comes out.
I have come to like Thomas Cromwell so much, I do not think I want to read about his grisly ending.
Perhaps she will change it and substitute him for somebody else. He might be brought back from the dead. That sort of thing happens in books, you know, like it did that time in A Game Of Thrones. I would have liked it to happen more often in A Game Of Thrones. Lots of people died whom I would have preferred to carry on being in the story.
I am on the taxi rank tonight, having been unable to think up a decent justification for having two nights off. I wish I had done, though, because I have been here for an hour now, and nobody has wanted a taxi at all.
Actually, I am quite enjoying the tranquillity. I have had a busy day, writing a play and cooking things. I made some egg custard pies and some twirly bread and a mackerel risotto. The bread is in the picture. Mark wanted to eat bits of it straight away, whilst it was still hot, so I took a picture of its brief perfection.
Mark went outside into the garden to do things. He was supposed to be building the conservatory, but he had got to make me a new table first.
I like to have a drink on a little table on my side of the bed.
Not an alcoholic sort of drink, but the sort for being thirsty when you wake up in the middle of the night, the sort that will wake you up again an hour later to go for a wee.
The thing is, if I have a little table next to me, our bedroom is not big enough to open the wardrobe door.
I have got a little table there anyway, but it is a two piece folding sort, a rather splendid affair with three interlocking legs carved out of a single piece of wood. This is beautiful but a bit unstable, and tiresome to keep moving about whenever I need to open the wardrobe.
I explained to Mark that I wanted a new table. It had to be solid enough to be climbed on when I wanted to get things off the top of the wardrobe. It had to be small enough to be moved into the corner easily, and it had to have a space inside so that the rubbish bin could live in it.
The rubbish bin currently lives in the corner where the new table is to be shoved every time I open the wardrobe door. I want it to live inside the new table so that I can move them both together.
In short, I want to simplify my life and not have to rearrange the entire bedroom whenever one of us wants a clean shirt. Living in a house with very little rooms is hard work sometimes.
Mark rolled his eyes and grumbled but nevertheless made me a new table this morning, and it is splendid. I forgot to take a picture of it before I came to work, so I will take one tomorrow. It is very detailed and clever and you would hardly know that it is made out of bits of old chair and builders palettes.
After that he came into the house and ate egg custard pies until he felt refreshed, and then went back to digging the foundations for the new conservatory.
He came back in being very cross.
Even egg custard didn’t cheer him up.
The large brick flowerbed next to the place where the conservatory is to go, overlaps by four inches. He will have to knock the end of it down and rebuild it.
I suggested that he knocked a bit of the house down at the other end instead, the walls are really thick and we would hardly miss four inches, but he said that it will have to be the flower bed and it is a total nuisance.
I thought so as well, because there are lots of lovely things in the flower bed, like crocuses and hyacinths and bluebells and sweet peas, and now he is going to have to dig them all out.
I made reassuring noises but he was not very reassured.
He says that if the weather is good he will do it tomorrow and get it over and done with.
It is a good job he has got my table done today.
