We are about to go to bed after a long day of faffing about, and so I am going to jolly well get on with this and make it quick.
The new car has got its taxi licence and its meter fitted. Mark spent the morning stripping all of the useful things out of the old car, and after a while the scrap man turned up with a lorry.
Mark has absolutely no scruples about this sort of thing, and removed absolutely everything that looked as if it might be useful, from the battery to the window clips, which is why he has got a shed full of clutter. I was mildly embarrassed to hand over such a completely ravaged shell to the scrap man, but he didn’t seem to mind, and the cheque he gave us will exactly cover the cost of the taximeter fitting and the council paperwork, which was very satisfying indeed.
I made biscuits and chocolate and bread and tidied up while Mark refilled the empty corners of his shed with useful bits of taxi that he will not be able to find when he needs them, and we had a cup of tea with the lodger’s brother, who popped round to say hello and to tell us that he was planning to open a garage. This interested Mark very much, and the two of them had an animated conversation about track rod ends. I was in the middle of the baking, so I could get on with chopping up hazelnuts, and I expect they hardly noticed that I wasn’t listening at all and was only being polite, although I did mention it to Mark afterwards.
Roger Radio rang us up to explain that his meter fitting activities had been curtailed by a forgotten children’s birthday party. This lack of recollection had got him in some trouble with his girlfriend, so he would appreciate it if we would kindly arrive at three o’clock so that he could get it over and done with, after which he could concentrate on yelling children and being in disgrace, without other taxi drivers hanging about and smirking at him through the windows.
This suited us nicely, so we complied happily. In any case it was nice to see Roger Radio again. He does all things taximeter related, which means that we only see him when we buy a new taxi or when prices go up, which they haven’t done for ages.
He and Mark fitted the meter between them whilst we exchanged news and gossip. I like taxi gossip very much, it is always gripping to hear what everybody else is doing, and regrettably it was all over quite quickly, after which we collected the paperwork from the council and went to Asda.
I do not like Asda, but we had run out of sausages.
We have been living on cheese for the last week, and so did not need very much, but I had still had enough of shopping long before the checkout. I consoled myself with a bottle of pink Cava, because we are on a budget. I have never drunk Cava before, and I haven’t started now, because we forgot that we had it when we got to the end bit of the evening when we could reasonably have a drink. I have been told that it is every bit as nice as champagne, and I expect that it is, except for the missing intoxicating flavour of superiority, which I have always thought is probably the best bit. I will have to pretend that I found it in the taxi.
The new taxi is not quite ready to go on the road, because of needing some things doing to it. One of the doors does not close properly, and a bottom ball joint needs to be looked at, by Mark, not me, obviously. I could look at a ball joint all day and still not be able to diagnose arthritis. This evening I went to the gym whilst Mark sat on the taxi rank. He was glad to do this because of having a snooze and watching some dreadful film on Netflix, and when he came home he had made nearly ten pounds, hurrah.
We are going to Yorkshire tomorrow to see Oliver’s school play.
We had an email from him this afternoon. He has started learning how to play the drums, which he thinks is brilliant. He has had two lessons and is enjoying it very much, he might even have found his future career.
When we told Lucy she said that she was very glad she was leaving home.
I am looking forward to seeing the play.
I hope it goes better than the last trip to Yorkshire.
