I am sitting on the taxi rank where I have been reading a jolly splendid book about a police dog. They sound to be wonderful creatures and I think I would like to have one.
Unfortunately I do not have a police dog. Instead I have got Roger Poopy and his abusive father, and Roger Poopy got in some trouble with a spaniel this morning.
He did not attack it. He just ran up to it and growled from a short distance away, but its owner was not pleased all the same. I bellowed at him and made him come to heel, which he did, albeit reluctantly, because the spaniel was just asking to be beaten to a pulp and then eaten, and Roger Poopy thought that he was just the dog for the job.
We were having a longer-than-usual walk around the Rec., because the sun was shining, and because my trousers are getting a bit tight. Mark went off to work leaving me in the wonderful position of having the house to myself.
It has been some time since this has happened, and it is a joy, I can tell you.
I did not have to make toasty breakfasts for anybody, apart from Mark, obviously, but he put his in his bag and disappeared, so it doesn’t count. Nobody appeared with their dirty socks five minutes after the washing machine door had clicked shut and flashed the red light on. Nobody came down the stairs being distressed because the nearest yoghurt was in the Co-op. Nobody had a bag that needed packing, or a label that needed to be sewn on.
In short, nobody needed me for anything. If this is Empty Nest Syndrome, bring it on.
I was just listening to something on the radio which said that people who feel needed live longer. I am entirely sure that this is categorically and absolutely untrue.
The only creatures who could have been said to need me this morning were the dogs, who only wanted the opportunity to be emptied. I was so pleased at such a luxurious amount of space that we went off for a wonderful morning stroll in the sunshine.
When we came back I cleaned Lucy’s room. I had expected this to be a bit of a sad trauma, because of her being gone for ever and the bedroom empty and uninhabited. I had thought it would feel a bit upsetting, but it didn’t in the end. It was just mildly annoying in the way of all bedroom cleaning when the inhabitant is under twenty five.
I put towels in the bathroom and sheets on the bed anyway, because she will be back at Christmas. I tidied up the loft a bit as well, although without much success because Lucy has taken all the drawers with her, and there is nowhere to put their contents. I stuffed everything into an old games hold-all from Lucy’s school and left it. Number Two Daughter will be coming to stay in it in a few weeks. I will tidy it up then.
I was on a cleaning roll, so I hoovered my way down the stairs and got on with it.
It seemed that we had got an awful lot of clutter in the corner of my office. Too-small children’s ice skates were jumbled together with unwanted bits of computer and fur hats and a couple of tajines and bits of taxi meter.
On an inspiration I took some photographs of things and sat down at the computer.
I went on eBay.
Readers, you will be astounded to hear that I am already fifty five pounds wealthier, and have some space in the glory hole at the side of my desk.
To my astonishment people do seem to want my clutter.
I shall go to the post office in the morning and send it to them.
The picture was taken by Mark from the top of a radio mast whilst installing rural broadband. The reason for the odd shape is that it is taken through binoculars.
This means that everything is even further down than it looks.
