I have spent so much time scrubbing traces of rascals off our things that by this afternoon my fingers were bleeding.
I was proud of this, in a perverse sort of way, what a perfect housewife I must be.
It was, of course, the camper van cleaning that was largely responsible for this. The quilt cover, which you might recall we found in the woods, had started its life as pristine white cotton. It had been lying in a pile of crisp pressed linens, scented with lavender, when the visiting rascals removed it.
When we got it back it was black. I don’t mean black in the way one talks about children’s hands before dinner, when they are a bit grimy in patches and they think you won’t notice their fingernails. I mean actually black. It was sodden and stinking, and quite black. I did not recognise it as my quilt cover. Mark found it and realised what it was, and even then I was not sure.
I soaked it in bleach overnight, and this morning I scrubbed it with more bleach and some enzyme stuff, the sort for getting your clothes clean when you have fed baked beans to a toddler who turns out to have a tummy upset.
I scrubbed and scrubbed, and then I boiled it.
When I hung it on the line it was white again. There were some shadows of its adventures, but they were the merest ghosts. The road has taken a turn downhill.
By some great good fortune Ted rang Mark to say that his order of equipment had not turned up and that Mark could have the day off if he liked.
I can’t tell you what an absolute relief that was. Life is a very great deal easier when there are two of you bashing away at it.
Mark emptied the dogs, who were disappointed not to be going up the fells. They have had a very rubbish weekend, and are feeling out of sorts with the world.
They had been very upset indeed at being taken into a trashed camper van and left there on guard whilst we were at work before we got the locks sorted out. They sloped off under the bed and would not come out, not even when people turned up who they might usually have liked to bark at.
I think that it had not helped that an unfamiliar somebody had been sleeping under their quilt. We did not understand this, there are lots of lovely quilts in the camper van and one smelly dog one. It would have to be a choice between the dog quilt or being Captain Oates before I would wrap myself in it, but maybe drugs make your sense of smell a bit rubbish.
I took Mark’s jackets to the dry cleaner. This solved something that had been something of a small mystery.
One of the men who had been in the van had remarked that he knew we had guns. He said, with a knowing smirk, that he had seen the pictures of them, and that he knew all about us.
I didn’t in the least mind him thinking that we had guns, and did nothing to disillusion him. All the same it had puzzled me a bit, although not very much because he was the sort of chap who could have easily believed we had a unicorn in the bathroom. I put it down to him having found the scores for the Fathers And Sons shoot at Oliver’s school and forgot all about it.
When I emptied the pockets of Mark’s jacket the mystery was solved.
The pockets of Mark’s smart clothes work a bit like carbon dating. I can tell a great deal about the past just by emptying them out. When we came to the jacket for the Leavers’ Service in June we found the Order of Service for the Christmas Carol Concert in the Cathedral, and a receipt for pizza from the restaurant next door. There were ticket stubs for the pantomime, a receipt for mulled wine on the Christmas markets and an extremely long bar bill from the Midland.
They had obviously been going through Mark’s pockets.
This time, along with all the evidence of school leaving parties, they had found the programme of events for Lucy’s oath-taking at Northamptonshire Police, and a couple of business cards for the chap who took us clay pigeon shooting.
These were covered in pictures of guns.
I hope he thought we were Mafia arms traders.
After we had got the first loads of washing on the go I wanted to clean the house.
I know we have not had rascals invading the house, but it felt like it.
We have had a huge pile of horribly smelly washing in the house, and it has felt as though everything we have touched has smelled of rat wee drugs.
We lit some scented candles and put some music on and cleaned the house as well.
Things are feeling better.
Lucy rang up tonight to tell us that she has been studying the definition of theft, and that Daddy had better not take any more bits of broken bikes or old firewood pallets out of skips.
I agreed with the sentiment, although for different reasons. She has been at college, watching a video of a police officer lawfully confiscating some daffodils from a wicked ten year old who picked them in the park for her mother, and now she knows all about theft.
The world will turn much more easily if she ignores some details of the law.
I hope they don’t really want her to believe this stuff.
The picture is the burnt sugar tree in the Library Gardens.It smells wonderful.
