I am just writing this during a quiet few minutes whilst Mark is doing something to somebody’s broadband.
I am in the camper van in Blackpool.
Mark finished work early and came home, because there was a rural broadband job that needed to be done on a caravan site here in Blackpool. Obviously it would have been ridiculous for him to drive all the way down the motorway this afternoon, and then come home and get me and drive all the way back again, so he did not do that. He finished work early and came home, and we packed up and came down together.
I was not exactly pleased to see him arrive home early, because I was flapping about trying to get ready, and failing.
I had hoped that by the time he got back I would have cooked everything and packed everything, and be waiting serenely by the back door with a welcoming smile in my face.
Instead I was in the kitchen, anxiously poking at a dish of jelly sweets that had still not quite set properly, surrounded by washing that had not dried, and a huge pile of washing up.
I had meant to make candles and soap, and had not got that far.
Instead I had made pies, and flapped about.
It had rained almost all day, and the washing had not dried.
I was desperate for it to dry, because of not having enough clothes to wear for going away in the camper van.
I pegged it in the garden and then brought it in when it rained. Then I pegged it out a little while later, and brought it back in shortly afterwards
I lit the fire and put the dehumidifier on, and ten minutes later every window and mirror was opaque with steam.
I opened the back door and the wind blew a gust of raindrops in, so I shut it again.
I opened the windows, and even with the oven on and the fire lit, an icy draught swirled up the stairs, so after a little while I shut those as well.
The house filled with its own indoor cloud, a sort of pie-scented tropical mist.
The washing did not dry.
I had taken the dogs up the fell and discovered that the rain had turned the ground to a sort of viscous liquid. I slipped and slid so much in the mud that running was not a reasonable option, even if I had wanted to, which I didn’t, really. Indeed, by the time I got home my trousers were patched with dark mud stains where I had landed on them several times whilst traversing the steeper slopes. I looked hopefully at my legs for bruises, but there were none, which was a disappointment.
I had nowhere to put any more wet clothes, so I kept them on, and scurried round to the ironmonger’s through the pelting rain to buy some curtain rails for Lucy’s new house. I went to the bank, and then to Sainsbury’s, and then hurried home, thankful to be out of the rain. Then I went back to Sainsbury’s for the curtain rails, which I had left propped against the window at the till.
I finished the day’s regular job list, which is all the things like refilling the teabags and washing up and tidying things. After that I started getting our things ready for a holiday.
I remixed the blackberry and apple sweets, which set a bit harder, and cooked some more potatoes in tomato and mustard, because Mark had liked these even though they did not have anything dead in them. Then I used up the leftover bits of chicken in the fridge in a couple of pies. This took ages because of pastry.
This was what I was doing when Mark came home.
I explained about the washing and the sweets not quite setting, and we tried the sweets and thought they were nice anyway.
We packed up the wet washing and hung it in the camper van. It has had the engine heater blowing on it all the way here and is nearly dry now.
The pies were perfect.
We had showers and set off. We are going to visit my father for our annual holiday in Blackpool.
I am so happy I can hardly tell you about it.
We are free, and in the camper van. We are on holiday.
