My computer is not working and I have borrowed Mark’s to write to you.
This is superlatively horrible. The keys feel wrong and the horrible trackpad thing is made of horrible brushed stainless steel and makes my fingers feel horrible. It is about as horrible as it can be. It is horrible and full of horribleness and I do not like it.
Of course it is very kind of him to lend it to me when he could be watching films about car chases. I do not watch this sort of drivel, so he watches them on his computer during quiet moments on the taxi rank. In this way he never feels aggrieved when we decide to watch a film at home and I do not want to watch Killer Death Goes Bang On Another Planet. He is quite happy for us to watch Quiet But Interesting Story Probably With An Historical Theme.
He can’t do this tonight because of me writing to you. I am going to hurry up and get it over and done with and then he can have it back and I will not be in his cinematic debt over Christmas.
I will not be able to put it on line because his computer does not know who I am. I will have to email it to myself and then when I can use the big main computer in the house, I can find a picture and think of a title and then send it to the world.
I will not be able to read about Boris Johnson in the online newspaper, or about other people being cross and political on Facebook, and so probably by the end of the night I will be feeling much more mellow than usual. I suppose this might be an improvement rather than otherwise.
Fortunately I have got a good book. It is another murder mystery and so I will not want to take the dogs round the Library Gardens by myself at four in the morning in case the bloodthirsty killer has escaped from my imagination and come to Windermere. Fortunately Mark usually does that whilst I do the fire and put everything in the dishwasher.
I have occupied today, which was not very long because it is Saturday, with the creative project of Christmas card manufacture, and I can jolly well tell you that being creative is not as easy as it sounds. Perhaps it would go more smoothly if I had a corduroy pinafore and my hair tied up in a pretty Christmassy ribbon like the creative people doing ethically woke home made environmentally friendly Christmasses in the newspaper. Instead I just had my strongest glasses and a scowl.
Mark made sympathetic noises every now and again and eventually brought me a cup of tea and the bag of hot seeds that I put on my neck when I have got a headache, and I heard Oliver telling his online friends not to worry, because all the swearing was only Mummy getting ready for Christmas.
In the end we had a bit of a break and an outing to Windermere Christmas market. It was ages until we were due to go to work, so we had a mug of mulled wine. We were glad of this, because it was snowing. This was not the nice sort of white drifting snowflakes that you add to your Christmas cards with glitter. It was an icy sleet that howled around and cut into every bit of exposed person. I do not like exposing much of my person at the best of times, especially now that I am old and portly, but today there was no temptation whatsoever.
The markets were nice, though. We avoided one of the more interesting looking stalls because the stall holder had once been a drunken idiot in my taxi, and nobody was selling my favourite candles, but there was a very smily Jamaican chap who showed Mark his barrel barbecues. He had welded a little chimney on these and was keeping them closed so that everything was getting really hot and smoky. We thought that this was a brilliant idea and will try it ourselves one day.
We did not stay out very long, partly because of the Arctic blasting fresh air, and partly because I have got to start posting the cards soon and so I had got to get my act together.
If you do not get a Christmas card from me it is probably not because I have forgotten you. It is almost certainly because I have had enough of being creative and have decided to be so environmentally friendly that I don’t bother to send any.
Do not rush to your doormats.
I am going to post this to myself and go back to my book.
LATER NOTE: Please ignore the stupid font. This is because Mark’s computer does this and the webpage will not change it back. This font is perfectly all right.
