I think that I might have caught Corona Virus.
I came home from work early tonight because everything ached and I was fed up of sitting on the taxi rank.
I had made £13.70, so it was a good use of an evening. I could have sat at home and read my book and made nothing whatsoever.
By eleven o’clock I had had enough, and worse, had finished my flask of tea. This was Mark’s fault. He stopped at the taxi rank on his way home from work and helped me to drink it.
He had not made it back home from his rural broadbandery when it was time for me to go out to work. This was tiresome, because it meant that I could not fob off the last chore of emptying the dogs in the Library Gardens.
It is not in the least unusual for me to come up with some rubbish excuse about this, especially if it is raining, such as needing to put the teacups in the dishwasher or perhaps not yet having any shoes on. Tonight no such opportunity to shirk presented itself, and I had to take the dogs out by myself.
It was icy-dark, and hurling down needles of almost-freezing raindrops. I got absolutely soaked, and spent the early part of the evening sitting on the taxi rank with the heater blower turned on full, gently steaming the windows up. It was such a grim sort of walk that even Roger Poopy hurried up, and the usual teenage reprobates had relocated their drug-smoking activities to the bus shelter.
It was the second time today that I had been soaked to the skin. The first was when I took the dogs up the fell this morning. It rained right through my coat and jersey, and trickled uncomfortably down my neck.
I was happy to discover that despite this, my feet stayed beautifully warm and dry. This was because my feet are currently the same size as Oliver’s, and I had borrowed his walking boots. He has two pairs of boots, one for home, one for school. They have been broken in nicely by his walking activities, and are comfortable and solid, and apart from the extortionate cost of replacement, I am quite looking forward to the moment when he outgrows them and I come into my inheritance.
I have walked my own boots into holes, which is inconvenient, although I do not think that I am going to have to wait long for Oliver’s, he is hovering right on the very edge of a costly sort of growth spurt. He is looking forward to being taller.
School uniform is stitched together out of cloth of gold lined with fivers, I think. We will have to take out a second mortgage.
When I had emptied the dogs I went shopping, because we have eaten absolutely everything.
I had resolved that I would be financially responsible and manage my money carefully because of the limited January budget. I made a detailed and sensible list, and even made sure that I had remembered to eat breakfast before I went, in order not to be tempted into purchasing excessive but delightful things, like stuffed peppers and hot cross buns and chilli-coated chicken, just because I was hungry. I was very pleased with this self-nurturing foresight, even though it was only a banana and some peanuts.
I remembered to take the list with me, and as I went round I wrote all the prices down carefully and added them up in order to impose a sensible control on my spending.
By the time I got to the cooking oil it had added up to more money than I had got. Obviously I was not going to retrace my footsteps and put things back on the shelves, so I put the list back in my bag and bought wine and stuffed peppers anyway. You might as well do this once you have had a financial mishap. There is no point in getting a 75 pence overdraft charge for being overdrawn by a fiver. If you are going to invoke the ire of the bank you might as well have some fun out of it.
After Asda I called round to see my friend Kate, who was babysitting for her eighteen month old niece. This turned out to be unexpectedly pleasant company, at least compared to any child I have ever produced. It sat on the floor and ate grapes and read a book. I do not recall having a single conversation at normal volume when my own offspring were infants. Every single discussion was bellowed over the top of juvenile shrieks. This child was really quite pleasant. It smiled and occasionally waved its hands about. It did not once eat the cat food, or spit on the floor, or refuse to do everything and then throw a massive tantrum.
I have had children for a very long time. Number One Daughter is thirty three today. Number Two Daughter shared a special sibling photograph of her on Facebook that I thought I would share with you as well.
How lovely it is to have children.
Happy birthday Number One Daughter.
