Haar

Roger Poopy is in trouble again.

It started with the small matter of the puddle by the back door, which nobody noticed until we wondered why the dog was slinking off to hide behind the table and looking guilty. Some investigation led to the wet patch and Roger Poopy being summoned to answer for his crime.

We forgave him eventually, although we did point out to him that he hadn’t even asked to go out, and Mark put his coat on and took both dogs for a last trot around the Library Gardens.

When they came back I was starting to get ready for bed.

Mark, who quite likes the idea of being Man The Hunter, toppled me over on to the bed in caveman fashion. I protested quite a bit about this, because of being busy, and not especially thrilled by the idea of cavemen, even if they had just filled the fire up with logs and taken the dogs out.

Roger Poopy was so alarmed by my squeaks of complaint that he jumped on the bed to rescue me.

He is not allowed on the bed.

Especially he is not allowed on the bed if he has just been bounding through puddles in the Library Gardens.

There were black paw prints all over the lovely white bed.

Of course I did not really need rescuing, and it did not take very long before my rescuer was in more trouble than the caveman.

I was too idle to strip all of the sheets off again, they have only been there for two nights. They will have to have a paw print pattern until I get round to it.

I took the dogs off up the fell this morning. I can do this when Mark is at work. He does not like walking up the fell because of his crumbling knees. He was not at work today, but he got up early to go and look at a house with Number One Son-In-Law, who would like to become a landlord in Barrow-in-Furness, and who in any case has got to find a house in which to put an superfluity of kitchens. I am very much in favour of this sort of project, having done it myself once, and am secretly hoping that they will make a fortune and can look after us in our old age. So far none of the children has volunteered for this activity, but I still have hopes for Oliver.

Mark got back not long after I did. I made some bitter coffee chocolate whilst he was out. This is cheering to have during very late nights at work because it is good and strong and has an encouraging shot of brandy. There is not enough brandy for it to make us drunk, probably about a single measure in the whole batch, but there is a tiny hint of the smell and taste, and psychological self-trickery does the rest.

We had a cup of tea and sampled the chocolate, and then Mark carried on with the installation of my new kitchen. I stayed around, to supervise and see if there were any further modifications that might occur to me before it was too late. We are discussing making the ceiling a little lower over the top of it. I have a choice between that, or just some shelves which I won’t be able to reach but which will be handy for things that I really ought to throw away but continue to hoard anyway. I will let you know the outcome.

I did not just hang about issuing instructions, obviously. I sat on the bottom of the stairs painting pictures of ivy on the stair post. This is coming along very slowly, mostly because it is so boring. It is starting to look artistic and creative, and all of the things that make you an insufferable show-off about your house, but it is very dull indeed to do. It is only to be hoped that lots of visitors admire it, because it is a jolly lot of faffing about. Leaves are not varied and interesting to paint. They are green and all the same shape, and there are lots and lots and lots of them.

I can’t even be creative with them, because we have got a friend who is a real life plant illustrator. He is very kind and hardly patronising at all about my rubbish efforts, but if the leaves are really wrong then he will know. Then I will know that he is politely not saying anything and feel like a failure.

It is still very misty, as you can see in the photograph. It is like the Haar. Pretty soon everybody will start drinking too much and getting depressed, which is what happens on islands if you have the Haar for too long.

I expect that is why our box of wine has almost run out.

It is the Haar.

PS. The adverts all seem to have disappeared. I have got no idea why.