Number Two Daughter telephoned this afternoon.
She has been having an exciting time.
They were walking their dog around the car park last night when they were chased back home by an enormous brown bear.
She knows that it was enormous because this morning they went out and looked at its paw prints, just like real trackers do. She was able to do this because it did not eat her, just to reassure you on that point.
It left enormous paw prints.
One of their neighbours warned them that they needed to be careful because there were mountain lions in the village as well, and they had actually seen one crossing the road.
I expect that makes shopping more exciting.
I bet they aren’t wearing masks or anything.
I was very glad that the bear had not eaten her, obviously because I would be sorry to lose her, but also because if she absolutely had to die of something, I would rather that it was not something that would mean people had to try not to laugh when I told them about it. This also rules out ‘being run over by a steamroller’ and ‘falling off a trapeze’, and ‘a surfeit of chocolate buttons’.
Apart from that there is nothing wrong with being pursued by a bear. It happened to Shakespeare all the time, so she is in distinguished company.
We have had a less exciting sort of day. I don’t suppose that surprises you very much.
I baked biscuits and tried to find out what was wrong with my diary, and Mark turned all of the water off.
My diary seems to have something maliciously hanging on to the link so that when you click on it on Facebook, it takes you to some other terrible rubbish. It does not do this with me, so I had not noticed. Somebody told Mark a couple of days ago that it was happening, but he forgot all about it and so I still did not know.
By the time you read this you will know if I have managed to sort it out or not. I have installed some cleaning up software but it was the low budget sort so I do not yet know if it has worked. Please let me know.
After that I did something very happy and exciting.
I booked our tickets for the Christmas pantomime.
Our glorious leader has finally taken some notice of the by now probably dozens of complaining emails that I have sent to him, and has decreed that theatre is going to be allowed again by Christmas. I am very pleased about this. I expect he was upset when I told him that I thought he was behaving more like Oliver Cromwell than Winston Churchill, and thought perhaps he had better give us something hopeful to look forward to.
I am not nearly as cross with him now.
Mark turned all of the water off, because of taking out the old water pipes. He had got to do that because of me not wanting the washing machine in the middle of the new living room, although I have to acknowledge that just at the moment I would be very grateful to have a washing machine anywhere at all.
Obviously it was a lot of faffing about and swearing, but in the end he did it, and he has taken out a whole twist of the watery helter-skelter that cascades around our house. The water does not have nearly as far to go to get to a tap, and it comes out faster. At least it does now. At first there was so much horrible brown goo in the pipes that it would not come out at all, and there was a horrible few minutes whilst he wandered about trying to work out why none of the taps would work.
I have attached a picture.
It would have been better if Number Two Daughter had taken a picture of the bear, but she didn’t.
