Going to work is such a tiresome nuisance.
There are so many other things that I need to get done, and they are simply not happening, because of sitting on the taxi rank trying to earn money.
I have been managing to get name labels sewn into school uniform at the same time, so it isn’t completely wasted, but it is most frustrating.
I still have not bought pyjamas.
I stopped writing there for ages and ages whilst I looked at websites with boys pyjamas and dressing gowns, and then got distracted. I looked at Facebook, and then read a couple of articles in the newspaper which says things that I already think, poured myself a cup of tea and ate a sandwich.
I didn’t feel like writing a diary after that, so I read my book for a while. I am reading Harry Potter, and adding to the escapist theme by listening to Jilly Cooper on Number Two Daughter’s audio book account whilst I am sewing.
I have to be careful with this in the taxi, because there are some very rude bits, of the book, not the sewing, obviously, and if the windows are open then every other taxi driver on the rank thinks that I am listening to pornography, read in an upper-class accent. I suppose I am really, except that the rude bits are entirely embarrassing to listen to, and I much prefer the bits about horse-racing and art galleries, who would have thought that such astonishing things happened in stately homes.
I wrote some stories myself which had rude bits in them once, only I stopped, because everybody who read them immediately thought that the rude bits were about things that I liked to do. I was not expecting this, and it surprised me. They had murders in them as well, and yet nobody remotely imagined that I had secret fantasies about bludgeoning people to death.
In the end it was too difficult to keep explaining to everybody that they were not autobiographies, so I gave up and just let everybody think I was weird.
I am entirely sure that Jilly Cooper does not behave like that. She would never have had time to write all of those books.
I have not had time to do anything much today either. I washed Mark and Oliver’s flat caps ready for them to go back to work tomorrow, but it rained and now I keep feeling worried that they will not be properly dry.
It was fine when I washed them and pegged them out, but in a small piece of Weather God sadism, just as they had stopped actually dripping on the washing line, the heavens opened.
I have got fed up of the Weather Gods. I did not give them the satisfaction of dashing in and out with armfuls of washing. I just left everything outside and maybe it will be drier than when I started, or maybe it won’t.
LATER NOTE: In the end Mark brought it all in after I had gone out to work. I was late going to work, but the washing was still not dry. It was not dry when he brought it in either, and inexplicably he folded it all up even though it was still wet. I have draped it about all over the landing, hopefully, but I have a gloomy feeling that we are going to be putting on damp trousers in the morning.
Mark stayed at home and bashed the brakes about in the camper van. He did this until it was too dark to see properly, but they are still not finished. His cap is not dry either, it has not been a very successful day.
Not to worry. We can start again in the morning.
Have a picture of two wet flat caps, just to help Southerners understand what I am talking about.
