Lucy is still here.
She is upstairs, loafing about on her bed with a cup of coffee and a box of chocolates, trading on the stock market.
I know that she is doing this, because my email address is still on her trading account, and every now and again I have been getting emails from exciting sounding finance houses, sending me contract notes for money that she has sent to places like the Pacific Rim.
I do not know where the Pacific Rim is, but it sounds very exotic, and brings to mind images of lei, and jasmine, or cones of melon seeds, opium smoke and coolie hats.
I am not sure whether or not this makes me a racial stereotypist, but it is a pleasing thought all the same.
I would like to go there, especially if it is like my imaginings.
Actually I would quite like to go anywhere at the moment, and am looking forward to the day when we are on our last box of soap powder and I am obliged to make the expedition to Kendal to visit Asda.
I have been trying to rest my thoughts and find tranquillity on the topic of the newest restrictions to our liberty.
I have been angrier with our beloved leader than with any Government ever, including the ones who fibbed about the Weapons Of Mass Destruction, and I am beginning to think that this is not healthy. This is mostly because I don’t think that Boris cares in the least, and therefore the only one of the two of us who is upset is me.
He does at least know what I think, because I have not hesitated to share my feelings. It is relatively easy to send an email to 10 Downing St, and so I have sent plenty, and also a proper letter, the sort with a stamp, because he went to Eton and so might be more used to that sort of communication. Certainly when Oliver was at Aysgarth he was obliged to send a pen-and-paper letter home every week. Most of them said Dear Mummy I have not got Anything to Say love from your Son Oliver.
He has not replied to a single one.
I mean Boris Johnson, not Oliver, obviously.
In consequence I think that probably the best thing to do is to try and stop feeling cross and start feeling better, although this has been something of an uphill challenge so far. It is not easy not to feel cross when lots of cross friends are telephoning to say how cross they are feeling. Also Oliver has been feeling very sad, and that makes me crosser than I can say.
Hence I am trying to find the place in my soul where there is no more anger, and where I can accept this vile destruction of everybody’s education and civil liberties with peaceful equanimity.
It is turning out to be a small and elusive place.
I have spent today pondering on this subject.
Obviously I have done lots of other things as well, like mopping the kitchen and washing all of the towels and getting the dinner ready. I have even sewn half of my cut-out apron. I have not merely sat in an armchair and thought about things, although actually I would have liked to.
I turned the story tape off so that I could think and mop at the same time.
I can do this even though I am only a taxi driver.
I think that I am going to stop reading newspapers. I have already stopped listening to the radio, so the Daily Telegraph is all that is left, and they are only writing exciting things because they want my money. I think on the whole that being bored would probably be better.
I am going to do some lovely things with this compulsory holiday. I am going to plant things in the conservatory and write more. I am going to take the dogs out for walks in the fresh air and make my life better. I am not going to think about the things that are no longer allowed to do, like spending time with our friends.
I am going to indulge in some small defiances to remind myself that I am a free human being. For instance I am going to ignore the rule about only going outside once a day, otherwise we will have a house full of dog accidents. Some laws are too ridiculous to be borne, and deserve to be ignored, unless it is raining.
Also I am going to tell you about happy things when I notice them.
Here is one. I was very pleased indeed to hear that an American pastor, in an effort to be fairer and kinder to ladies, has tacked the newly-created word ‘Ahwomen’ on after Amen at the end of a prayer. I was touched by the thought, if nothing else.
Good effort that chap.
