It has been so wet and horrible that I have spent much of the day faffing about.
I should have gone into the back yard and sawn up some firewood, but by the time I came back from dog-emptying I was so wet that I did not like the idea at all.
I was very wet indeed. My trousers were wet and my boots were wet, and I had neglected to put on a hat, so my hair was drenched, and the water trickled in little rivulets down my face.
There were several dogs to be emptied, because we have got Pepper visiting for the day.
The other Peppers have had to buzz off and do something, and so Pepper is staying with us in order that she does not get lonely.
She is so cross about this development that I think she might prefer to be lonely.
She does not at all like our floors, because they are not embellished with carpets, and has been trying to walk on tiptoes in order to preserve her paws from any more contact than absolutely necessary. In the end I put a piece of carpet down for her to lie on, and she has been perched on it, as though it is a fragile island in the middle of a treacherously rough sea, and glaring at me whenever I walk past.
I have tried to make up for this by feeding her, and the other dogs, bits of ham from a piece I found in the back of the fridge that smelled a bit too uncertain for sandwiches, but she is not mollified. She is a Labrador, and hence has scoffed everything else in sight as well, in order to help her deal with her grief.
Roger Poopy likes Pepper, and has tried to join her on her carpet on several occasions, but has been haughtily rebuffed. He has retreated to the cushion in front of the fire, where he is currently lying, sighing heavily.
I have been rendered too dreary by the rain to have achieved very much. I lit the fire, because of trying to dry the washing, and thought I ought to bake a cake, but everywhere was grey and miserable, so I didn’t. In the end I sloped off upstairs and ordered things on the computer. I thought that it might count as retail therapy, and cheer me up, but it didn’t.
I ordered a new charger for Mark’s computer and some vitamin supplements for his sore knees, and so it is not exactly surprising that I was not inspired.
I did not bother to look at pink dungarees, so perhaps I did not really want to be uplifted after all.
In fact I did not need to look at dungarees, because a very nice thing has happened in the midst of the dreariness.
This morning our neighbour called round with a pair of beautiful lightweight summertime dungarees.
This was very kind indeed of her. She had read in these very pages of my longing, and happened to have a spare pair.
They fitted. I do not know how this might be so, because her bottom is at least half the size of mine, perhaps she and the children all wear them together. They are beige and not pink, but they are rather splendid.
I tried them on thoughtfully, and realised that in fact they could be used not only as hot weather garments, but could be used as a pattern for making some heavyweight wintertime dungarees, just in case we do not actually get a summertime.
I have been thinking about it ever since.
As it happens I have just booked myself in to some sewing classes.
I can sew, a bit, although not brilliantly well, actually I am rubbish. Anyway, it so happens that Ritalin Boy’s Other Grandma goes to sewing classes with a lady in Barrow.
She had a spare place next term, and I am going to go with her.
I am really quite excited about this development.
Also I have recollected that I have a large roll of raspberry pink corduroy in the loft, which Mark brought for me when the fabric shop closed down.
I could be wearing pink dungarees in no time at all.
Have a picture of some empty dog bowls.
