Today is an exciting day.
The Number Two Daughters have got their very own house keys.
There is a house that goes with them, and they have bought it. It belongs to them.
Well, some of it belongs to the bank, but they will sort that out over time. Obviously I have not seen it, because it is in Canada, but they have sent me a video which seems to be an extensive tour of the cupboards, plug sockets and light switches, and I think it looks very nice indeed.
It looks enormous. It is in its own little bit of land and there is a garage. I hope that it is warmer than it looks, because it is minus thirty two where they are at the moment, and their new garden is swaddled in a thick white blanket of snow.
I do not think they are going to start living in it today. I think they have got to pack up their own house and make some new-house arrangements first. I expect they will want to paint it and knock half of the walls down first, this sort of thing always seems to happen to me when I move house.
Anyway, they are very excited, it is a very grown-up adventure.
I wish my own house was more exciting. I can tell you now that as I shoved the hoover around the bedroom this afternoon, the thrill of home ownership had very definitely palled. I might start to think of it in a new light, how exciting it might be to live in our house if only I considered it to be a joyful adventure.
It is, after all, the story that you tell yourself.
I felt very satisfied with myself for having been so housewifely. Mark had gone off out to work, and I was at home on my own for the first time in ages. I do not know why the house gets dustier when we are both in it, but it does, so I dusted it, and hoovered it, and hung up washing, and took the dogs for a long walk across the fell whilst I thought about stories.
The dogs are beginning to get a bit cheesed off with all this walking and thinking, and if I am honest, so am I. I have had to take an anti-inflammatory tablet for my hips this afternoon, Number One Daughter says that the problem is very often the downhill bit, but I am not sure that I agree. I would not mind walking at all if it was all downhill.
It was a very cold walk, although obviously not as cold as it might have been if I were visiting the Number Two Daughters. Either I am getting a bit fitter or it was chilly this morning, because I did not need to unbutton my coat when I had puffed up to the top. Indeed, I shoved my hands into my pockets and set off back down again as quickly as I could. The dogs came charging after me. Well, Roger Poopy did. His father followed at his usual snail’s pace, dragging his paws and grumbling to himself, like a six year old boy obliged to attend his mother on a Saturday shopping trip whilst she looks for the perfect top to wear to the party.
We jogged a good deal of the way back, just to keep warm, but still I was not sorry to be home. The sky was dark, and the world smells of snow. It has not rained for absolutely ages, but I think that will change quite quickly, and it will be snow if we are unlucky.
Once home I watered the conservatory and ate some chocolate, which is why I never manage to get any thinner when I exercise. It was the pretend-Harrods chocolate that I made yesterday, and it was splendid.
I celebrated by making a cake, two cakes actually, because Mark needs to keep his strength up if he is working outside in this weather, and it probably explains why he never gets any thinner either.
These cakes are Brandy Drizzle Cakes, which are like lemon drizzle cake but without any lemons and completely soaked in Asda’s budget brandy. You would never drink it, it comes in plastic bottles, but mixed with warm golden syrup and poured over cakes it is divine.
I am going to go and see if they have dried sufficiently to get them out of their tins yet.
