I have dried my washing in the garden. It is completely dry, and does not need to be draped anywhere to finish it off. It has been folded up tidily and left lying about, because there is no point in putting it away since it is our scruffy working clothes and we are only going to wear it all again tomorrow.
Nevertheless it is a Sunshine Friday achievement. The day has been bright, and whilst I would not exactly say warm, the bits of the world where there was sunshine were warm. The rest has not yet had chance to rise above their sub-Arctic chill, but there is time yet, we are still only in March and the daffodils are still only slowly beginning to uncover their faces.
I am really pleased with this development, because it has taken the sting out of the dogs’ first day of baldness. They have become very fond of one another since yesterday’s haircuts, and have taken to curling up as closely together as can be arranged.
Rather unexpectedly, the result has been practically a new lease of life for them, and they have been bounding and capering around like Malvolio on one of his better days. Our walk this morning was not exactly high speed, because I still had to hang around bellowing for them to stop shoving their noses in patches of vileness and catch up, but it was marked by wagging tails and enthusiastic bouncing, so from that point of view it is a happy outcome.
Roger Poopy’s father is really quite thin now that his coat has gone. He used to be solid and disturbingly chunky around his shoulders. You would not have wanted to pick a fight with him, especially if you were only about three feet tall.
All of that muscle is gone. He is narrow and a bit frail-looking these days, which is what happens when you become elderly. I keep wondering if he is going to be with us for very much longer, although I have been thinking this for years, and he is still here, just smelling worse and deafer.
I made biscuits and taxi-picnics for tonight and watered the conservatory. This was more challenging than one might expect. It is a nicely satisfying activity, because Mark has cleverly installed big water-collection tanks for the roof water, and a pump to pull it into the conservatory, but there is an enormous spider living in one of the arches. It only comes out when I water them, possibly because I have soaked its bed, but come out it does.
I do not think that it has heard that it is supposed to be more afraid of me than I am of it, because it does not seem to be at all intimidated. It comes dashing out of its hole and waves its front legs at me crossly. Then it makes little feint-dashes towards me, as if it is about to hurl itself downwards and clutch my head with its terrifying spidery grip, but so far it has not. It has contented itself with disgruntled leg-waving complaint, and then disappears back into its hole, presumably to squeeze the water out of its sheets and shake its pillows dry.
I do not think it is courteously inclined towards me. I have tried not to upset it but evidently failed.
I hope it moves house soon, because were are going to have to dismantle and rebuild the arches at some time this spring, because the watering system is leaking and needs some repair. If the spider is vexed now it is very likely to be livid if we pull its house down.
I think I might ask Mark to be responsible for that bit. He is quite good at persuading spiders to depart, the builders opposite must have hundreds of them by now because that is where he takes them.
I am about to depart for work, and so the dogs and the spider will have the place to themselves until Mark comes home.
They can make themselves a cup of tea and sit by the fire in my absence.
