Tonight’s is a hasty diary entry because Mark is supervising the pasta downstairs, helped along by Oliver. It is ten o’clock at night and I am longing to go to bed.
Also there will probably be no diary entry tomorrow, because we will be in Manchester. We are going to go to the theatre, and part of the reason that it has reached the middle of the night without dinner is that we have all been faffing about trying to decide what we would like to wear.
We think it is entirely probable that Manchester will be warmer than it is here. That is very likely indeed, since I have been comfortably wearing my thermal vest and fur-lined boots this week. According to the weather forecast it will be twenty one degrees, which is practically tropical in comparison. Hence we have been optimistically packing shorts and sandals, until suddenly it occurred to us that it might easily Turn Cold, and Then What Would We Do?
After that we packed all of our winter clothes as well.
Then we thought that we might like to look cool and smart, so we packed some smart jackets and ties and shiny shoes.
Then we remembered our computers and the books that we are reading and the sponge bag.
The result is a massive, overstuffed suitcase that we will struggle to drag down the stairs. Its very presence will increase our fuel consumption by about thirty percent on the trip south.
I do not care. It is better to be prepared. Manchester is a big and troubling place. All sorts of things might happen.
I have just gone back to it and packed scissors and tweezers and headache tablets. You can’t be too careful.
In other news, I have been accepted by the Government as a likely candidate for a student loan, and will be able to borrow countless thousands towards the cost of being able to write MSt Cantab after my name. This is an important detail on a taxi licence application, and I can always add it to the top sign. I can call us Sarah’s Educated Taxis, which will be an improvement on our current official company name, which is Pay More Wait Longer Taxis. Oddly enough nobody ever, ever comments on this.
Also Mark has been teaching Oliver to drive. They have been practising handbrake turns and gear changes on the field. We have decided, on balance, that it would be a better idea to get rid of the sheep, before one of them has a misfortune, and so they will be leaving soon. Mark says that Oliver is jolly good. I am pleased about that. Good promises to be less costly when he comes to the driving lessons/numerous driving tests that are barrelling towards our expense account like a freight train without brakes.
We are dumping the dogs on Elspeth. Roger Poopy knows that we are going away because of the suitcase. He is downcast, but nobody cares. He will have a happy time at Elspeth’s house, it is only for one night. He is downcast anyway, because of the haircut, and he has been shivering. He was so cold last night that at about three in the morning he thought he might get in our bed with us, and was very disappointed to discover that we did not love him that much.
I have given him a jumper. He will just have to dog-up.
Right, that is all of my news for the day, I will see you if not tomorrow, then the day after, with stories of metropolitan sophistication and adventure.
Until then.
PS. Poor old Boris.
