This is a short entry because I am on the taxi rank and do not feel in the least like being creative.
Actually I do not feel like being here at all. Given a choice, by which I mean, winning the lottery, I would be doing what we did last night, which was not being at work at all. Last night we stayed at home with a Chinese takeaway and watched a gloomy film on Amazon.
It was not exactly a film, it was a three part television series on Amazon Prime about a drunk man being sent to prison. It was very good indeed, and inspired Oliver to cross Going To Prison off his list of things he wants to do when he grows up. All the same, there were not many laughs.
We watched all three parts in fascinated horror anyway, whilst eating Chinese and polishing off the end of the box of wine.
It was splendid.
We did not want to get up this morning, but we had to, because Mark was working. I had got lots of the usual domestic maintenance shenanigans to occupy my day, with which I won’t trouble you. You know all about baking and sausage-cooking and hoovering.
However, shortly after lunch the day’s nice thing happened, which was the arrival of Ritalin Boy with his Other Grandma.
He is staying with us for the weekend, to be squeezed in between taxis and Oliver dashing off to work and dog emptying.
So far he has talked for every single minute of that time. I have been expected to have an opinion about a Pokémon character which might or might not have been called Bright Yellow Rat, and have supervised his homework. That is to say, I have facilitated his homework by the simple method of purchasing some sweets for the moment it was completed, which seemed a sensible idea to all concerned.
It is now midnight, and it has taken me all evening, in between customers, just to write this much. I am going to desist and read a book and drink some tea. It is unlikely I will be writing in these pages tomorrow either, Saturdays are busy taxi days, and any time not spent earning cash will most likely be occupied by Ritalin Boy.
I will return.
Probably.
