We did not have another blissful lie in this morning. This was because Mark got up to visit the bathroom at some time which was the middle of the night for us but for you would be mid-morning, and trod in a disgusting pile of dog-sick.
Obviously all tranquillity disappeared then, in a haze of swearing and disinfectant. The dogs were banished to the back yard in disgrace, even though two thirds of them were innocent, since the hallowed principles of British Justice do not need to be applied to dogs. We did not think we were likely to doze off peacefully after that, so we got up and made coffee.
We do not know what they have been eating, something disgusting in the Library Gardens I imagine. Roger Poopy’s father has a fondness for the cannabis dog-ends left under the benches, but we rather thought that the guilty party was Roger Poopy himself, since he instantly got up and sloped off when he heard Mark bellowing, so probably it was something somebody had bought at Greggs and dumped.
I am not exactly surprised it had that effect on him.
Even then we were not exactly early, and by the time we got to ambling around the park, the church on the corner had finished its weekly business and had packed up, and the world was deserted, in the rather twilight way of Sundays in November.
There was not much day for doing anything, really, it is the time of year when hibernation seems like an entirely desirable activity, but we knew we had got to go to work because we are now saving up for Christmas.
The lovely Midland telephoned the other day to tell us that even though the chap who usually deals with us has left, they have remembered us, and explained that they had discounted our rooms and we were looking forward to seeing us, which was wonderfully kind. I wondered about buying us a Christmas present of another visit and a trip to the theatre in our January week’s holiday, I am sure you will hear about it should we win the lottery in time.
Hence we are on the taxi rank now. It is raining. This is in fact not entirely awful, because Mark’s taxi has developed an irritating electronic fault which means that the windscreen wipers will not switch off. This is rather an improvement on the last electronic fault which caused the boot to spring open occasionally, usually mid-journey, much to the surprise of his passengers. The nice thing about this particular fault is that the weather has been so dreadful in the last few weeks that not a single customer has noticed yet. I do not at all like these modern cars with helpful electronic gadgets designed to sense what is going on and then act autonomously. Invariably they are wrong, and once you are at the clapped-out-taxi end of the market, they are a complete nuisance.
Fortunately this one is an acceptable fault in the Lake District, but we will have to get it sorted out soon. The taxi goes for its next MOT in a few weeks time, and I rather think the MOT inspector is likely to notice, since it is unlikely to be raining in the garage.
We will cross that bridge when we come to it.
I am going to get on with my knitting. I am halfway up the front of my new cardigan. It is unlikely to be finished in time to be a Christmas present for me, so maybe a birthday present.
I will see you tomorrow.
