It has been as cheerful as a wet washday, because it has been a wet washday.
It was the day for clean sheets and clean towels and the rain came down in buckets.
It rained so hard that Roger Poopy decided he had had enough before we were even halfway around the park this morning, certainly we got nowhere near the bottom of the fells. He turned tail and set off for home, and I had to belt after him in order to compel him to take sufficient exercise to quell my guilty conscience. He repaid me by pooing on the only clump of daffodils that had begun to flower. There was an entire park at his disposal, including a children’s play area, a football pitch, a cricket pitch and a skateboard park. The whole lot incorporated one solitary spring-like flower, and he carefully pooed on it.
Do not take any notice of the sort of muppet who insists that dogs are nicer than people. Quite clearly they do not have one.
He was sick on the kitchen floor this afternoon as well, as if I had needed any further reason for scowling at him.
We got drenched even on such a short walk, and my coat is still dripping in the conservatory even as I write.
I hung it in the conservatory because it was the only place left. The rest of the house was festooned with damp sheets and towels.
After all that excitement I made some biscuits, it has all been happening in Windermere today, I can tell you. Then I went to the chemist to see if Mark’s blood pressure medication was there. I had tried to order this from the GP, who called this morning protesting that they only sent some last week when last I ordered it. I could not remember a thing about this, but I must have done it because it was indeed on the shelf behind the pharmacist.
I had to wait for ages and ages whilst some local simpleton went on and on about whether or not he should spray some expensively prescribed medication into his ear for some weird scabby-ear-disease. He went on and on and on, and I mentally crossed Pharmacist off the list of things that I might want to do when I grow up. When it was my turn I thought I would expand on the theme by telling the pharmacist about the dogs’ ears and the athlete’s foot cream, and he told me about a scab his dog has on its ear by way of exchange, so we parted in mutual satisfaction, but I have no idea how he manages to be as polite as he is. He would never make a taxi driver.
In other news, I have talked to Oliver who is still; considering his career options. He was very interested in a talk that school arranged with an addicted gambler, who described the awfulness of trying to give it up. This did not have quite the desired effect on Oliver, who immediately recognised that running a casino might be a very successful way to make a living.
We have booked his first driving lessons for Easter. We are all feeling pleased about this, these will be the last driving lessons that we ever have to worry about. The instructor rang me to discuss what experience he had had, so I explained that he and Mark used to have a straw figure set up at the farm, and they used to play Drive By Shootings with a crossbow thoughtfully donated by Number One Son-In-Law, whereby they each took it in turn to drive whilst the other one was shooting. The instructor said that he was sure this would be a good starting point but that perhaps they would just start off in a quiet car park somewhere.
I don’t think there is going to be much chance of that, his first lesson is on Easter Monday. There will not be any quiet car parks in the whole of the Lake District.
I am looking forward to that moment.
So far tonight I have made four quid.
It is a good job I have got a good book.
