I have had a very happy day.
I got almost all of the housework done by the early afternoon, after which I did some painting.
I have been painting the Christmas calendars.
I am aware that this is not the most seasonal occupation for June, but it is for me, like models being photographed in swimwear in February, although I would never consider being photographed in swimwear in any season at all, because of being far too wobbly and pink. Imagine a gallon of blancmange squished into a dog-poo bag and you will get the idea.
Anyway, it was a happy thing to do. I listened to my current story and got paint everywhere.
My current story is not a story, actually. It is an entirely gripping work which sets out to explain the intricacies of corporate taxation. I know this does not sound fascinating, but it truly is, and I am switching it on between customers in the taxi at every available opportunity. There are only four hours of it left to go and I am beginning to feel a little sad already. It is written by an accountant who believes that everybody should understand tax better, and by now I wholeheartedly agree with him.
Anyway, I have had a lovely afternoon, painting wintery scenes and thinking about the differences between income and capital gains, and feeling that the world is a pleasant place.
It started to rain halfway through, which fortunately I noticed before the washing got too wet.
It was made even nicer by having lit one of my lifetime-favourite scented candles. These are flavoured with maple syrup and Jack Daniel’s whisky, and smell delightful.
I did not light it merely for the happiness of having the gentle alcoholic aroma floating through the house. I lit it because of several requests from my offspring that I offer libations to any benevolent Gods who might be persuaded to stop by and listen to me.
On the whole it is better not to attract the attention of the Gods. They have a curious sense of humour which is almost always better directed elsewhere. Indeed, I suspect that the undressed dancing around stone circles might have originally been intended to distract their attention so that somebody with something important to do could get on with it in peace.
Today, however, I felt that since all of my offspring were a long way away, it would probably not be too dangerous. Number One Daughter was busily jumping on and off boxes and swinging from hoops in her fitness competition in France. Number Two Daughter was taking some important gas fitting exams, Lucy was applying for her new job, and I had no idea what Oliver was doing but did not wish to leave him out.
Hence I lit the candle and explained to the Gods that whilst I did not wish them to leave Windermere, I would be pleased if they would consider sending some good fortune in the direction of the children.
It rained on the washing almost immediately.
Anyway, it must have worked, because by the end of the first day of competing, Number One Daughter is running in second place. Number Two Daughter passed with a massive eighty two percent, and Lucy has been offered an interview for a possible promotion. I still do not know what Oliver is doing but imagine that the Gods did not leave him out.
I thought that some damp aprons and underwear were a small price to pay for such splendid benevolence.
I am at work now, and it is still raining. Mark was pleased about this and rushed off to the farm to plant his raspberry canes and some strawberries. I am trying to be pleased but I am not very, because everybody getting in the taxi is wet and cross, and the windows keep steaming up.
At least they are clean windows, I suppose.
