I am not writing much.
I have had enough. I have been writing nearly all day, in a frantic last-minute effort to complete my assignment.
I have not yet finished, and I have only got today and tomorrow, because on Saturday we will be working, and on Sunday we will be on our way to Scotland. This means that probably I won’t be writing in here on Saturday and Sunday either, just so you know in advance.
Even as I write there are three dogs fighting around my feet. Obviously if there is a person sitting in an office chair, then underneath it is the very best place in the house for a dog to be, and if there are three of you then it is merely a matter of time before one of you steals somebody else’s stick, or accidentally bites somebody’s ear, and then all manner of growling uproar can follow.
On the top of the desk is the cat, who has helped the creative process along by sitting on the keyboard as often as possible. Several times I have left it unattended and gone downstairs for cups of tea, or to deal with laundry, and every time I have returned to find sections of my assignment have been completely re-written.
I have had to trawl through it very carefully to ensure that I have found and eradicated them all. The assignment has been peppered with interjections that look as though I have been trying to disguise swear words, things like **>>^. I do not wish to leave any behind to puzzle the markers and have been wondering whether or not I ought to include a cat-related disclaimer.
Oliver is upstairs, and Mark is outside. He has had a day off work to take my taxi for its MOT, and it was a good job that he did, because it failed, and he has been obliged to spend the remainder of the day crawling underneath it and swearing. The problem was a bottom ball joint, which is not bad on the scale of things, and indicates that nobody noticed that the entire front end has been bashed back together after it was caved in a mere few weeks ago.
Still, we are coming to a breathing space in the saga of vehicle-related disasters. Once my MOT is done we will only have to MOT Mark’s taxi, Oliver’s car and the camper van, and we will be practically back on the road again. I know this sounds like a lot, but after the last few weeks it reads like a light-hearted breeze.
It is evening, and I am not at work. This is partly because I do not have a taxi, and I do not like using Mark’s, but also it is because we are going to have dinner together. Oliver has got a night off, and we are going to have some Family Bonding Time, by which I suppose I mean we will collapse in the living room and drink too much. We considered going to the Indian restaurant, but did not have sufficient funds and in any case Oliver said he wanted to eat at home. I have forgotten how to cook after so many months of taxi picnics, so we are going to have pasta as usual.
It is almost eight o’clock, and I have just realised that I am starving.
I suppose I had better go and get on with it.
