I am feeling somewhat wearied this evening.
We are expecting a storm.
It is not very stormy just yet, just a bit forlornly wet, but I have unplugged Google in the living room just in case, because I would not want him to be hit by lightning, even though he does eavesdrop like a wife in the next room to her husband and a beautiful new secretary.
Really he is shockingly untrustworthy about that. I only have to talk to Mark about wanting new flip-flops, or pillow cases, and the next day my computer is filled with beautiful shiny advertisements for those very objects, how splendid, the very thing I needed, click.
I do not know if he also talks to the Government, I think it is unlikely since I doubt they can afford Google any more. Probably they have got to try and sweet-talk Duck Duck Go, or whatever the Google competition is called. In any case I do not suppose the Government is interested in my opinions. Certainly they never answer any of my emails, and I send them lots.
I send them to our local MP as well, but he just has a standard response which basically reads: I am a Liberal Democrat and therefore have not actually thought of my opinion yet, it will be whatever YouGov thinks might get me a vote when it comes to the election. Yours sincerely, Twerp.
Anyway, I have unplugged him, and so for a few days, or at least until I want somebody to remind me when the biscuits need to come out of the oven, I will just have to carry on wanting things unless I go to the shops and look for them myself.
It is raining quite hard but there are no exciting sound effects, which is always a bit disappointing.
I am on the taxi rank, of course, listening to the raindrops pattering down on the roof. In between times I am listening to my current story which is an interesting and philosophical yarn told by some chap who has given up on cash and technology and gone feral on a smallholding in Ireland. I do not know quite how he has managed to do this, because as far as I can see, smallholdings are not a zero budget operation, and generally one has to shell out massive piles of cash in order to obtain the deeds.
Maybe somebody else did that for him. Anyway, it is interesting, because we have at times been semi-feral ourselves. Mark grew an enormous beard and we kept pigs. I am glad we are not doing it now. It is much more fun when you do not have arthritis.
Mark is not here. His very first customer of the night was a dodgy-looking chap in a baseball cap who needed a shave but who wanted to go to Manchester. Mark took the cash up front from him, which he gave to me so that the chap would not be tempted to ask for it back on any of the darker bits of the journey. Hence I have got a pleasingly full cash box and will probably be stopping off at home to empty it before the night is much older.
Note to any burglars who might be reading this. By the time this goes to print it will be too late to pop round to steal it because we will be at home in bed with the cash stuffed under the mattress. If you are not reading this until tomorrow morning’s cornflakes, you are way too late, because we will probably have spent it by then.
Mark has called from Manchester.The chap did not ask for his money back, which was a good thing. He was here on holiday but had an argument with his wife and wanted to go home instead. This happens quite a lot.
It is very sad but has resolved some of our financial worries so I am not going to feel regretful on his behalf.
Thank goodness for squabbles, that’s what I say.
PS. Lucy has passed her fitness test. One more medical interview to go.
PPS. Oliver is having a good time in Korea.
PPPS. There wasn’t a storm. You can’t believe a single word the BBC says these days. Bring back Robert Dougall, that’s what I say.
