We have been on the taxi rank for almost two hours, and I have not yet had a customer.
I am sanguine about this because I have been gazing contentedly at things on eBay that I can’t afford, in this case some beautiful Tiffany lamps, shaped like flowers, only different flowers from the lamps we already have. This is because the loft is going to be empty soon and we are going to need some new clutter to put in it.
Not only is it slowly emptying, but Mark has started to repair bits of it. The last things he did in there were plumbing jobs, which involved taking some bits of the walls down. When he finished the plumbing he completely forgot about putting the walls back. I have been tactfully and patiently reminding him over the last few days, and so today he made a start. This cost a fortune in plasterboard, which seems to be making an appearance on the list of Most Expensive Substances On The Planet, along with printer ink and cat litter.
Still it is an absolute joy to see the holes in the walls disappearing, and even better to see everything slowly becoming tidy. Mark is pleased as well, because I am happy, and even more pleased that I am going to shut up about it.
I collected the dry cleaning today. These were the smelly wardrobe clothes, and you will be pleased to hear that they do not smell any more.
I gave them a thorough squirt with perfume, because of belt-and-braces, and packed them into hanging bags with cedar balls added in, because of belt and braces and a couple of prudent safety pins. There are still more smelly clothes to go, but there is a limit to the dry cleaning expenditure we can stand at this time of year. The dry cleaning man said that we ought to keep the receipt and offset it against our tax, but since the objects in question were a dinner suit and cocktail dress I thought it unlikely that any representative of HMRC would be likely to be convinced of their necessity whilst mending a taxi, so I threw it away. Sometimes I am just reckless.
On the subject of braces, you will be pleased to hear that Oliver has finally had his braces removed from his teeth, and looks very fine indeed. He is now in possession of straight white teeth, and a smile that would make it possible for him to disguise himself as an American.
It almost didn’t happen. We were just collapsing into bed at two in the morning when on the barest chance of a whim, I glanced at my diary and discovered that Oliver had an orthodontic appointment in Kendal at nine o’clock, a mere seven hours later.
This was not a joyful moment, although considerably more joyful than the one that happened five and a half hours afterwards, when we had to get out of bed to make it happen. Oliver drove himself into Kendal for the happy event, with Mark yawning in the passenger seat beside him. It has been a day of considerable yawning ever since.
The other happy event was that Lucy has heard from her new employers, who have expressed a willingness to help with her relocation expenses. There are a very lot of forms to be filled in, and receipts to be produced, but it will be very useful indeed, even if the actual cash does not appear until some months afterwards. At the very least it means that she can hire a removal van instead of relying on Daddy nailing his trailer back together and hoping that it does not rain.
It is encouraging to have some good news in the house-moving department. Poor Lucy is being squished under an ever-growing pile of House Purchase Paperwork. She is emptying her account for the deposit, and arranging surveys and conveyancers, insurance and evidence of her new contract, which latter is a bit inconvenient to organise because she hasn’t actually got it yet. She has been told to go back to Kettering and get her sergeant to sign a bit of paper confirming that she really is Lucy. She said, dolefully, that this might be problematic because she has had a haircut since she saw him last and he is only a Response officer, not a Detective.
She is going home tomorrow, and we are all a little downcast because we are going to miss her, but she has got to go away and pack her life into boxes.
Oliver goes at weekend. He is going to drive himself, in his own car. Mark is going to go with him and drive it back.
It will become very quiet. We will hardly use any sausages at all. They have eaten sixteen sausages between them since yesterday afternoon.
Also, Number Two Daughter ran another race yesterday, this one a mere half marathon. She did not bother telling us because it wasn’t very far.
It was just a bit of fun.
