Life might be about to change.
I have got everything crossed.
Things might be about to get better.
Number Oner Son-In-Law telephoned this afternoon wondering if Mark might still be unemployed, which of course he is, apart from the taxi driving, the odd-jobs he is doing for various less-manually-skilled acquaintances, and the rural broadband, which his friend Ted has vaguely promised will require his attention again in a few weeks time when the weather improves.
Apart from those things he is not working, and hence we are not very well off. That is an understatement, it is January and we are flat broke. We are so flat broke that we are practically sloping downhill.
I did not think I was especially worried about this. Indeed, if you had asked me I would have said I was not in the least concerned, that we were getting along nicely with our lives and probably would get the credit card paid off sooner or later.
Number One Son-In-Law said that he could organise some offshore work if Mark thought he might like it.
To wonder if Mark might like some well-paid work is like wondering if Rosie might like to help somebody eat their cheese on toast, although I hope that we would be above the undignified beseeching that Rosie performs whenever she thinks you might be about to eat a whole slice by yourself.
Mark thought he would like it very much indeed, and I thought that I would like it even more.
I can hardly describe the relief that washed over me at the prospect of a fixed income. Of any income, actually, we came out to work last night and earned fifty quid between us, and we have got both a mortgage and a credit card demanding our attention. Indeed, for somebody who has been stoutly convinced of their absence of worries, the light-heartedness that resulted from this suggestion very much indicated otherwise.
Imagine being terribly worried and not noticing, but it seems that I have been in exactly this state.
We gulped and said that yes, he would.
Number One Son-In-Law said that Mark would have to renew his offshore certificates, and pass a medical, but that probably that would only take a few weeks, and then there would be work in abundance.
We belted off upstairs to book him on to some certificate-refresher courses.
These are not great fun and involve pretending to be almost drowned in a pretend-sunk helicopter, and swinging off towers at enormous heights, but you have to pass them before you are even allowed near a helicopter which is going to an oil rig. Mark has passed them before but it was a long time ago and he has got to pass them again if he wants to earn a living from the black gold which seems to be so abundant in the North Sea.
We booked him on to the courses, which involved giving his poor hapless credit card yet another pasting, this one so savage that it hid, trembling, in the corner of his wallet for some hours afterwards. We told it to man up, and that it would soon get better, although I am not exactly sure it was convinced.
We have got to ring the training company in the morning, but it looks very likely that Mark will be able to start on Monday, and at the end of two weeks he will be able to laugh in the face of doom-laden helicopters and precarious rope-festooned towers. Then he will rotor off into the sunset for a while, after which we will have affluence beyond our imaginings. Well, beyond our imaginings at the moment anyway, because I do not let myself imagine futures which are expensively out of my reach. I suspect it will not take me very long before my imagination has soared into the airy neverland of potential new shoes and holidays.
In the meantime we have got a few emergencies needing our attention, because my taxi needs an MOT before he goes anywhere, and he has got a skip sitting on his field which he is trying to fill with scrap metal before his uncle collects it next week.
It is going to be a busy couple of weeks.
It is quite nice to think that you never know what is waiting around the next corner.
Sometimes the Gods can surprise you.
