I am writing this in what will probably be my last few minutes of peace and quiet. I am not expecting that there will be very many more minutes, and so probably I will have to conclude later.
I have spent the day in preparation for the returning wanderers.
There are only two wanderers, one being Mark, obviously, and the other being Lucy, who is coming home for a last weekend of maternal neglect before she moves into her house – we hope – next week.
Of course as is always the case when purchasing one’s very own abode, there are no guarantees until she has actually got the keys in her pocket. We will just have to keep holding our breath.
I had to do some shopping. It occurred to me when I got up that neither Lucy nor Mark will contentedly subsist on a diet of cheese sandwiches and chocolate buttons, and so hence some resupply would be prudent.
I had to do some cooking as well. The glorious thing about cheese sandwiches is that they can be eaten raw, which is almost no effort whatsoever. You can ring the changes if you want a varied diet by adding lettuce. I ran out of lettuce, so I added celery, which worked just as well.
Hence after I had taken the dogs for their morning emptying and boneheaded charging around the park, I went off to Booths, because nowhere else does the yoghurt that Mark likes, and when I came back I sawed some more firewood. This is because I used some yesterday but did not cut any. I had promised myself to leave the woodpile in a better state than when I found it, and so I thought I would cut some more.
Indeed the woodpile is in a better state than when I found it, the only disadvantage being that there is now so much wood that I can’t actually get into the shed. This is going to be something of a nuisance, although not for me, since Mark is going to be back later. I wanted a screwdriver this morning, but a couple of seconds contemplation of the shed convinced me that I did not need it that badly, and perhaps it could just wait until Mark got back.
I am expecting them to arrive at any time and am gloomily contemplating the whole process of scrubbing out the camper van. It will be lovely to see Mark, and indeed lovely to see Lucy. It will be less lovely to see all of their laundry. The camper van will need all of the sheets and towels hauling out and washing. I keep reminding myself that it is All In A Good Cause, and indeed it is, but somehow that does not make me feel any more excited about cleaning out the fridge and bleaching the loo.
It is now later.
I am on the taxi rank.
I have got a house stuffed with laundry and a family to feed. I am quite pleased about these things, except the first.
Lucy’s laundry is already hanging up above the fire. It will be dry by morning. I considered starting on Mark’s before I went to work, but some things are just too difficult.
They arrived back within minutes of one another, and so I was catapulted from peaceful daydreaming into a rush of bathroom-cleaning and laundry sorting and barking dogs all in the space of a few moments. Roger Poopy was ecstatic to see Lucy, and stationed himself on the stairs in order to be able to lick her head whenever she walked past them in the kitchen. I do not think this made him popular. When he is happy he smiles, a hideous, beaming, teeth-filled smile, only the wrinkling of his nose makes him sneeze. After one particularly viscous sneeze I think Lucy’s joy at seeing him had begun to wear off.
I am not quite as joyful as Roger Poopy, but it is lovely to have them home. Only another couple of weeks and we will have Oliver as well.
The time is flying past.
