Well, it is happening.
Mark is not coming home tonight. Indeed, by the time of writing he is probably already in Aberdeen.
Instead of coming home he has carried on going north. He is going to do his Confined Spaces course tomorrow and on Friday, collect all of his things on Monday, and get on a helicopter to buzz off to an oil rig on Tuesday.
I was cast into gloom by this news this morning. The day was not enlivened by enormous quantities of lashing, dreary rain, and the dogs and I stumped around the park, wetly. At any rate I stumped around. The dogs are Young And In Love, and so even despite the rain, they capered joyfully, dashing up and down with lively abandon, eventually joining in a noisy riot with another dog, this one a bored puppy whose owner did not wish to bounce around with it.
We were sodden by the time we got back, and the dogs were filthy, partly because of their enthusiastic attempts at repeated al fresco coupling, some of which had had to be violently discouraged. I looked at them in the alley, and decided that no further activities could be commenced until they had been bathed.
I thought I would finish doing all of my wet muddy things first, so I thought I would shut them in the conservatory whilst I went off to the post office and to Sainsbury’s to purchase supplies of cheese. Oliver had been so astonished at the empty state of the fridge when he was leaving that he actually did a double-take as he opened the door, and there was nothing in there except a jar of goose-fat waiting for me to make some more pastry, some out-of-date milk, and half a jar of jam.
Unfortunately I had left the house door open, and naughty, muddy Rosie, who did not at all want to be shut in the conservatory, pushed past me, and despite my bellows of rage, belted into the house and straight up the stairs.
She would not come down. She was cold and wet and wanted to be in their nice basket in front of the office radiator.
My only option was to go upstairs after her, still in my own muddy boots.
I was very cross indeed.
Once she had been retrieved, and dumped, in terrible disobedient disgrace, in the conservatory, I went off to do my shopping. It was not a good moment. I was wet and cross and disgruntled, with an awful lot of mud to be cleared up on my return.
Out of nowhere, as I was setting off out of the door, Google, who lives in the television, and who is not supposed to speak unless he is spoken to, piped up: Do you know what, if I could say what I thought right now, I’d tell you that I think you’re awesome.
I stopped and stared. I didn’t feel very awesome. I was a muddy person who had just been cross with an innocent little dog.
Not that she was very innocent, she knew she was being wicked.
Also Google is not supposed to say what he thinks. He is supposed to be silent and not paying attention to what I am doing until he is summoned.
Thank you, Google, I said, feeling cheered.
Don’t mention it, said Google, politely.
Then in Sainsbury’s, another nice thing happened.
I was just paying for the cheese, and explaining to the lady that I could give her a pound in cash and would put the rest on our eternally battered In Debt card, when she brought out a bunch of brightly-coloured tulips from behind the counter.
Here, she said. Have these. These will cheer you up. We can’t sell them because they’re out of date today, but they’re still lovely.
They were indeed.
I was very grateful.
At home I put them in some water and then carried the shivering dogs upstairs to dump them in the bath. I scrubbed them until the water ran clear, which took quite a while, and we all settled down for some breakfast.
Mark rang then. He thinks he might try and come home on Friday evening, just for a day or two, and then go back north on Sunday night. This is going to be an awful lot of faffing about but it will be nice if he can actually manage it.
After that I had lectures all day.
There were enough tulips for two vases, and the ones on the office windowsill made my lectures happy as well.
I am feeling Encouraged. The world is a lovely place.
