Not re-tyred

It has been such a busy day that I am profoundly glad to be sitting on a quiet taxi rank.

It is very nice indeed to have nothing to do except sit here and drink tea, gazing idly out at the glorious Lake District panorama of the chip shop and Costa Coffee.

I do not approve of Costa Coffee. I have never bought a cup of coffee there. They go on and on about sustainability but they are always forgetting to turn the outdoor heaters off over the terrace at night. If I was a tramp I would go and sleep on one of the benches there, you could even save yourself the price of a bed and breakfast if you were on an economy drive.

Also I prefer our own coffee anyway.

I do not quite know what has happened to the day, except that I have run about for practically the whole of it, and still ran out of day before I had got everything done.

It is Clean Sheets Day, which is always a dreary moment in the week, not least because it means that no matter how desperate I become, there is no possibility whatsoever of sloping off back to bed for a snooze, not that I would have had the time.

I washed the sheets and sawed up some firewood and took the dogs off for a jaunt around the park. They have had something of a raw deal lately, having been resoundingly ignored whilst we have been rushing about doing dozens of other things. I meant to compensate this morning by taking them for a proper walk over the fell, but when we sniffed the air in the back yard there was a stiffly unpleasant breeze bearing with it endless wafts of icy rain, so we just went to the park instead.

I took their ball with me as a goodwill gesture towards dog-appeasement, which instantly transformed them into barking lunatics, hurling themselves at one another and at me and into the mud in their excitement.

I do not know why they are so pleased. Their ball is a revolting object, much chewed and smelling disgustingly of mud and dog-dribble. I throw it as often as I can just to get rid of it.

I am hopeless at ball throwing. I was hopeless as a child, to the point where nobody ever wanted me on their team for anything, and fifty years of practice later I am still hopeless. I have never managed to co-ordinate the point of maximum arm extension and letting go of the ball, with the result that it ends up in all sorts of odd and unexpected places, sometimes, to all of our surprise, still in my hand because I have failed to let go of it at all. This makes for an odd sort of progress around the park, a sort of backwards-and-forwards zig-zag route, retracing our own steps and making odd diversions.

Fortunately it is up to the dogs to catch the ball, because I can’t do that either.

Once we had returned, and the sheets had been draped all over the kitchen to dry, the firewood brought in and the sawdust swept up, I took the car for some new tyres. I have been worrying about these for ages because they are looking a bit raw at the edges, but after I had driven all the way to Morecambe the tyre man said they were all right and would probably last another month or two. I was relieved about this, and promptly spent the tyre money in Asda, so we are going to have to try and save it up again before they wear out.

I was surprised on my way home by a phone call from Ritalin Boy’s Other Grandma, wondering where I was, because she was just putting the kettle on at our house, Number one Daughter having forgotten to call to alert me to her imminent arrival. Obviously I was delighted for such an unexpected opportunity to shirk. I rushed back, and we had a very pleasant cup of tea and some afternoon gossip. She had brought Number One Daughter’s dog, Tonka, to spend a holiday with us whilst Number One Daughter is moving house, which will make up for the absence of Lucy’s cats.

When she had gone Tonka sloped off to lie on the conservatory sofa. This is his passion, because he is not allowed to do it at home, and he gets very excited about it, much to the puzzlement of our dogs. They consider the conservatory sofa to be their own personal property, and regard sitting on it as an issue which has probably been addressed in the European Court of Canine Rights.

I rushed about putting shopping away and putting sheets on the bed until I realised that the builders had dumped another half ton of firewood next to the dustbins, which occupied me until darkness fell.

I did not even get it cut up. I just stacked it out of the rain. I will have to try and cut it up tomorrow, only tomorrow is baking day.

After that I got ready for work.

And here I am.

I am going to read my book.

PS. Lucy’s car passed its MOT and Mark has come home, which is a Good Thing because he has got rural broadband tomorrow.