Well, I think I am all ready for Mark to come home.
I have hoovered and wiped, a bit anyway. I have tidied up, although not very much, and really I don’t suppose he will notice any of it anyway.
The whole tidying up thing was almost ruined by Roger tiresome Poopy, who rolled in some more badger poo this morning. I was already very cross with the dogs
, because one of them had had an accident on the floor in the night, and I suspect he thought he was going to redeem his lost masculinity after having been obliged to slink out penitently into they yard and stay there until I had finished cleaning up.
Today I was so cross with him I did not bath him. I took him out into the back yard and tipped the watering can all over him. I scrubbed him with the yard brush and left him there until he dried off a bit. I sent Rosie out to keep him company. She had not rolled in anything revolting but I thought she might as well be guilty by association in case she was the one who had had the accident.
He knew he had done it halfway round our walk. I had not been able to work out why he was lagging behind and grinning sheepishly, until he got home and his presence was a sudden violent assault on my nostrils.
I sprayed him with some stuff that is supposed to get rid of vile smells and told him that nobody loved him because he was so wicked, although Rosie contradicted that immediately by curling up next to him and trying to lick his ears out.
Dogs are horrid creatures.
I am sure it will not have escaped any of us that we now have a new set of muppets holding the reins of our glorious government, almost everywhere except here, where the usual twerp has been reinstalled. Really I don’t know why I bother voting. I suppose at least it means that nothing much new will happen in Cumbria, because no sitting government ever does anything much in the constituencies of their opponents. I do not know if that is a good thing or not.
I have been ignoring the results all day, largely because I don’t have either a television or a radio, and to find anything out means that I have got to come up here and sit down at my computer, and I have been too busy to do that until just now. Right now I am having a hasty five minutes with the weight off my feet before I dash off to work . Mark won’t get back for a few hours yet, but still I do not think I will have very much time this evening. It is Friday night and probably busy.
In other news, Number One Daughter has sent me some more flowers, which are rather splendid, and the house is now smelling wonderful, apart from the bits where Roger Poopy has been. I am ambling around breathing the scent of furniture polish and flowers, and I like it very much, it is a shame that Mark will be coming home with a huge sack full of oily kit and dirty boots to dump into the middle of it.
I have cooked him some sausages so that he can feed himself if I am out at work when he gets home. I have even finished off the ironing and left the loft tidy, although its pristine spaciousness has been overturned by the presence of Oliver’s colossal stack of luggage. He has been living in two places at once for the last five years, and suddenly he has got double everything he needs to be at home. I suppose he can take it all to Norland with him, so it will not be there for very long.
My five minutes is over. I am going to rush off and go and earn us a living, whilst I still can before our newly beloved leaders start investigating how much tax they can possibly squeeze out of us all.
How I am looking forward to it.
