I am no longer a person in charge of a household of cleaners.
Both Oliver and Jack have ended their gainful employment scrubbing holiday cottages. Jack was told his services were no longer required, and Oliver has quit in brotherly solidarity.
Neither of them are especially troubled by this. Jack has got an interview for a real job in Manchester next week, and Oliver is going back to college tomorrow in any case. I will be very sorry to see them both go, the household is interesting when it is filled with young men, and they are handy dog-emptiers when I am otherwise occupied.
Oliver went for a haircut this morning, which was much-needed, it had become long enough even to have scandalised the Beatles’ fashion designer. His hair is curly like mine, although it is not grey, which is an instant improvement, and it looks very much as though he has not inherited Mark’s tendency for it to vanish at the front, truly the Hairy Gods have smiled upon him.
Whilst he was out I finally finished my week’s chores, which was a relief, until they all start again on Sunday, after which I had the day to faff about doing other important things, like filling in the accounting paperwork and paying everybody’s wages. I was halfway through this project when Mark called and said that there was a possibility of some work in Norway this week, and could I check his emails and fill in some forms.
There were lots of forms, wanting all sorts of obscure details, from his tax reference to his National Insurance number, because if he goes off to work in Norway he will be paying tax to the Norwegian government and not to ours. After yesterday’s extortion attempts I am not sorry about this. It is only for a fortnight but it will come in very handy, especially given that Christmas is charging towards us like a Galloway herd frightened by an aeroplane.
We do not know yet if the job will happen or not. We will find out tomorrow. If it does it means that he won’t be coming home before he wings away from Manchester on Sunday. He will just go directly from Lucy’s house. I am trying to be sanguine about this, and I am really, even though I shall miss him, because if he does go then we will have cash for Christmas and even have some time to go to the carol service in Ripon Cathedral, which I would like very much, so all is not lost.
All the same, it will be another two weeks of not having him at home, which always makes life a bit drearier.
When I had finished scowling at the computer I could turn my attention to my continuing Advent Calendar project. This is keeping me very busy, because I am having to squeeze in the painting between writing my story and doing housework. I am having a contentedly happy time doing it, and have got paint all over my desk and my trousers, you can tell it is nearly Christmas.
I suppose the nice thing about having a completely empty nest again is that I will be able to get on with it properly, without sheets to be changed or anybody else’s dinner to worry about. There will only be my dinner, and I only eat sushi and smoked trout and sliced melon, so it will not be difficult. Really I ought to be thinner than I am, it is quite disappointing to notice that I still look like a Family Size Christmas Turkey when I take my clothes off.
Perhaps I had better go easy on the melon.
