I don’t suppose I need to tell you that it is windy. If you are in the UK I expect you will have noticed already.
It made my walk this morning an interesting adventure. To say that it was bracing would be doing an injustice to braces.
I had thought that it was a bit draughty in Windermere until I got out on to the tops of the fells. Then I realised that Windermere has a mere whispering breeze in comparison. On the top of the fell I was fighting to stand up, a fight which Jane, who is a fellow dog walker, and one of the very few sufficiently determined to brave such a morning, appeared to be losing.
It really was almost impossible not to be blown off my feet, and I staggered and leaned into the wind as hard as I could. Still it took ages, much longer than usual, my arms whirling and my feet sliding perilously in the mud as I fought to keep the rest of me out of it.
By the time I got down my face was tingling and my fingers were numb despite the sheepskin mittens.
Even down here in Windermere the windmill is whizzing round nicely, and the water is hot, although there are dustbins charging about all over the alley, and anything in the yard which was not thoroughly anchored down has flown away. I am pleased to see that the plastic sheet over the firewood, weighted down with bricks and an old taxi wheel that Mark is presumably saving for something, has stayed where I left it.
Coming into the stillness of the house made me feel as though I had gone unexpectedly deaf, and I contemplated my next activities.
Nothing out-of-doors seemed very appealing.
I spent a tedious hour arguing with the mobile telephone company, who, incidentally, are extortionate blackmailers and I will never deal with One Com ever again, and strongly advise that you don’t either, the sooner our contract is finished the better, but at least it was indoors and I could stand up if I wanted to. Not that I did want to, sitting with my feet up on the desk was definitely a nicer option.
Once we had concluded our discussion I had the rest of the afternoon to myself, and I went up to the attic. It is chilly in the attic, because the skylight is ancient and draughty, but I was wearing my furry slippers and thermal vest, so it did not matter.
Obviously I was wearing a lot of other clothes as well as the slippers and vest, just so you know. I might be almost sixty but I am not yet completely mental. Kindly do not fill your thoughts with peculiar and undesirable images.
I had intended to get on with the new curtains which are to hang at the foot of the attic stairs. We do not have a door here any more, mostly because there isn’t really room to open it, and for the last few months I have been planning some thermal-lined curtains to stop the draught from whistling down the stairs.
There was a lot of draught today. Our house is very tall, and the wind was howling around the chimney.
I measured and cut the fabric, and thought that whilst I was measuring and cutting, I might as well cut out some curtains to go across Lucy’s front door as well.
Lucy’s front door was manufactured by somebody who had not quite grasped the concept of a front door filling the entire hole, and you can see daylight all around the edges.
I cut Lucy’s curtains out as well, and then decided with a small pang of guilt that actually her need was greater than ours.
A couple of hours later I had finished Lucy’s curtains, and even ours were cut to size, so it was a productive afternoon.
I will take Lucy’s curtains with me tomorrow. I am going to Manchester and abandoning the dogs at her house. I am not going to work tomorrow night, even though it is Saturday.
I am feeling guilty about this even though it is only January and I won’t be missing very much, but it is for a party, and I would like to go very much indeed.
I will tell you all about it on Sunday.
