It has been a shortened day.
It is Sunday.
Sunday comes hot on the heels of a late Saturday night at work, and hence early rising can be left to the rest of the world without my participation.
It was eleven o’clock before I awoke, and probably I wouldn’t have woken up then if it hadn’t been for the dogs, sitting appealingly on the floor next to my bed and gazing at me with the occasional heart-rending whimper.
I do not have the sort of heart that is easily rent by tiresome dogs in the middle of the night, but nevertheless I staggered out of bed and went downstairs to let them out of the back door so that they could have a wee if they had become desperate.
They would not go. Eventually I booted them out, and they stood by the door and barked until I let them back in again.
They had not needed a bathroom visit. They had just thought that they would like my company.
Flattering as this was, I was not exactly thrilled, but since I was up by then I dragged my clothes on and we went off up the fells.
It was jolly cold. There is an icy February wind blustering in from the east, and I was not sorry to come down again.
I had to rush down in a bit of a hurry, because by then I was expecting visitors.
One of my favourite customers, a chap whom I have taken home so often that we have become friends, had been unable to find his wallet in his state of mild intoxication in the middle of the night, and had dashed into the house and paid me with what he described as his Lucky Fifty Pound Note.
In my opinion, all fifty pound notes are lucky, as long as they are in my pocket and not somebody else’s.
This one, however, seemed to have some extra good fortune attached to it, and he wanted it back.
I had rather hoped that some of the good fortune might rub off whilst it was briefly in my keeping, possibly that it might breed with a twenty or something, but it didn’t.
I had only just got back from the walk, and was hastily pegging the washing in the back yard, when he turned up, to exchange the fortunate fifty for some less fortunate, in his opinion, if not in mine, other notes.
He is such good company that I put the kettle on, and we had coffee. He had brought his grown-up son with him, who turned out also to be good company, and we had a very happy hour putting the world to rights, until the parking time at the front ran out and they had to leave. I was sorry about that, I could cheerfully have put my feet up and wasted the entirety of the rest of the day loafing about the conservatory, pleasing myself with my own observations and general self-satisfied cleverness, in the company of people who are too polite to tell me to shut up.
Once they had gone I had no more excuses, and had to get on with my day’s tasks, which were all of the usual dull washing-and-firewood nature, after which I trekked upstairs to continue writing my story.
I have got to try very hard to get this story to work. I am hoping that it can become saleable, because one day we might have to move and if we did, it would not be nearly so easy to earn a living driving taxis.
I love our house very much and do not at all want to leave it, but one day we might have to. If the council persist with their parking ban in the alley we will have nowhere to mend cars unless we demolish Mark’s shed and build a garage.
I do not know if the council will let us do that. We have decided that we are going to argue hard about the horrible white line – I have written them three letters already since Friday, and there will be another one there tomorrow – and then after that we will see if they will let us build a space in the yard for car maintenance.
That would be my very favourite outcome, actually. Poor Mark spends a lot of time lying in puddles in the alley. It might be very handy indeed if we had a roof to go over the top of him.
We are cross about the parking thing, but it might have inspired us to do something to make our lives even better. We would not have bothered without it, and the garage idea sounds like a brilliant one.
We will have to see what the council say. If they will give us permission then we will not need to worry about going somewhere else.
They might even move the white line.
I have been ignoring it so far anyway, but I do not like being so rascally, it is far too daring for an elderly lady like me. Sooner or later, illegal parking will lead to misfortune.
I will have to hope that some of the Fortunate Fifty Pounds has left its luck behind.
