Mark has gone.
I am not feeling especially sympathetic about this, despite the fact that he is far from home labouring to bring home sufficient cash to support me in the idleness to which I would like to become accustomed. At this very moment as I write these words, my understanding is that he is sitting in an hotel bar with Number One Son-In-Law, contemplating their fortunes and looking forward to three weeks of cooking done by somebody who is actually interested in it.
In fact we have had a rather splendid last day together. I had my hospital appointment this morning, and Mark drove me to Barrow for the occasion. I never drive anywhere when he is at home. This is not just so that I can be the one who drinks, especially this morning because there was nothing interesting to drink on offer at the hospital. It is because I drive all the time at work and never want to drive anywhere, but misfortunately do not trust anybody else’s driving except Mark’s. Mark used to race Land Rovers and has an optimistic approach to the perils of road use. Most perils can be avoided, he believes, if only one accelerates hard enough.
This morning we got up so early that even the dogs did not quite believe we were serious, and continued skulking about in front of the fire. They are still in love with one another at the moment, and this is too irritatingly noisy to be allowed in the bedroom, so they have been banished to the kitchen until it wears off.
It probably will wear off quite quickly, if my recollections of my own days of youthful enthusiasm are anything to go by.
Anyway, we had got to be in Barrow for nine o’clock, and so we tootled off even before eight so that we would not have to rush, and as it happened the day was cloudless and bright. The trees are just beginning to cover themselves in their emerald springtime veils, and the ground is becoming flushed with their first glorious blue of the bluebells. It was the most beautiful springtime morning, too bright and lovely even to be dismayed by a trip to the hospital, and we sat peacefully in the waiting room until the doctor finally called us through.
He is going to get his sharp scissors and hack a bit off my eyelid. Then he is going to hack a bit off the other eyelid as well, so that they match.
I will not be asleep for this adventure, and so I can’t say I am exactly looking forward to it, but it won’t be for ages anyway. This is NHS Barrow, not Harley Street, so I have got plenty of time in which to contemplate my fate.
We came out into the sunshine and drove slowly home along the coast road. I would have liked to stop and paddle, but there was a chill wind and it was comfortably warm in the car, so we didn’t. Instead we went across to the camper van shed and Mark faffed about putting the new lock on it. Obviously it is going to be important to keep the shed locked now. It would be dreadful if somebody stole the camper van.
I am not very worried about this really. If I was going to steal a camper van probably I would choose Elspeth’s, which starts without needing to press a paint-smeared light switch on the dashboard, and I bet the wiring under her steering wheel has never ever caught fire.
Ours has done this more than once. Mark thinks this might be why the headlights are a bit dim.
After that we were on the last countdown. I cut his hair with the dog clippers, which always makes him look a bit villainous, and he showered and changed into Oil Rig Garments, and it was over.
He has gone, and I had to get ready and go to work.
There is a bank holiday weekend looming horribly large in my future.
There may not be much diary until it is over.
I am going to be busy.
