Well, my evening has just cheered up.
I have just sat down at the computer to write this and discovered an email for Mark. He never reads his emails. I read them and tell him if there is anything urgent that he needs to know, so if ever you want to send him anything thrillingly secret don’t do it by email because it is almost certain that he will not read it, and equally certain that I will.
I know that you are not supposed to read other people’s emails, but all emails should be read by somebody, and if I don’t read them then that will definitely not happen to Mark’s, and some of them are quite important, like the one that was there tonight.
Tonight’s email said: The date of mobilisation has changed. It will not be Wednesday, but Friday. Don’t worry because you are on full pay until then.
I was very pleased indeed about this because of course we have tried to cram far too much into this home visit, and as always we have run out of time before it is over. Hence I was pleased to realise that this new development means not only that he will be able to go to the farm and haul some firewood back for me, but also that we will be able to go out and have a celebratory last night dinner, this one on Wednesday. We had planned to do this tonight, but first Oliver got a last minute call to go out to work, and then we accidentally spent all the money, so in the end we unearthed some emergency Shepherd’s Pie out of the freezer and we are going to loaf about in front of a film.
We did think we might go to work, because that is where I am supposed to be. It is my turn as half of the rest of the taxi drivers are also not going to bother, but I have left Czaba in sole charge and made a rubbish excuse.
Czaba was not pleased, but it is his own fault for being hopeless at saying No, and hence prey to anybody more ruthless, ie, me.
I do not care. We will work tomorrow which will be especially splendid as Mark is already being paid by somebody else, hurrah.
We have spent our money on magenta and green paint. Regular readers will not be surprised to learn this. It was so expensive that I thought I had heard the lady wrongly when she first told us how much it was going to be. It is an extra-special woodwork paint for extra-special ancient woodwork, you have to paint it on three different times, so it is a good job we have got somebody coming to do it because it sounds like an awful lot of faffing about.
It had jolly well better be extra-special, for the price.
It has made the day suddenly feel marvellously stress-free. We have been dashing about all day, with a brief interlude in the middle when Number One Daughter and her little family dropped in for coffee, which was ace. They were on their way back to the south after a weekend up here, because Number One Daughter has been doing cross-fit things, and called in. They had to call back again after they said their farewells and set off on the long drive south, because they forgot the dog. I think he had been hiding. Rosie is in season, as you know, and I suspect he had been hoping that Roger Poopy would leave her alone for long enough for him to try his own paw at courtship, but alas, his hopes were dashed.
Roger Poopy is being a besotted pest. I was woken up this morning from an awful dream about the dogs being chased by a herd of cows, only to discover that they were playing merry little courtship games up and down the stairs. I bellowed at them, but they can jolly well sleep in the conservatory tonight.
They kept trying to consummate their passion all the way over the fells this morning, despite my yelling and threats.
I will not be sorry when it is over.
Young love is an irritating experience.
