Firstly, apologies for the absence of diary last night.
I wrote it all, and then completely forgot all about uploading it to the mighty Internet. I woke up with a horrified start of recollection at half past eight this morning and staggered out of bed to my computer, but of course by then it was too late for anybody who happened to be an early riser.
I am sorry. I had a cheerful journey back from the last taxi job with Billy Joel’s Greatest Hits on full volume, singing along also at full volume, and when I got home Oliver was busily organising himself ready for his departure. We convened in the kitchen whilst I washed up and he told me about the homework he had been doing.
I had just finished when something horrible happened.
It was so horrible that I shrieked with the shock.
A slug crawled out of the sink and on to the draining board, leaving a disgusting trail of thick yellow slime dribbling behind it.
Obviously Oliver was concerned. He jumped up, imagining I had discovered a murdered baby or something similar in the dishwater, and was disconcertingly entertained to find out what had actually happened.
He rescued me, because as has been discussed in a previous entry, he is a proper bloke now and I am merely a girl, the sort of girl who screams at unexpected slugs at that. He wrapped it up in a tissue and took it off to the compost heap.
I had just resumed washing up when a second one appeared.
I did not mean to screech again. It just slipped out by accident, and I had to be rescued for a second time.
I was jolly glad that he was there.
There was another revolting trail of gungy slime to be mopped up, and this time Oliver helpfully peered into the sink to see if any more were lurking anywhere, which fortunately there weren’t. We could not work out where they had come from, and thought that up the plug hole was the most likely place of entry. I will have to check carefully tonight. I hope it is all right. I am on my own and I will have to rescue myself if anything wild and sticky is hiding there.
You will not be surprised that after such a traumatic event, all matters literary went out of my head, and I forgot all about putting my diary online.
Oliver has gone now. He had an online class this morning, and then set off not long afterwards. I do not think he is looking after children in his online classes, because I think that would be quite difficult to manage on a computer, unless you had arranged it so that your face was appearing on the screen of a Nintendo halfway through Minecraft. He is learning about Food and Nutrition. I hope he remembers some of it. It would be very nice if he could cook splendid dinners when he comes home for Christmas.
He has arrived in Bath. He says that it is hot there. I am envious of this because it still is not hot here, and I would be surprised if the temperature even reached the forecast sixteen degrees. Certainly there was a very cold wind, and some thick cloud, when I took the dogs out this morning. It has cleared away now, and although it is still not warm, at least I got my washing dry.
This was an important feature of today, because I was spring cleaning in the bedroom whilst the sheets were safely out of the way on the washing line. I was helped out by the dogs, who were very interested. They became disgruntled after a while, because I kept moving the furniture and obliging them to get up from wherever they were snoozing, and eventually decamped to the landing, where they watched the painters through the front door, and barked at intervals, to make sure I didn’t fall asleep or anything.
The bit of wall under the window is behind our bedding box and had become horribly mouldy. I scrubbed it all, and then I scrubbed it again. I shoved the bed about and hoovered everything I could reach, which was not quite all of it. I had an unsuccessful go at levering the bed upwards so I could reach the last bit, but I couldn’t, so I left it, which I didn’t mind since I can’t see it.
After that I polished everything. I have mixed some lavender oil in with the beeswax polish, and it smells divine. I rubbed and rubbed until I felt like a Victorian maidservant hoping to persuade the housekeeper that she deserved a day off to see her Young Man.
It is looking very splendid now. There are no more horrid black mouldy spores drifting across the windowsill, and the wardrobe and drawers are gleaming.
It is a jolly long job, this spring cleaning. I am starting to think that I will be very glad when it is over.
Back in the kitchen tomorrow.
