It has rained.
It did not rain very much. There were a few half-hearted splashes and some rousing thunder announcing the Weather Gods’ return from their holidays, but that was about it.
I was surprised by the thunder. I had thought it would need to be very much warmer than it has been before a thunderstorm would appear, but it would appear not to be so. It must have been a special Chilly Weather thunderstorm.
Obviously my washing was pegged in the yard at the time and had to be rescued with some haste.
I have been cold all day, and even considered restoring my thermal vest, since May is not yet out and it was too soon to have taken it off in the first place, but I have refrained, in the hope that tomorrow sees an improvement.
I have obliged Mark to put the front door back. It has been lying in the garden, as you know, for some time now, and today it had what I very much hope was the last of its undercoats, it seems to have more underwear even than I have in January. It has been sanded and painted and sanded again and painted a bit more, until I expect it is now half of the door that it once was, and might even close properly. It has not closed properly for some time. Or rather, it has not opened properly. It has warped and twisted, so that there is a gap at the side of it but it the bottom scrapes on the doormat with such clinging determination that during the winter months, John the postman has to shove it from outside when there is anything that is too big to fit through the letterbox.
I hope there is never the sort of domestic emergency where we are compelled to make a hurried departure. We would have to climb out of the bedroom window.
The door is still unfinished. It is going to need its actual paint, the magenta and green sort, before very much longer, and I imagine it is going to need a couple of layers of that as well.
I have been contemplating painting some flowers on it just to complete its tasteful ambiance, just to make sure that nobody in our street believes we have any dignified reticence in our style preferences. In fact, I have been thinking with some wistfulness of some fibre-glass statues we spotted on our last trip to Manchester. They are of very tall undressed ladies with bunches of grapes, and could easily be painted to appear lifelike by somebody with a handy box of acrylic paints.
I am still considering the idea, with some interest. They would look lovely next to the magenta and green colour scheme.
It would certainly cheer up Oak Street, which at the present moment is full of unexciting Lakeland slate cottages. Japanese tourists are always wandering along it, taking photographs. I expect they would be very pleased to have something interesting for their albums when they got home.
I have suggested to Mark that he builds an archway over the gate as well. We could hang things on it.
At the moment, however, none of this is more than imagination. We will have to see how our time and money work out.
LATER NOTE: I regret to say that now not only is it two in the morning but also that I am mildly intoxicated.
Number Two Daughter arrived on the taxi rank. We have not seen her for a very long time.
Obviously we gave up driving taxis and went home, after which some glasses of gin seemed like the best idea.
This might not have been entirely correct.
Actually it was, it was brilliant. It was lovely to see her. She has grown up very well indeed, and I am pleased to say that I can hold my head up once again in the Successful Parenting Competition, because she is doing splendidly.
She and Mark talked about boilers for absolutely ages, and she knows all sorts of things. I do not know what they are because of not having a clue what they were talking about, but it was terribly scientific and important. She is jolly clever.
They are going to take us out for dinner on Wednesday.
I am looking forward to it very much indeed.
