I am pleased to tell you that I am no longer a pedestrian.
I am less pleased to tell you that my car is not sorted out.
The engine light has come on and it is terribly slow on hills. It is not working at all well.
I am anxious for the Bank Holiday.
Still, there is nothing I can do about it now, and so I will just have to keep my fingers crossed. Please keep yours crossed as well, it would be dreadful to have to report on Sunday that I am a pedestrian again, and worse if the taxi was sitting in some immovable smoking heap out at Langdale or somewhere, and I had just spent six hours walking home.
I have only just got home from the garage. I am writing to you now, in the last hasty half an hour before going to work, because I suspect it is going to be a busy evening. It is Bank Holiday weekend and the sun is shining. There are people absolutely all over the place, leaping off pavements and backing out to hang around in the middle of the road in order to get the perfect angle for their photograph of the Co-op.
You need not laugh. I can promise you they do exactly that
I am approaching the weekend with terrible trepidation.
I suppose at least driving a taxi is going to be better than being a pedestrian, even if it is a clapped-out taxi. I am hoping very much that it turns out to be some minor nuisance that will be an inconvenience but not a terrible disaster, but I do not know.
It will also be better than spring cleaning. I have had enough spring cleaning for the time being. I cleaned the oven today, and by the time I had finished the skin on the ends of my fingers had finally worn so thin that they were bleeding, so I am going to desist for a day or two. I am not that keen to have a clean house.
One of them is my typing finger. I started to write to you and had to dash downstairs to find a plaster before I had even got to the end of the first paragraph. Typing with a flayed finger is not nice.
Still, I am pleased to report that it has been a good day, if long. I woke up this morning at half past six, having had an early night. I faffed around for a while, doing laundry and sweeping up, but we had walked over the fells and were back in the kitchen by nine o’clock, with the day stretching cheerily ahead of us. Better still, I was hanging the washing in the yard when I heard the first swifts.
They are early this year, and I had to stop and listen just to make sure, but it was unmistakeable, and their wonderful piping calls have brought the summertime with them. I was very pleased. They are always such a joy to hear. We have survived another winter, and all is well.
A very helpful taxi driver drove me into Kendal for my car, which left me feeling very touched, but it wasn’t ready, so I trotted off for a look around the shops. I almost bought some new towels, but didn’t, because there weren’t any pleasing colours, only grey or mustard colour, both of which made me think that bathroom fashions must be having a low point.
I went back to the garage, but the car still wasn’t ready, so I trotted off in the other direction to Marks and Spencer, which turned out to be expensive because of smoked trout, and by the time my car was finished I had walked for miles and was feeling dusty and wearied, so I was very glad when it was ready and I could drive home.
There is no feeling as wonderful as being a car owner, I think.
LATER NOTE: I have spoken to Mark who said that the engine has some little problems and is putting itself into Limp Home mode. Modern cars do this. It is a special invention to increase garage bills. Mark thinks it is a problem with the exhaust sensor. Hence I am not worried any more, and am busily getting on with the Bank Holiday.
I am on the taxi rank even as I write.
Have a lovely Bank Holiday. I will try and write again on Sunday but if it is very busy I might not get around to it.
Please try and contain your disappointment.
