I slept for almost ten hours.
I think that sharing a bed with Mark must make me worn out.
This is not because of the sort of exciting late-night adventures that you get in A Game of Thrones and Jilly Cooper. We are getting a bit elderly now for too much of that carry-on. I rather think the actual explanation is that I am sleeping on a sort of downhill slope with Mark at the bottom of it.
I suspect that we need a new mattress.
This is going to have to wait until we have got some money, which we haven’t at the moment, but it is going to have to go into our budgetary contemplations for this year.
There was no slope last night, just a hollow with me in it, and I slept as peacefully as a teenager at lunchtime.
It was blissful.
I was woken up by the dogs standing on their back legs, peering anxiously at me over the edge of the bed, presumably checking to see if I was dead or not.
I had to get up then, because of Clean Sheets Day.
We went over the fells, which was sodden and muddy and blustery, not that I noticed, being preoccupied with upholstery matters. I am not going to get round to any further upholstery for several days now, but that need not stop me from thinking about it, and indeed, I was so deep in contemplation that I barely noticed the weather.
Mark has cut a board to the right size, and it is sitting in the conservatory even as we speak, waiting to be turned into a velvet bedhead with tufted buttons.
I had to ignore it.
Instead I did the usual Monday things, being laundry and the Post Office, and then spent a satisfactory half hour in the back yard, splitting some firewood that Mark had left. It is ages since I have done any log-splitting, because I am a married woman, and I had quite forgotten how pleasing it can be. It hardly took any time at all before I had an impressive looking pile, which I stacked away out of the rain and thought how very virtuous I was being.
After that the day disappeared in a collection of very dull activities. I updated my book keeping, which I have not done for several weeks so it took ages and was profoundly depressing, and dusted, hoovered and put the sheets back on the bed, after which it was time to go to work.
Tomorrow is going to be equally tiresomely occupied. I have got to take my car for an MOT. I have got no idea if it will pass this, since Mark has not actually checked it, so anything could happen..
When Mark gets home we are going to Barrow to stay overnight before my hospital excursion on Wednesday. This is because the hospital seems to think that seven in the morning is a reasonable time to attend an appointment, and we have got no intention of getting up at half past four, so I have packed an overnight bag and we will be staying there.
I can tell you that I have been absolutely overwhelmed by the very loveliness of everybody else about this operation. It is a minor, if thoroughly inconvenient procedure, but everybody has been very kind indeed. Several friends, even including a friend of Lucy’s, have offered to take me and collect me, as well as every single taxi driver. I explained to the other drivers that I would not be working for a couple of nights because of not being supposed to drive, and they all not only offered to take me to the hospital, despite knowing that it would be seven in the morning, but also volunteered to be on call for anything I might need afterwards, once Mark has left and I am macarooned and unable to drive.
Anything you need, said one, kindly. Even if you just run out of single malt. You can call us. We are here.
I have got no intention of running out of single malt, there is a spare bottle under the sideboard, but I was very touched indeed. These, you must remember, are my competitors, whose success would be greatly enhanced by my incapacity and failure.
What a very splendid world it is.
