I have made a single button, which went wrong.
I knew the first attempts might be less than perfect and so I was not surprised, although frustrated, because the day had run out, and I did not have sufficient time to have a second go.
Hopefully tomorrow will be a bit better.
There was no time left because so much of the day had been filled up with flapping about trying to organise Mark for his departure.
It was all supposed to slip into place so beautifully. He was going to take me to my hospital appointment on Wednesday and then set off for the oil rig once he had brought me home. He would stay overnight in Aberdeen and fly off the next morning.
Of course the world is never so simple.
The oil industry sent an email this morning telling him that before he could go on any oil rigs he had to go on a course to renew one of his certificates, and also call in to the office to get his face measured. I do not really understand the function of this last, as far as I can see his face hasn’t grown or shrunk this year, but the upshot of it was that they had decided that he must go to Aberdeen on Monday instead of Wednesday, and would not, therefore, be able to take me to the hospital.
I was not very brave about this, although I can tell you I was braver than I felt. I said, reassuringly, that he was not to worry, because I was perfectly capable of driving by myself. Barrow hospital is enormous and nobody would ever notice that I was sloping off to the car park instead of hanging about waiting for somebody gallant to turn up to carry me off, escort me home and then nurture me back to health.
I would not wish to be a bed blocker.
I was resolved to do this, but not, frankly, looking forward to it.
In the end, after half a dozen telephone calls and a lot of faffing about, the oil industry agreed that Mark could go on a course in Newcastle on Monday and Tuesday instead. After that he could come home and take me to the hospital on Wednesday morning. I have got to be there by half past seven in the morning, which is not a thing that is easily possible on the bus. He will pick me up when the doctor has cut some superfluous bits off me, and take me home where I can indulge myself in some self-pity. I will have to do this last by myself because as soon I have been safely dumped back at Ibbetson Towers then Mark will have to set off to travel to Aberdeen, where the oil industry has agreed that he can get his face measured very early on Thursday morning, before leaping on a helicopter and flying off into the sunset.
I can’t have very much self-pity because I will still have to walk the dogs. It won’t be the sort of luxury self-pity that you have in a dressing gown with a cup of tea.
After that I spent ages booking him on to a course and into an hotel, and then dashed off to purchase some groceries.
This did not cost very much because Mark will not be back until April, and this afternoon Oliver went as well.
He worked last night, and then slept all day, only emerging at the end of the afternoon to pack his things and then depart.
He is off to Bath, partly to run in the Bath half marathon on Sunday, but mostly to stay with his girlfriend Emily. Years of boarding school have made him restless for adventures, and really we are far too elderly and boring to be of interest to a modern young man.
He has got work in Bath, and thinks he will be away for a month.
I am going to be all by myself with my self-pity.
This is probably just as well. I am expecting that it will last for at least a week, so I suppose it will be a good thing that only the dogs will be around to notice.
I am not even supposed to go to work.
On a positive note, I will have plenty of spare time.
I will be able to make lots and lots of buttons.
