It is our wedding anniversary, and I have spent it wishing that my husband was at home.
This was not exactly because of a sudden burst of romantic passion, brought about by the seasonal anniversary reminders of daffodils and empty wallets, although of course it is always nice to have him around.
His absence has actually been rendered marginally less distressing by the recollection that I could always put an extra blanket on the bed. I have done this, and between the extra blanket on the top and the electric blanket underneath, I am managing to have very contented single-person night times.
The thing is that being single is hard work. My yearning to have my husband at home was first brought on this morning, when the first job of the day was to change the headlamp bulb in my taxi.
This is the most rubbish of rubbish jobs.
I hunted a spare bulb out last night, after work, with a torch, and left it on the end of the work top so that I would not forget to do it when I got up this morning.
I didn’t forget it. It practically haunted my nightmares for the entire night.
I did it on my way out to the fells, although on reflection, the dogs milling around my feet and occasionally barking at passers-by did not help very much, and perhaps I should have done it later.
The headlamp bulb is held in place by a stupid little wire clip which is firstly impossible to remove and then impossible to replace. I struggled and swore and watched the You Tube video of the chap doing it really easily in less than three seconds, then I watched it again and re-wound that bit a couple of times, but his secret was not revealed, and I had to return to tugging on it with a pair of long-nosed pliers.
I did it in the end, of course. My fingers are still sore even now. I put the pliers back in the shed and thought I would check the oil before we set off.
The oil was almost completely empty. My taxi slurps through oil like a lapsed AA member with a whisky bottle.
I thought I would fill it up, but couldn’t get the lid off the oil pipe.
More struggling and swearing followed, when fortunately the snarling and growling of the dogs, who were helpfully protecting me from being murdered whilst my attention was distracted, alerted me to the presence of a passer-by.
I accosted him even before he could say Call Your Dogs Off, and bellowed at the dogs until they subsided. Then I put on my best helpless-old-lady look and asked him if he would kindly twist the lid off the oil pipe with his strong youthful masculine fingers, which he did, eyeing the dogs with some caution and then belting off rather hurriedly.
I hoofed the dogs into the boot then, in order to refill the oil without further interruption, and we set off.
When we got back I spent a couple of hours sawing up firewood. I have sawn it all up now, except some bits that are going to need the chainsaw. I considered those, but decided against wasting twenty minutes of my life failing to start the chainsaw, and swept the yard instead.
Eventually I could turn my attention to the thing I really wanted to do, which was the upholstery.
I have reached the key Difficult Moment, which is measuring up in order to join the two pieces of fabric with something called a Van Dyke Seam.
You have got to measure the distance between the button holes and then add a couple of inches on each side of them and then draw a zig-zag line so that the seam will be hidden by the folds of fabric and will never be seen again.
This involves a level of three-dimensional reasoning which is equivalent to the last questions in the sort of IQ test that they give you at school when they are trying to work out who are the real idiots.
I was probably one of the real idiots. I do not have this accessory to my thought processes at all. If brains were cars, mine does not have electric windows and the sort of Smart Driver’s Seat that knows where you want to sit, and slithers obsequiously into place when you get in.
There are some elements of reasoning that definitely only come with the Deluxe Models of brains.
Fortunately Mark has a Deluxe Model of brain, and as it happened, he rang up just as I was gnashing my teeth and chewing up the chalk.
He explained, slowly and carefully, how I might make a pattern, and I almost understood.
When he went away I got a roll of wallpaper out and after a great deal of scowling and sticking my tongue out, not to mention making myself late for work, I had made a pattern, which you can see in the picture.
I have not dared to cut it yet. That will be tomorrow’s job.
Oh, and it was Clean Sheets Day as well, how quickly they come around.
I was not sorry to come to work.
How complicated life is when one’s husband is not here.
