Mark has gone away again.
Obviously I am sad about this, whilst also being colossally relieved that once again we are going to be earning some cash.
I know that we have got a full-time occupation driving taxis, but that no longer produces any cash to speak of. The tourist industry in the Lake District has collapsed so thoroughly that there is almost no point in bothering at the moment. I did the sums the other day, and no matter how optimistically I try and count up, it appears that we are earning a very best average of £2.50 per hour. Indeed, there have been a lot of days when we have not managed to earn that between us.
That is not profit. That is the gross bit that has yet to slip through the net.
I am impressed with our current set of beloved leaders. Even foot and mouth disease did not bring us this low.
Fortunately it does not cost me anything to sit on the taxi rank, so I might as well be here as anywhere else. If somebody does want to go to Manchester Airport then at least I will be in with a chance. Also I quite like it, apart from being broke. It is a comfortable place for drinking tea and reading.
I am not sorry to be drinking tea and reading tonight, because we have had a busy day. We decided that we would not go to the camper van, since it was Mark’s last day, but that we would have another Consolidation Day instead.
Mark swept the chimney. This is to keep me out of the clutches of the fire brigade whilst he is away.
I took the bucket of soot and spread it on the front garden, with special attention to the newly-planted asparagus. Asparagus likes soot, but slugs do not.
I am getting ahead of myself here, because you do not know that I have planted our new plants in the front garden. This has been the way that I have occupied my day, and when Mark had finished faffing about with the chimney he came out as well, and installed the water pump in the pretend well. Water will now leak out of the pump into the trough beneath every time the sun shines, if it works. If it doesn’t then the water will either stay where it is or possibly leak out all over the paving. I will let you know.
It has not started working just yet because of the front garden not being terribly sunny, but I have hope for the summer. The Weather Gods must remember to turn the wind off and fold the clouds up in the drawer sooner or later, although I have not yet done this with my own winter garments. No clout casting here for a while, I think.
Anyway, suitably attired in a thermal vest and a couple of jumpers, I braved the glorious spring weather to plant the new flowers, and the garden is looking much improved. We sloshed about a gallon of nematodes over it last week, the sort that are supposed to eat all of your slugs, so between them and the soot I jolly well hope that all of the horrid slugs start retreating to the holiday house next door. I am not fond of slugs at the best of times, and there was a truly horrible moment last night when we discovered one in the bath, so I think the time has come for decisive action.
I added some slug pellets for good measure, and then on the top of all that lot we added another thick layer of straw mulch.
Here is another handy gardening hint, mulch is really useful. Slugs don’t like it and the soil doesn’t dry out, not that this is ever a problem in the Lake District. Also it looks really nice and gives your garden a faintly rural scent, faintly reminiscient of dung, somehow.
I do not know if you like dung. There must be something nice about it. Roger Poopy seems to like it very much.
We were late finishing, and then had to scurry about trying to organise everything else before Mark went off to Aberdeen and I went to work. We had a last dog-emptying together around the Library Gardens, where lots of teenagers were dashing about playing what looked to be a cross between Tig and All-In-Wrestling. It looked like splendid fun, although I was not sorry to be grown up, imagine running about just because you like doing it.
Mark went then, and I came out to work.
He will only be gone for a week.
It will pass quickly.
