I have been sent lots of lovely pictures of the children’s holiday in Blackpool.
They look to be having such a splendid time that it is every bit as good as going myself.
Actually, it is a bit better, because I am having a very happy time on my own.
Sunshine is wonderful.
We went off over the fells this morning, and it was perfect, cool enough to be comfortable to walk, but warm enough that I most certainly didn’t need a jersey. The dogs hurtled up and down the fellside for the first half an hour, after which they jumped in the tarn and then decided that it was too hot to behave like lunatics any more, trailing along after me in a panting line over the last fellside and down to slosh around in the beck at the bottom.
It was not really all that hot. There was still dew on the grass, even though it was after ten, and the skylarks were in full voice. I strolled back down contentedly, breathing in the dense, hot scent of the clover and the dog roses, and thinking how wonderful being alive is.
It got a bit less wonderful when I got home, because I had to clean my taxi out. I like having a clean taxi much more than I like cleaning it, but there are some chores that can’t be shirked for ever, and somebody had been eating kebab and chips on the back seat.
The dogs could have stayed in the cool house, but the gate was open and so they all followed me outside, where they flopped down on the baking tarmac in defiance of all of the RSPCA advice. Poppy tried to get in the car, not once but several times, and had to be ejected with a stern explanation about dogs and hot cars, followed by an even sterner explanation about the appropriate place for dogs with muddy paws. This, just so you know, is not on the back seat of a newly scrubbed taxi.
In the end she joined the others to loaf about in the road, where they were slowly barbecued until people wanted to drive past and I had to chase them back into the yard.
Once that was done I remembered about breakfast, and then went upstairs to organise our finances and to purchase some more sticky moth sheets for the loft. I have got fly papers downstairs and moth sheets in the loft, and I feel horribly guilty every time I look at any of them. It is awful to see a poor, struggling fly enmeshed in sticky, and to know that its terrible end is down to me.
The problem is that Guffy has been guffing in the flower beds in the conservatory, and although the worst of the smell seems to have gone now, the flies still like it. They are settling in the dogs’ bowls and the cat’s dish, and rising up in a horrid buzzing swarm whenever I approach.
If only I could explain and get them to go away.
I restored our finances to a civilised state, thinking regretfully that there is going to be a muddle to sort out at the year’s end. We had a payment made to us which should have gone to the business but which went to our personal account, and which, for various impecunious reasons, I had transferred back across in two parts. I will have forgotten all about it by the time the accountant asks me about it next year, and will be reduced to gawping stupidly at the computer with a blankly confused expression whilst I flail about for an explanation. I won’t be able to think of one and so probably will have to fib.
That is what usually happens.
I abandoned the computer, resigned to my fate, and went up to the attic to finish the ironing.
This was very pleasant indeed.
I opened the skylight as wide as it would go and put the story on my telephone whilst I did it. For the interested, I am listening to The Hail Mary Project, on Oliver’s recommendation, and it is absolutely excellent. I know it is a film now, don’t bother about the film. Buy the book. It is gripping.
There was a lovely cool breeze through the window as I smoothed all of our smart London clothes flat and scented them with cologne, and I felt very contented with the world.
When I had finished I did the most thrilling thing.
I cut out the first of the curtains for the camper van.
This was so exciting I could hardly hold my hand steady.
I didn’t have time to do very much, but I have made a start.
With any luck I will be able to carry on tomorrow.
Have a picture of some children.
