I am having the most exciting time in the whole world.
It has been a day of non-stop thrilling moments.
It is the sort of day where you know, from beginning to end, starting from the moment you open your eyes, that the Gods are with you in a thoroughly God-like way.
Burning bushes have got nothing on their helpful interventions today
It all started when we woke up. We knew that we had got an awful lot to do, being things like finishing off the flappy packing and getting ourselves over to Hull.
I had promised Mark that the only things left to do at home were the dog-emptying and the loading of the car, after which we had got to deposit the newly acquired MOT paperwork in at the council, and then set off.
I can still hear the Gods sniggering at the recollection.
We thought that we had got enough time for coffee, everything being done, and so we dawdled, luxuriously, before getting up.
Then it started.
Guffy had not been very well.
That is an understatement.
She had been very spectacularly unwell, everywhere. Every chair, every carpet, every corner.
It was even all over our bed.
It was almost not even poo. It was a sodden, watery mess, soaking into everything. Our quilt had to be scrubbed.
We had been sleeping in a bed that had been covered with cat accident. We scrubbed ourselves and our dressing gowns. We shoved the sheets into the washing machine. Then we went round everywhere, mopping and disinfecting and exclaiming in horror.
We told Oliver that she could not come in to the house whilst we are away. He can’t possibly cope with that sort of dreadfulness. I am thoroughly habituated to cleaning up accidents from every kind of creature, from cows to children, but Oliver is not, and it is entirely possible that people will want to come and look at the house to decide whether or not to buy it.
The lingering scent of cat diarrhoea has never been included with vanilla and coffee and baking bread on the estate agent list of marketable aromas.
By the time we had finished we were late.
Nothing daunted, we rushed off to Kendal to leave the taxi paperwork, remembering too late that we had forgotten all sorts of very useful things in our haste.
Once it was gone I settled back into my seat and breathed a delighted sigh of relief.
It was done and we were really on holiday at last.
Five minutes later my computer pinged with an email from the council.
They could not renew my taxi licence, they explained, because Peugeot had issued an urgent product safety recall for my taxi. Apparently it was too unsafe to be driven until it had some vital repair work done, so I could get stuffed, sorry.
It could not be licensed. The repair had to be done by Thursday or I would lose my licence and that would be that, I would be unemployed.
Nobody else is allowed to drive a taxi. I had got to get it fixed myself or it would not happen, and I was on my way to France.
I squealed with horror and started to investigate. Investigation was interspersed with some desperate grovelling and pleading, both with the council and with the Peugeot dealer repair garage.
I could practically hear the Gods chuckling whilst I did it.
We were past Leeds before I had sorted it out.
I will not bore you with the details, but you will be relieved to hear that the garage and the council have both reluctantly accepted a repair next Monday, and all, once again, is well.
We sighed with relief, and made some rude gestures in the direction of the Immortals, who, by now, were probably rubbing their aching sides.
At last we reached the ferry.
We were in very good time.
Put your hazard lights on to drive to the boat, the lady said to us once we checked in.
Mark was surprised about this, but did as he was asked.
We were directed right round the boat, and to a parking space almost next to the exit.
A little man in a helmet came rushing up to us.
He knew our names, and introduced himself as our personal concierge for the journey, and explained that he had come to carry our bags up to our cabin. Our car, he said, was in prime position and would be the first to disembark from the ferry at the other end, and everything would be wonderful, he hoped we would be very happy.
We followed him up to our cabin, and he chattered all the way.
It was, he said, the finest cabin on the boat, right at the front and stocked with everything anybody could wish for. There was a free minibar and some wine, luxurious dressing gowns and a splendid double bed.
By this point I realised that Mark was looking at me very hard and trying not to laugh.
Once our personal concierge had gone he wanted an explanation.
I tried, without success, to explain that all I had done was to book what I thought sounded nice, and he laughed and laughed.
I knew he was still thinking about it several times when we went up to the sky deck for a cocktail, because every now and again a little splutter escaped him.
We had Old Fashioned cocktails, which were divine, and then dinner, and now we are in bed, in our Premium Luxury VIP Stateroom.
I knew it sounded nice when I booked it.
