I have been scurrying around getting in a tizz about things until in the end I was late for work.
Really I do not know how people manage to get to work for nine in the morning. I don’t need to be here until six at night and I still can’t manage it. I remember a friend of mine once grumbled about that, the dole office wanted him to turn up to sign on every week, and eventually stopped his dole because he couldn’t get up in time to make it.
I was sympathetic until I discovered that his signing on time was three in the afternoon.
Obviously I was not in bed until three in the afternoon, although it might have been nice. In fact Oliver and I took the dogs out over the fells in the rain, which is the sort of activity that is supposed to make one feel both virtuous and also fortunate, because of course almost nobody gets to see the glorious windswept autumn vistas of the Lake District stretching out to the coast. They are all too busy being at work in offices and hospitals and building sites.
It did not make us feel fortunate, actually it made me hope rather profoundly that our house would sell soon and we would be able to buzz off to warmer climes.
It has not sold yet. The chap who came to look at it at weekend does not want to buy it. I am not surprised by this, anybody whose priority is ease of parking would be sensible to look somewhere that isn’t Windermere.
When we had trudged back home again we arranged our sodden boots to dry out above the stove, and my organisational project of the day was to carry on scowling over arrangements for Lucy’s wedding.
There are a lot of lists involved in a wedding. Guest lists and food lists and job lists and lists of expenses.
I am listing like an exhibition of Pisa architecture.
In between listing and scowling I have telephoned the insurance again. We have reached five hundred quid cheaper than the first quotes, so things are looking good. The chap agreed to knock another forty quid off this morning, but I could practically hear his well-squeezed pips squeaking, and I suspect that no more reductions are to be had there, he groaned so much that I started to I think he might even be funding it out of his own pocket.
In the end I gave up, and Oliver and I went to Asda, because we have run out of everything. We did not go to Booths to purchase ethical shopping because we are on something of an economy drive until Mark gets another job, and much as I like Locally Grown Fairly Traded Nutritional Organically Sound washing up liquid with curly writing on the environmental packaging, Asda is cheaper.
We went to Asda and filled the trolley with useful things, all of which could cheerfully have been described as Suitable For The Economical Budget. It took ages because of hovering around next to everything trying to work out which option was cheapest, twenty four rolls with two hundred sheets for nine pounds or twenty rolls with two hundred and forty sheets for a tenner, two boxes of six eggs for two pounds twenty eight or a a single box of a dozen eggs for four pounds thirty four, and other such brain-stretching calculations that are the lot of the Impoverished Housewife.
We did work it all out in the end, you do not need to tell us in the comments, in any case it would be too late now since we have bought some.
Oliver said gloomily that he might have more fun on active service in Ukraine.
I had to call in at Booths on the way home anyway because I had forgotten carrots.
By the time I had finished unpacking I was late for work.
Ah well.
