Goodness me, it is quiet on the taxi rank tonight.
The sun has beamed on us today, pale gold autumn, but it is cool, and the air is carrying the dark scents of fallen leaves. Mark has been doing things in the garden, fitting together great joists of timber to create a roof for his shed, and I have been cleaning.
I did not want to be cleaning.
I can tell you right here and now that I think it is a waste of my life. It is just about as dull as anything is possible to be.
The thing is that I do like the house when it is fresh, and clean, and smells of beeswax and lavender, and hate it when it is dull with dust, and smells of muddy dogs.
Mark offered to help, but I thought that I would probably like to see things happening in the garden nearly as much as I wanted somebody else to scrub the bathroom. He has promised that the conservatory will be up by Christmas, and although I don’t believe him in the least, it would be good to give it a fighting chance.
He started off with his exploratory work to find out where the drains are. He is going to put a loo in his shed, as I think I have mentioned, and so we need to know where the main sewer pipes are to be found.
He made a massive hole at the side of the back door. Actually it is the second massive hole. He has already made one on the other side for the same purpose.
He found the pipes, which were not at all where he would have liked them to be, but decided in the end that they would suit his purposes just as well.
He did not refill the hole. There is now a narrow path leading up to the back door with a large hole on either side of it. Fortunately we are not the sort of people who go out and get drunk.
I scrubbed black mould off the shower curtains and tidied up the bathroom. I did not know what to do with Number Two Daughter’s tooth mug, which is a pretty cup but is used as a tooth mug because it has a broken handle. We do not need it any more now that she is gone, and I wondered if I should throw it away. This was a very odd feeling. If ever she does come back I don’t suppose that she is likely to wonder what has happened to her tooth mug.
I put it back in the cupboard anyway. Perhaps it will come in handy for something.
Then inspired by recollections of Number Two Daughter, I took the hoover up to the loft, and filled it.
I emptied it in the dustbin, and started again.
It is some time since Number Two Daughter has hoovered.
Actually, I suspect that she might never have hoovered. I think the last time that the loft had its dust sucked out was when Mrs. Number Two Daughter was there. Number Two Daughter is not a natural housewife.
Should you ever read this in Australia, Mrs. Number Two Daughter, let me advise you to make sure you are earning enough to employ a cleaner between you. Otherwise you will be wasting a lot of your life wiping fluff off things, probably whilst Number Two Daughter is sliding down mountains. Really it is just too short.
I took the photograph as the sun was setting this evening. We were in the Library Gardens emptying the dogs. The trees that are already yellow are the burnt sugar trees. There were diggers in the beck this morning, clearing out the silt so that we will not be flooded this winter.
It is coming quickly now.
