We did not get up early, in the post-bank-holiday excitement, but when we did, Mark went off to work.
Today he is not driving a taxi. He is installing rural broadband.
I do not understand the first thing about rural broadband, and so I am still driving a taxi. I am on the taxi rank now, because it is evening, and Mark is still installing rural broadband even as I write. Actually I don’t think he is installing it. I think he is fixing some internet that is not working as it should be, probably because somebody has switched it off, which is the usual problem.
I did not in the least mind him going out. Actually it was something of a relief. I could get on with all sorts of useful things without having to worry about what he was up to. It is not that he is any trouble, but his activities have a tendency to be untidy, or noisy, or surprising, or all three.
There are all sorts of things that I want to do whilst he is otherwise engaged, but I did not really have time today. Today was entirely occupied with putting our world back together after all of the busy flapping about of the weekend.
I went to the bank where I emptied the weekend’s takings into the voracious maw of our growling overdraft. Then I pacified all of our creditors, or at any rate the ones I thought would make the most fuss, by which time the takings bucket was empty again.
I do wish we were millionaires.
There are so many things I have got to do with all of our money, it would be very useful if there was more of it, maybe if I had paid more attention at school.
Once I had done all of the things that I could afford I went to Sainsbury’s. I could not afford that either, but sometimes you just have to be reckless.
I bought some wine. This was all right since I was flat broke already and therefore had nothing to lose.
Back at home I tidied up our clutter and cooked.
As usual we had eaten everything.
The children are home, and they had eaten sausages and pot noodles and crisps, and Mark and I have been working, and we had eaten sandwiches and cheese and home made raspberry chocolate.
The carrots had become slimy with unwantedness, so I put them on the compost heap.
I refilled some of the empty spaces in the fridge with biscuits and mayonnaise, and I made a curry with some yoghurt that nobody much liked and a mango that had gone soft.
How thrilling these pages can be at times.
Eating is important, though, we ought to try a bit harder. Another taxi driver died this week, another heart attack, which is what we all die of. He was not very old. We are going to go to his funeral on Thursday and I am going to save up for another month’s gym membership.
LATER NOTE:
I stopped writing there, because it was almost ten o’clock. Mark had arrived home, and I had a fare taking me almost to the door, and so I stopped work so that I might go home, and we could have a holiday family dinner together.
You will remember that I had prepared a curry.
We all sat down to eat around the table. We do not do this very often, and we sighed happily and wondered why we did not.
Two hours later it was uncomfortably apparent why we did not. Oliver was asleep with his head on the table, and the rest of us had drunk too much and were laughing uncontrollably at humour which was entirely unsuitable in a family context.
We are now retiring to bed.
Have a picture of the Lake District. I took it whilst I was at work tonight.
