I have become weary.
Indeed, I think perhaps I might be under the weather.
Obviously this is a figure of speech, as the weather in the Lake District is no worse than it normally is, that is to say, mostly cloudy with occasional surprise downpours, usually just after the washing has been pegged out.
I mean that I have been feeling somewhat dispirited. Partly this is because I am That Certain Age, partly it is because the summer is over, and mostly it is because of the overdraft.
My goodness, parting company with your children is expensive.
I took Lucy into town today to purchase some more of the things that she needs in order to live in a little house by herself. My parents had kindly contributed a microwave and toaster, which needed collection from Curry’s. After that we bought cutlery and storage canisters and a rubbish bin and dozens more insignificant but nevertheless useful culinary items.
I am not sure that they will turn out to be strictly necessary anyway. She has mentioned that the most exciting item of the lot is the toaster, as it will enable her to eat hot food.
I put some Pot Noodles in the basket after that, just to be on the safe side.
I have attached a picture of the ever-growing pile of Lucy’s Things next to the back door. It has become so large that I can no longer get in behind it to retrieve the ironing board.We have not yet purchased an iron and an ironing board for Lucy, so I will have to keep my eye on it when she is packing her car.
After we had unpacked the shopping I got our things ready for work, and Lucy cooked the sausages. She was very pleased about this, considering it to be an activity truly belonging to the realms of grown-uphood. It is the tiresome thing about having children. The second they grow up enough to be able to do something useful, they buzz off and go and live somewhere else.
I am at work now, and beginning to feel a bit more cheerful. I have just had a superlatively horrible encounter with a woman who yelled a very great deal of abuse and refused to pay. Obviously I rang the police, who initially made the sort of police noises that mean: “buzz off, we’re busy,” and told me that the fare wasn’t enough for them to bother chasing.
I persisted, because the abuse had been particularly heartfelt and offensive, and reminded them that their chief constable had defined abusive behaviour as being things you would not want said to your children. He did not mean things like ‘there is no Father Christmas’, but remarks which imply that the customer somehow has inside information about your sexual preferences, parentage or other personal anxieties.
Not that I have any personal anxieties.
In the end the policeman reluctantly agreed that they would come and take a statement next week, but then unexpectedly they rang me back half an hour later to say that they would take a statement by the end of the night.
I did some investigations of my own after that. I discovered that this is not the first time that they have been called out to persuade this particular lady not to be rude and offensive. Indeed, it is not even the first time this week.
This is jolly good because it means they are actually likely to defend my much-battered right to get on with my job in peace and quiet. I would like that. I once had a taxi with a glass screen between me and the customers, which was ace, because it meant I could not hear a word they were saying.
Somehow it has cheered me up no end.
It is good to feel that there might be justice in this world.
