It has been a Day.
I am writing the first few paragraphs of this even before we go to work. Mark and Number One Son-In-Law are downstairs fiddling about with dismantled kitchens and insufficient van space, and I have sloped off out of the way. We are going to go to bed for an hour shortly, because I am falling asleep even as I write, and really this is not a good idea on the taxi rank.
In fact I did fall asleep on the taxi rank last night. There were Halloween discos on all over the place. Nobody was going to head off home until the very last bat had screeched, and I nodded off whilst waiting outside Costa Coffee. I was woken up by somebody dressed as an animate corpse trying to get in the taxi, which was a mildly startling experience. I denied fervently that I had been asleep, asserting that I had just been listening to the radio, but since everybody could hear that it was the Shipping Forecast I was not convincing.
I had had a runner in the early part of the evening. Two young men, clearly under the influence of some noxious rat-wee substance, got in and told me to take them to an address in Windermere. After a while and some hushed debate they changed their minds and said that they wanted to go to the corner shop instead, which was where we stopped.
At that point they both jumped out of the back and ran off. I followed one of them for a short while, but he headed across the football field, which did not seem like a good idea for a taxi.
I abandoned him and instead drove round to the address that they had given me in the first place, where the other young man’s disgruntled parents forked out the fare.
I do not wish to encourage misbehaviour, but here is a Top Tip. If you are going to run away from a taxi do not give the driver your address.
Today was made remarkable by the arrival of Number One Son-In-Law and Ritalin Boy. The latter dived upstairs to join Oliver in his quest through the cyber-universe, and I have been hearing small chirpy noises coming from the bedroom all day.
After a while Ritalin Boy’s Other Grandma arrived as well, having been press-ganged into donating her garage as storage space for homeless kitchen units, and very kindly helping to transport them in her car.
I like Ritalin Boy’s Other Grandma very much. She had generously brought us a bottle of wine but of course we could not drink it, much as I would have liked to. Instead we sat and drank tea companionably whilst Mark and Number One Son-In-Law slowly emptied the living room of kitchen units and packed the van.
Since the van already has a double bed in it it has been a bit of a squeeze. It occupied most of the afternoon and took a couple of journeys, and there is still loads left. They are going to come back again tomorrow.
Since writing those words we have had a small and inadequate sleep and come out to work.
The evening started with a shocking sort of incident and we have needed tea to get over it.
We were passing the little public gardens close to the bottom of the hill when we saw a middle aged lady standing over a crumpled heap at the side of the road.
Obviously we both stopped.
It was a deer. It had been hit by a car and it was not dead.
It was almost dead. Its neck was broken and blood was gushing out of its nose, as if a lung was punctured.
The lady and another man dragged it into the gardens.
The poor thing started to twitch and roll about.
After a short inspection and discussion with the chap, who said he was a butcher, Mark got the heavy wrench out of the back of the taxi and killed it.
This would have been bad enough, but another lady came rushing across and got very cross. She started to shout that he must not do it, that it might get better if only we would take it to a vet.
Vets do not come on the NHS. Even if they did they do not come quickly, and the poor deer was dying in horrible agony.
Mark was very cross indeed. He ignored her completely and we came back to the taxi rank.
He said afterwards that deer feel about us the way we feel about spiders. It was thrashing about, terrified and dying, surrounded by its deadliest enemies. The only kind thing you could possibly do would be to finish it quickly. If you leave a creature alone to die then other creatures come along and might even start eating bits of it before it has completely finished dying.
The butcher put his hand on Mark’s shoulder and said that he had done well, which he had.
It is a dreadful thing to do. I have done it a few times and it is sickening and horrible.
I am so glad that he was brave enough.
Have a picture of some kitchen removals.
