I have had a long and health-giving walk.
This is a good thing to do for everything, all social media and news outlets say so. It is the solution for practically everything untoward, from climate change to your trousers being too tight.
I was pleased to note that the climate did not change at all during the whole of the walk and I stayed dry throughout, even though I had forgotten to put on a waterproof coat.
I took the dogs with me. Roger Poopy was good company, in that he charged off into the distance, barked at some ducks, and lost his ball almost before we had set off.
We found this on the way back and I put it in my pocket, although he barked a lot in the hope that I might throw it again.
His father was a senile nuisance, as usual, and we had to stop and wait for him several times because every time he smelled some interesting wee he forgot that he was supposed to be having a walk and just ambled off, often in the wrong direction. He can never find us again when he has done this, and I have to bellow at him and jump up and down to attract his attention. Roger Poopy rushes about everywhere looking for him, and when he finds him he growls and jumps on his head. This is satisfying but does not speed things up much.
I had gone on a walk because I wanted to think about some writing I had got to do for my University writing class. Mark did not want to come anyway because his knees are sore, and also because he wanted to mend the squeak on my car. This has become very annoying, not because I give a hoot about a squeak, but because vile, not-funny customers say things like: oh, what a lot of noise this taxi is making. We ought to get a discount for that, hur hur. This makes me loathe them with an uncharitable passion, and I tell them that the suspension only does that when there are very obese people in the back, but it is not true. The problem has been a small incorrect fit on the exhaust.
Today Mark sawed the exhaust off again and put it back on properly so that it will no longer squeak and tiresome humourists can keep their witticisms to themselves.
Whilst he was doing that I walked up to the top of the fell and thought about my story, which is about fairies.
I was thinking so hard that I did not even stand about at the top, gazing out at the lake and feeling virtuous. I was immersed in ideas for non-linear plots and omniscient narrators.
By the way down I was in a true state of Narrative Flow, and practically bounded up the second hill, without even noticing that the dog had failed to climb over the stile, so I had to go back and get him.
Then suddenly it was all spoiled by a telephone call from another taxi driver being upset about the council.
This diverted me from my thoughts in the way that falling overboard from a cruise ship stops you wondering why you didn’t get a seat at the Captain’s table for dinner.
The council are in charge of setting taxi fares and have not changed them for the last seven years. I have written them a lot of very irate letters about this.
The other taxi driver explained that today the council have finally, after two years of ignoring me, agreed that it is time for a fare increase, and they have offered two percent.
This sounds reasonable if you ignore the detail that inflation over the last seven years adds up to about ten percent, and also that we have all been obliged to get card machines which take away five percent and give it to themselves. Also, the other driver observed, in the last seven years the council’s own charges for taxi licence plates have gone up by four hundred percent.
Hence we will all be poorer by, well, a very lot.
We have got ten days in which we must write to them and agree, because there was no option to disagree, otherwise they will assume we have agreed anyway.
I stopped thinking about stories about fairies and went rushing back down the hill with indignation practically squirting out of my ears.
I have spent the rest of the day writing very shirty emails and there will be more to come.
I got my story written in the end, but it was at the last minute and was rubbish. I almost included bits about local council officials encountering terrible perils and suffering diabolical fates, perhaps being eaten by ravaging unicorns, but I couldn’t fit it in.
I will get to that bit later.
Please forgive the shocking pun in the title. I couldn’t resist.
