Well, the holiday is over for the moment, and once again we are on the taxi rank, although we might as well still be on holiday for all the customers we have had.
We do not mind this very much because it is Boxing Day, and all customers are paying double fares in a taxi, albeit with grumpy reluctance in some cases. This is helping my enthusiasm along no end.
We are going to stick it out because there will not be any broadband to be installed this week, and so we are busy amassing sufficient taxi cash to pay the mortgage. Usually we are so busy between Christmas and New Year that this does not present any difficulty whatsoever, but of course this year everybody still thinks they might become diseased if they do anything nice, and I think they are all hiding under their beds.
It has been a very nice Boxing Day anyway. After I had written to you last night Mark and Oliver thought that it might be nice to stay up even later, since we were on holiday, and so we watched a film about James Bond. I like James Bond, although I thought he was better in the olden days when all he did was take ladies to bed and kill villains. I do not think that he has been improved by his foray into childcare. Also he is not 007 any more. A black lady is that. Sometimes it is sad to become modern.
007 used to be the number of Mark’s taxi plate. This was an entire accident, not design, but it was quite pleasing anyway.
It was an entertaining film despite having moved into the new age, although we all agreed that the end was rubbish. I know that I am not allowed to tell you what happens because this would be a spoiler, but I think I can safely tell you that it was rubbish and also that you have got to watch until the very end of the credits. We do not usually bother to do this but they were rolling in the background whilst we complained about the more rubbish bits of the film, and then we all said, Ha I Told You So.
We did go to bed after that, which meant that we did not wake up until almost eleven. This did not matter because of being at work tonight, although of course it made the daytime, being the actual bit when you can see where you are going, short.
Once we did crawl out of bed, which was not until considerably later even than that, we took the dogs for a walk up the fell.
We all did this, even Oliver. Roger Poopy was obliged to leave his squeaky ball behind, which he did with many a backward glance and reproachful stare, but of course once we got past the garden gate he forgot all about it, and belted around barking quite happily.
Mark had thoughtfully put some Christmas present dog treats in his pocket, which helped.
They have become passionately enthusiastic about these. I do not know what is in them, because they like them even more than things like ham or chicken bones or cheese, which are their usual favourites. Certainly it is very much nicer than dog food, which I imagine is probably a mixture of sawdust and offal. Roger Poopy’s father has spent much of the day standing hopefully beside the dresser, staring longingly in the direction of the packet.
It was good to be out together, and a few patches of muddy snow still lingered on the fell, despite the persistent rain. There were quite a few other people walking as well, which was vaguely disorientating, because I don’t usually see anybody when I walk up the fell, apart from a couple of other middle-aged oddballs and their dogs.
Today had obviously been set aside as a time for enforcing Healthgiving Family Activities. Lots of little groups were being led up the path, usually by a determined young woman with a headband, the sort you avoid at supermarket checkouts, or indeed any location where she might talk to you.
I expect they were the scriptwriters for the James Bond film.
We had not been back very long when Oliver recollected that he was supposed to be starting work early, and disappeared, leaving Mark to go and fix things in his shed, and me to get the taxi picnic ready.
Before we knew it we were here again, and the holiday was over.
Not to worry.
London next week.
