Mark is in charge of making the pasta this evening, whilst I write to you.
It seems to have become impossibly late. I am not at all in favour of this messing about with the clock. My Inner Temporal Self has been completely confused by it. It is now night when it ought to be day, and I am still chasing up the customers whose bank facilities would not work last night due to some arcane British Summertime reason.
I have spent a very great deal of the day messing about trying to write a speech for the council meeting tomorrow, it is yet another event to discuss the possibility of increasing taxi fares. We will not talk about them here because it is making me feel gloomy. Grateful thanks must go to those of you who signed the online petition. I am very, very appreciative, there is another one which has been passed around the drivers, so between them there are well over a hundred signatures for the council to ignore.
I am not feeling wildly optimistic about the whole thing.
We will see what happens, by this time tomorrow we will know..
In other news, you will not be surprised to hear that none of my offspring sent me any Mothers’ Day sausages. Number Two Daughter telephoned to tell me how much she appreciated my motherly efforts over the last thirty five years. Lucy rang to ask for the recipe for mayonnaise. Number One Daughter sent me a text telling me that she had forgotten, a position about which I had considerable fellow-feeling, and Oliver came downstairs to seek out my maternal support in calculating the value of x.
Mark went off to the farm to start the tractor and haul a fallen damson tree up the field. He brought me some daffodils, and so I am feeling entirely happy and appreciated. I was feeling that anyway, but the daffodils were nice.
Oliver went off to work when he had finished groaning over his sums. I am very glad I am grown up. I looked at his entire maths paper and felt nothing other than complete bemusement.
I went to work as well, since the sun was shining. It seemed a sensible idea to extract any cash that might be floating about in Bowness, although it turned out that there was not very much. I did not mind this because of the cup of tea and current book and the happy view of the steamers chugging across the lake in the sunshine.
The evening on the taxi rank was relatively uneventful. Mark and I carried a couple who were having such a shocking row that they got in separate taxis to go home. Mark was misfortunate enough to get the female half, who went on and on and on about it all the way back. I got the bloke. He talked about the weather and did not mention that his wife was sulking and telling a complete stranger all about his failings in the taxi in front.
I was disappointed about this. It had sounded like an interesting row.
I had a brief encounter with a gentleman who threw himself on the bonnet of my car and rolled around clutching the windscreen wipers. He was pretending that I had run him over, which was unconvincing since I had stopped at the time, and he got off again fairly quickly when he realised that I was beginning to consider driving off and actually running him over.
I would have liked to have done that, perhaps I have a murderous nature, but really I am not keen on people flinging themselves on the car bonnet and bashing on my windscreen. It would have been satisfying if I could have been revenged in some small way, but alas, some things are not to be.
I am going to go, because of having some university course work to do before tomorrow, and still only half a speech.
At least it doesn’t involve having to understand the value of x.
