We are in the camper van, and I am not in the least grumpy today.
Partly this is because when Mark came home from work last night, he looked at me and said that I looked dreadful. Then he insisted that I went to bed, so I did.
I did not have any dinner, or pass Go and collect two hundred pounds, although it would have been handy. I did not even need to lull myself off with a book. I am still trying to read Lincoln In The Bardo, which we were supposed to read in our first term of our course. I have found it so dull that so far I have got about thirty pages into it, and am currently embroiled in the third go.
It is a story about dead people, and stupid dead people at that. I can hardly believe that anyone might read it for entertainment. I think when you are dead you are either not here any more and it is over, pretty much exactly the way it was before you were born, or you sigh with relief and think: So that is what it was all about then. I do not believe for a minute that anybody will still be going on about their clothes or what the neighbours think. I am trying to read it and appreciate it, because my tutor, who I rather like, said it was a good book, and I want her to know these things, but so far, and I have tried several times, I think it is bilge.
I have not brought it with me.
I slept for twelve hours, and only woke up then because the alarm went off summoning us to the day’s labours.
Mark was supposed to be working, but Ted had said he did not need him, and so he wasn’t.
We had lots to do anyway. Mark had to get my taxi back to the MOT garage, where it finally passed its test, although the council had still not called them to tell them not to worry about the expensive bit of paper. Both taxis have now passed their MOT tests and we do not need to worry about them again for the next couple of months, which is something of a relief, not least because it means I do not have to encounter the council again in the intervening period.
I rushed about cooking things whilst Mark went to the garage, because today was the long awaited Day Of Departure, and in fact I am writing this from the front seat of the camper van, where there are just too many dogs under my feet for it to be exactly commodious.
I am very happy indeed. I have longed and longed to be going away, and even though we are only going to Gordonstoun for Oliver, we have got two whole days to get there, and so we can stop and walk and daydream and not be busy.
Mark’s friend Steve called round whilst we were packing, and we stopped and had a cup of tea. If his girlfriend Jo is reading this, he is perfectly able to install a lovely new bath with cast iron claw feet in front of a beautiful log fire. He said not to mention this in case it gave you ideas but I think ideas are important. Creativity is the very breath of life.
Mark likes Steve because they both think engines are really interesting.
After Steve had gone we chucked everything into the camper van. The bumper had fallen off, and Mark fastened it back on with some zip-ties. He said it had only been held on with zip ties anyway, and some rascal had cut them. He knew that they had because a taxi driver had seen them. If ever I find out who it was I will jolly well send them a bill for new zip ties.
We filled the fridge and all the dogs got in, to the van, not the fridge, obviously, except Rosie who had decided to be frightened of it. I chased her up the alley and back, and eventually she hid underneath it and did a wee in her terror. I left her there after that, and tried to frighten her a couple more times before I hauled her out, so that she was thoroughly empty.
It is now late.
We are somewhere in the middle of Scotland, in a quiet lay by . The dogs are snoring under the bed and Mark is in the shower.
There are clean sheets on the bed and we had gin cocktails before dinner.
We are in the camper van. There are no taxis anywhere.
The world is just perfect.
