It is done, it is done, it is done.
I have finished writing not only my play, but also the Critical Analysis that had to be handed in alongside it.
I handed both pieces in with twenty whole minutes to spare, and so had loads of time.
I sat back in my chair and felt the relief lift as if one of the dogs had just jumped off my knee.
Of course it would not make the smallest difference to any part of my life whatsoever if I had not handed it in, and consequently failed the course. I would still be a taxi driver with an attitude problem, and no difference would be observable by anybody. Obviously that is not the point.
The point is…
Well, I don’t actually know what the point is really, except that I would be obliged to be less intellectually smug than I am at the moment. Cantab (failed) does not look splendid even if it is only written on the back door of a taxi.
Anyway, I don’t need to speculate about this because it is done, and unless I have made some spectacular kind of howler, like inadvertently writing a play that has previously been written by somebody else, probably it will all be all right now.
I sat thoughtfully in my chair for a few moments, and then the furry maelstrom at my feet reminded me that I had other obligations in life as well as writing Mystery plays. I do not know how the dogs know when I have finished doing something and might conceivably pay them some attention, but inevitably they do, and so we went out.
We did not go straight out. First I had to do all of the other things that I should have done and had forgotten, like hanging the washing out. The Weather Gods waited until I was at the very top of the fell before it rained, presumably for the entertainment value of watching me scurry hastily back, bawling at the dogs and sloshing through puddles.
I was going to take a picture of the newts to show you this morning. I have attached the picture that I actually took. The newts were never going to happen after that.
When I got home I went into the front garden to cut the grass. The grass has become easily long enough to feel a couple of cows for a week, and if I had left it any longer I should think the postman would have needed a machete to get to the door.
We never get any interesting letters but I do not think it would be a good idea if he had to leave them on the gatepost.
I did not cut all the grass, because it was full of buttercups, which the bees like, and in case we get a cow some time in the next couple of weeks. I cut a decent sort of path to the front door, sufficient so that he will not get his shorts wet on rainy days, and left it.
The last thing I did before going out to work was to give Rosie a haircut. She needed this. Her fur has grown massively in the last few weeks, and she has spent practically her whole life lying on her back and panting. It is a very rubbish summer so far, but it is still too hot for a thick fur coat.
She is a novice at having her fur clipped, and was not in the least enthusiastic. In fact, when I first started the clippers up she yelped and fought and tried to bite me. Then she howled and wailed as if she was at one of those foreign funerals where they believe you are supposed to drive evil spirits away by making a racket.
In the end she surrendered, and we completed the task relatively successfully, and of course then, like all newly-shorn dogs, she was very pleased with herself indeed, and bounced about like an excited ping pong ball.
After that I went to work.
I will add my assignment to tomorrow’s post, when I will probably be too busy to write much.
In the meantime have a nature picture of some newts.
