This is yet another short entry because I have run out of day.
I have run out of day so seriously that it is a quarter past five in the morning and this is the first time I have had five minutes to get around to writing to you.
I have been painting. Worse, I have been painting with a deadline, which is tomorrow. I have painted six pictures, well, five and a half, I will finish the last one tomorrow.
Obviously I have not done them all today. It has been a project which has taken weeks and weeks. Every year I think: this is horribly stressful and I should be more effective at organising myself. Next year I will start doing this in August, and then of course I don’t.
Except this year. This year I actually did start doing it in August, well September really, but it was certainly ages and ages ago, and I am still having a last minute frantic panic exactly like the one last year. There is a moral to that story somewhere but I am too tired to work out what it is.
Anyway, I am now in bed, with the gloriously happy experience of having clean sheets. I put them back on the bed this afternoon, but that was so long ago that I had quite forgotten about it, and so had a moment of serendipity when I got into bed.
It is very welcome. Painting is more tiring than you think.
Also I have got no idea how anybody painted anything at all before they invented electric light. I need all the lights on and even then I am squinting and muttering to myself by the time the daylight has faded.
Whilst I have been painting Mark has gone off to get his car through the MOT, and I am very pleased to tell you that it has passed.
It helped that he took it to Morecambe first to get some new tyres, and during that prolonged trundle, the windscreen wipers started to behave properly again, that is to say, they switched off. This was very pleasing indeed, and lasted all the way through the MOT, after which, irritatingly, they went back to being on all the time, but this was only normally irritating then, and not the sort of irritating that threatens to put you out of business and rob you of your income just before Christmas. Hence it was a happy ever after, and we thought that perhaps the Gods were looking after us.
We thought it again this evening, when Lucy rang to say she thought she could reorganise her shifts and come to the pantomime with us. This was splendid, but meant a hasty consultation with the mighty Internet to see if we could get another ticket.
I jest not. There was one ticket left in the whole of the circle and it was right next to ours.
What a splendid thing it is to have a life so filled with happy moments.
I am going to have another one any minute now, when I turn the light off and pass out.
Goodnight.
