I have just come to write my diary and discovered, on rejoining the mighty Internet, that my most benevolent parents have funded the restoration of the camper van.
I rang them up to try and find some suitable words to express our absolutely boundless gratitude, but they have caught some sort of horrible disease and could barely hear me over their coughing and spluttering on the other end of the telephone, so I left them to contemplate adding honey and lemon to their single malt. I don’t know if that is what they are really doing but it is what I would do, although I might not waste single malt on honey and lemon. Asda’s cooking brandy would work perfectly well, and if you have got a sore throat you can’t tell the difference anyway.
Anyway, Mum and Dad ,if you are reading this then it is much appreciated, thank you very much. Mark has already telephoned the nice gypsy in Darlington and is contemplating ways of squeezing a truck axle and complete set of heavy rusty things in the back of a taxi. He thought he might attempt this in my taxi but I am less than enthusiastic, and have been encouraging him to consider making use of his trailer. This is going to present a small challenge – nothing that we can’t manage, you understand – because the only vehicle with a tow bar is the poor collapsed camper van.
Still, Mark now has a renewed burst of enthusiasm, having spent much of yesterday in a state of pecuniary dysfunction. Such minor details as transportation are now not daunting him in the least, and he thinks he will go and get it all on Friday, when he will not be needed to install rural broadband anywhere.
He has been installing rural broadband today. I was surprised to discover that fond as I am of him, it was really remarkably nice to have my life to myself once he had buzzed off. I filled the slow cooker with all the root vegetables I could dig out of the bottom of the fridge, and added a slab of dead sheep, and left it to simmer for the day. It had obviously been the sort of dead sheep that did not avoid fried foods or go to the gym, because it was absolutely coated with a thick layer of horrible white fat, which I cut off. I should have used the disgusting fat in some other catering venture but I didn’t. I used them to get the fire going instead.
It is better being transformed into central heating than simply adding another layer of insulation to my bottom.
After that the dogs and I trekked off up the fells. This was brilliant. The day was bright and sunny, and the air filled with birdsong. I like birdsong even though I don’t think they are saying anything nice, and today I imagine they were swearing about last week’s thoroughly sodden nests having now become solidly frozen.
The fells were quite exciting, because all of the little waterfalls and springs that trickle down them had also been frozen, and everywhere, even the grass, was lethally slippery. Every cow hoof print had filled with water during last week’s torrents, and had become a miniature ice rink, and we slithered and struggled and slid all over the hillsides. I have now reached the age where a broken hip, especially on the top of the fells in sub-zero temperatures, is an undesirable outcome, and so I had to be very careful indeed.
Obviously nothing untoward occurred, because I am here to tell the story, but there were some thrilling moments of windmilling arms and indrawn breath.
Once I got home I did not go indoors and eat chocolate, which was what I might have liked to do. Instead, in a moment of virtue, I stayed in the yard and sawed up firewood. This was equally exciting, because of the circular saw, although I can reassure you that it is no longer the terrifying unguarded spinning one that used to sit on top of the open dustbin. Mark abandoned that last year whilst he still had some fingers left, and this one has a safety guard. I am not sure I approve of safety guards. I think they encourage you to feel comfortable in the vicinity of lethally dangerous machinery, which is when you are most likely to make brainless mistakes. I did not even like being in the same yard as the last one.
I am happy to reassure you that I did not make any brainless mistakes, and that activity was completed without disaster as well.
It took me all day. It snowed a bit, and some of the wood had frozen together, but I explained to myself that it was invigorating, and carried on until I was so invigorated that my fingers have not yet stopped tingling. I do not mind this because at least I have still got them.
Usually Mark does the firewood, but he has got so many other things that he needs to do now that he is just not going to have the time.
The house is beautifully warm now. The fireplace is filled with a neat pile of wood, there is a large stack at the end of the conservatory, and the woodpile in the yard is full. Things have also been helped along by the sunshine, which warmed the hot water in the solar panel until the tap water was too hot to run over my fingers, all we need is a bit of a breeze for the windmill and we will probably need to open the windows.
Not only that, but I am pleased to announce that my taxi has passed its MOT and once again I can rejoin the ranks of the gainfully employed.
Another couple of days and Mark can start bashing the camper van apart.
