Well, Mark has gone and I am by myself.
The theory is that he will be away for a week. He is doing his rope-swinging Tarzan impersonation course in Newcastle, only the booking system is so hopelessly rubbish that we are not sure if he has actually got a place or not. Over the last few days I have spent several hours in their telephone queueing system, written several emails whilst I was doing it, and checked their webpage obsessively for an update, all to no avail.
The only thing that is entirely certain is that they have taken the money out of our bank account. They have done that efficiently enough.
There are still places left on the course, so I would think it would be all right, but if it isn’t then I suppose he will just have to come back.
He has taken the camper van. The dogs were very disappointed to discover that they were not included in the adventure, because they know that outings in the camper van usually conclude with a walk on the beach and some exciting bits of dead seagull to be dragged back as souvenirs. They are never allowed to keep these but it does not stop them being hopeful.
I do not think they would enjoy a climbing harness at a great height.
Mark probably won’t enjoy it much either, although he says it will be a lot easier than the last time he did it. Since his last course he has done lots and lots of installing rural broadband at great heights, and since Ted’s health and safety policy seems to consist of the rubric Don’t Fall Off, he has learned a very great deal about the best way of not making an unexpected and hasty descent.
I have occupied my day in preparations. It is all very well going off climbing tall towers and dangling off platforms, but you need to eat things whilst you are doing it, and basically he is going to need a week’s worth of dinners.
I have filled the camper van fridge with a week’s worth of dinners. He will be absolutely fine as long as he wants to eat eggs, bacon and sausages.
Obviously there are other things as well. There are mince pies and biscuits and I even packed some salad, although I know perfectly well that this will come back untouched and slightly slimy, except perhaps the tomatoes which could go in the frying pan with the bacon at a push.
It has taken me all day. I have cooked things and packed things and organised things until I have felt entirely satisfied that he will manage to conquer every day with plenty to eat and clean clothes to wear. All he has to do is remember where I have told him I have put it all. I am sure it will be fine.
He has occupied his day taking my taxi to bits and then putting it back together again. He did not fix it whilst it was in bits because it turned out in the end that he did not have the right replacement bit, so he is going to have to do it all again next weekend. My taxi is due for an MOT in a week or so, they do seem to come around with lightning speed.
I am torn between feeling that I am going to miss him terribly, and feeling rather excitedly cheerful at the prospect of a week with only my own clearing up to do. I can eat peanut butter sandwiches and carrots and chocolate, and write my story, which seems to me to be just about as close to a holiday as anyone could possibly want. There is firewood in the yard which I can cut up, and I have solved the worst of my problems by simply going on Amazon and ordering an electric blanket.
I will have to befriend the dogs until it turns up.
I think it is going to be just fine.
