I have had another busy day.
I have used the twinset glue again.
This was because I was coming down the stairs in the dark and I fell over Rosie. We both ended up in a bit of a heap, Rosie considerably worse than me, but I knocked a picture off on the way down and had to glue the frame back together.
I was inexcusably horrid to Rosie about it, and she went and hid in her basket. I was sorry afterwards, and gave her a piece of cheese and a cuddle. She rejected the cuddle, although not the cheese, obviously, and I felt very wicked, because of course Rosie cannot be expected to know the consequences of being a black dog on a dark staircase, and it was entirely my own fault.
I had taken them up over the fell again this morning. It was wet and drizzly, but it does not seem very fair that I am leading a life full of all manner of excitements and joy whilst the poor dogs are left moping in their basket, so I trudged up the fellsides through the rain whilst they bounced and fought one another and rolled around in the mud. There is quite a bit of fighting going on at the moment because Rosie is coming into season, and all of them have turned into idiots as a result. Roger Poopy and Tonka have suddenly become glued to her sides, and she has been growling at them. Then this morning another dog thought he would growl at Roger Poopy and Tonka, and Rosie, whom Elspeth described as being shaped like a hairy shoebox, with a very short leg on each corner, turned into a savage harridan, hurling herself on it like a vengeful Fury, her little eyes bulging and her hackles practically towering above her ears.
I bellowed at them before it turned into a complete free-for-all, and made them come to heel. They were sodden and filthy by then anyway, and the other dog was smart and tidy in its own overcoat, so I was not at all popular even though it was the other dog’s fault, and its owner glared at me as though I was the leader of a pack of brigands on the King’s Highway.
They can all have a haircut tomorrow. They all stink.
I got home to my Job Of The Morning, which was to clean out my taxi. This was tiresome because of the rain, but it has had the dogs in it, and some equally malodorous drunk people. It was not nice, and I had reached the point of wishing I did not need to go to work.
This took ages, because it has got to happen in the back alley, and even though it was raining people kept stopping to chat and to find out exactly where Mark is and what he is doing. It’s is a good job he has not gone off to do something embarrassing or secret, you could not work for MI5 if you lived in Windermere.
After that I sawed up some more firewood with my newly-sharp saw. My heart had sunk right into the toes of my sheepskin boots when I realised that the kindly builders had left us another massive stack of firewood last night. Of course it is very thoughtful of them, and it will last us for ages, but I am not burning it fast enough, and I am running out of places to put it. Also I had got lots of other things to do today that did not involve getting covered in wet sawdust, and so I confess I was not in the least grateful, and for a little while, in my secret Inner Soul, I hated them.
I felt guilty about this, and dutifully sawed and stacked it all anyway, by the end of which time I was drenched and weary. I was supposed to be spending the last of the afternoon cleaning shoes and sewing, but I didn’t. I went into my office and lurked in front of the computer, answering overdue emails and filling in already-late forms.
Almost before I knew it, it was time for work, and here I am.
I have just discovered that it is Valentine’s Day, so I am hoping for some customers. Preferably ones with some cash.
That would be the nicest Valentine I could wish for, I think.
Anyway, I have got a lovely clean taxi.
I was briefly interrupted as I was writing the last words by the pianist from the local pub, wanting to know where Mark was.
It is a good job he is not in prison or off on a secret mission on behalf of the British Government, that’s all I can say.
