The Day has arrived.
This morning I disguised myself as a tourist.
I put on my very shiny new boots and walked up the fell.
I know I looked like a tourist because only they have got shiny new boots. The rest of us are usually wearing battered abominations with odd laces and twice their own weight in dried mud.
I don’t mind telling you that I was very worried about it. The new boots were, obviously, foot-shaped, but they had not been perfectly battered into the shape of my own personal feet, complete with knobbly bits, broken toenails and probably a varied assortment of fungus. The old boots had got this matching off to a fine art. I could not say that they fitted like gloves, unless perhaps a fairly perished pair of Marigolds with a couple of surprise piercings, but they were very comfortable, although this might have been due to all of the bits where the top of the boot had come away from the sole, thus permitting plenty of extra space.
I put the new ones on.
The first surprise was how very much taller I felt.
I must have worn almost half an inch off the soles of the others, and it was a most unexpected experience.
After that we set off up the fell.
Readers, I did not slip at all.
I strode easily through the mud like Tom Thumb on his way to a hot date. You would have to look that reference up if you didn’t know it, but I will save you the trouble, he owned a pair of Seven League Boots, which must have been remarkably useful and saved him a fortune in taxis. My feet were dry, I did not slide even on the steepest slopes, and to my surprised happiness, the boots felt marvellous.
They fitted as if they had been cobbled together for my very own feet.
I was very pleased indeed.
I am afraid they will start looking like the old ones in no time at all. They were very muddy when I came home, although splendidly, my socks were not. I put them to dry in the yard and went to get on with my day.
Mostly the day has been about putting my life back together after our adventures. We left Elgin yesterday morning and occupied the entire day bashing back down the motorway, apart from a brief interlude in House of Bruar where we both tried on dresses that we could not afford, and I purchased smoked trout and smoked prawns in oil. Smoked prawns are one of the most magnificent gustatory experiences in the entire world, and should you ever have the opportunity to purchase any I suggest you seize it with both hands. House of Bruar sells them. Booths does not, which is perhaps as well because they are not cheap.
I did not care. I have added two smoked prawns to my taxi picnic both last night and tonight, which has made me not mind in the least about being at work.
Of course I had to go to work last night, because it was Saturday. One of Lucy’s friends turned up just as we were arriving home, which meant she could not really help with the unloading and washing-machine-ramming, so I hurled everything into a massive overflowing pile in the conservatory and just get everything ready to dive out to work.
There was lots of stuff in the pile because we had collected all of Oliver’s things, including his bicycle, although obviously we left that outside in the yard, and the taxi had been crammed very full.
I could not take it to work like that, so we unloaded it all and just dumped it. Then I rushed around for a while, and eventually, fortified against the evening with some fresh tea, I dashed away.
I did not get the chance to drink it. The evening was very busy indeed, I would never have imagined that there could be so many people with bad legs all in one small village.
It never ceases to amaze me how many people, too disabled to make it back around the corner to their nearby guest house, choose the Lake District for their holidays, by the way. There is nothing to do here but go for walks. They must all just sit in the pub all day.
It was non stop.
I had had enough of the inside of my taxi by three o’clock in the morning, I can tell you.
I was very glad to go to bed.
Lucy left this morning, but she will be coming back at weekend.
I have tidied up and taken Oliver’s things upstairs to his bedroom. Then I watered the conservatory and felt life slowly begin to settle back down into its usual, contented rut.
Everything is quite all right.
