I think really my dissertation is finished.
I have read it and re-read it and fiddled about with the commas and thought about it and drunk four cups of tea, so I will be needing to rush home from the taxi rank halfway through the evening, I expect.
I have done everything I can do, and it can now be handed in. If it is a pile of junk now then it is too late. Unfortunately there are not very many long words in it, because I can never think of any. I have this problem when I am trying to debate politics with people. They come out with support for some clearly nonsensical idea and instead of explaining clearly and intelligently why it would simply not be a wise policy, all my words disappear and I am left spitting out things like: Well that’s just a load of rubbish, what an idiot you are, which is hardly the stuff of reasoned argument.
Anyway I think it is done, and I have reluctantly returned to writing my story.
I have reached the point with this where I am beginning to suspect that it might be the most shocking load of twaddle. It is weeks and weeks since I have written a word of it, and when I tried this afternoon, the words simply would not come out. That is to say, some words came out, but they sounded dreadfully like sanctimonious drivel, and so in the end I gave up. I will come back to it tomorrow, perhaps I just need to try harder.
Once again it is warm and sunny in the Lake District, and we had the most splendid walk this morning. It was splendid because it is Tuesday, and so there were no tourists, but lots of my morning-walk friends were out, and so it took ages. I must have wasted nearly an hour hanging about and gassing, because when I got home it was twelve o’clock, and hardly any day left at all before I had got to start rushing about packing everything away ready for work. Then I dawdled about even more, because a village-chat friend turned up, and I wasted another half an hour catching up on all of the village Goings On.
Some shockingly dreadful things happen here, you know, you’d never guess if you were just here on your holidays, it all looks so pretty.
Anyway, eventually I got on with my dissertation, occasionally interrupting myself to loaf around investigating the mighty Internet. This was considerably more tempting than usual, because Mark has been paid. He has not been paid very much, but the rascally Inland Revenue has finally returned the thousand pounds that they stole last month, and so we are suddenly awash with cash.
Actually we aren’t any more because I have paid everything off and bought some new T shirts. I have been compelled to do this by the misfortunate encounter with Oliver’s teacher at Gordonstoun, and by the recognition that our existing T-shirts are so shabby I am becoming embarrassed to hang them on the washing line. The one I am wearing at the moment is marvellous for this weather, because it has worn so thin it would not even be much good as a dog-sick cloth.
The thing that is occupying my thoughts is the purchase of new computers. We have been saving up for these for some time, because I need one, Mark needs one, and Oliver is going to need a new one for Norland. This is because all of our existing computers have become recalcitrant and elderly. They are just fine for writing stories, but the bank, which is surprisingly ageist, will not speak to any of them. Nor will Cambridge, which has caused some frantic cyber-emergencies this year, I can tell you.
We can now afford computers if we want to, we have saved up enough money. I told Mark about it and he just said vaguely Well It’s Up To You, which seemed to me to be remarkably irresponsible, imagine just telling me I could spend his money any way I liked. Anyway, I supposed wearily that this left me with an obligation to be a sensible grown-up, and so I said that I would not buy any until next week, when we will not only have enough, but we will have a little money left over.
Obviously now the longing is burrowing into my thoughts like a tick on a dog’s bottom.
I am going to have to think about something else for a day or two.
PS. You will be pleased to hear that I slept just as peacefully as usual on my pink sheets.
You can’t see them at all once you turn the light off.
