It has been a day of homecomings.
My father has finally been paroled from hospital, although not, I suspect, for good behaviour, and Mark has returned from his oil rig.
I would have known Mark was home even if I could not see him. The whole house smells of sausages and somehow feels cluttered with an enormous masculine presence, also some enormous masculine boots.
It is not really cluttered, merely fuller than usual. This is not Mark’s first homecoming. Hence he is very aware that scattering huge piles of clutter in his wake as he arrives home does not make him popular, and he has made considerable efforts to preserve the pristine tidiness that cloaks the house in his absence.
I was very pleased to see him, although we have talked so much on the telephone over the past couple of weeks that I did not really have any exciting news left to tell him, and he had to be content with a cup of tea and my explanations of how I had been spending his money in his absence.
Recklessly is probably the best word for that.
The dogs were thrilled to see him, and even rushed up the stairs after him to wait outside the bathroom whilst he had a wee, in case somehow he might manage to give them the slip down the plug hole or something. They were very keen to show him their new squeaky toy, and squeaked it and fought over it with great excitement until we got bored with the noise and obliged them to desist.
They are very noisy when they are excited. I am glad I do not live next door to us.
I had been having a busy day whilst Mark was journeying south from Aberdeen. I have been intending for ages to move the sewing machine and all of my assorted sewing gubbins from my office into the loft, and today was the Day. I have been putting this off because of being too idle to cart lots of stuff up the two flights of stairs between my office and the loft, but now I have done it I am very pleased. It is going to be jolly handy to have the ironing board in the same place as all of my sewing things.
I thought about making a start on sewing Lucy’s curtains, but then realised that Oliver had removed the loft chair and relocated it in his bedroom, and so in order to use the sewing machine I would have to go and get that as well. This was a staircase too far for me to bother about, and so I didn’t. I contented myself with rearranging my hat boxes instead.
After that I was exhausted, so I collapsed at the desk in my office to do some less wearisome tasks, like paying the bills and insuring the camper van. I like jobs that can be accomplished whilst drinking a cup of tea, no matter how tedious they might appear to the outside world. There is something remarkably satisfying about having an achievement that has involved no physical effort whatsoever but leaves one with a sense of unassailable virtue. Comparing insurance quotes is like that.
In the end I telephoned the first one and told them that I would go with that if they could do it twenty quid cheaper, to which, to my surprise, they agreed with no argument whatsoever. Given that they were already the cheapest quote I thought this was a successful outcome.
What a productive day I have had.
In other news, my Dad has also been permitted, albeit fairly reluctantly, to leave his hospital cell behind and return to the bosom of his family. Well, to return to Coronation Street and brandy whenever he wants one. He is still a bit tottery so my brother has moved their bed downstairs for the time being, in order to prevent any stair-related misfortunes.
All the same, he is profoundly relieved to be at home again.
We are going to go and see them on Monday.
I shall look forward to it.
