I am feeling surprisingly contented with my world.
It is an unexpected contentment because really I should be in the mother of almighty flaps. It is my father’s funeral tomorrow, and I am going to be doing The Speaking. Also there are all sorts of exciting additions that could go horribly wrong, a long-distance call to Number Two Daughter who is going to speak from Canada, and the awful possibility that we could over-run and have to be booted out by a stern-faced official from the crematorium with a stop watch.
I am not flapping about any of those things. In fact I am quite astonishingly serene. I am sitting in the camper van by myself, with a cup of chai tea steaming at my side. I have done absolutely everything that I was supposed to do, except the things I have forgotten. It is warm and comfortable, and possibly my very favourite place in the whole wide world.
I am at my mother’s house, where, you will recall, the poor camper van is still stranded in their driveway on a pile of bricks. Mark says that it would go now if it was an emergency, but it would have to be a very serious emergency because although it will go it will not actually stop, because the handbrake needs changing.
Lucy’s very nice boyfriend Jack the Postman has agreed to take the handbrake cable out so that we can measure it, if he gets any spare time before Mark comes home. We can’t get a new handbrake cable until we know exactly how long this one is, and it would be a nuisance to have to come all the way here, measure the handbrake cable, order a new one and then go back to the Lake District until it arrives.
Jack could not do it this evening because Lucy said he was wearing his respectable clothes, and also because it was raining a very lot.
It has rained a very lot in the Lake District as well. I had the horrible sort of walk this morning where I had got to wear a waterproof coat and still got wet, and spoiled the walk with the horrible rustling-coat noise in my ears the whole way. It was accompanied by the noises of howling wind and the crashing of heavy raindrops, and we were all very glad to get home again.
It was a frantic rush when I got home because despite running all night, the printer had not finished its allotted task of printing out all of the funeral leaflets, and had decided to sulk. It was no easy task to coax it out of its sulk, and although I did not say so in case it overheard and threw its tools down completely, I think I will be investing in a new printer at some time in the very near future.
It took me all day to finish the printing, pack my things, shower and dress in my own respectable clothes, dash round the house leaving it tidy, and set off. I almost did not bother with the leaving it tidy bit, and nearly rang my cleaning friend instead, but Mark has not been on an oil rig for weeks and weeks now, and I have been down here for a noticeable chunk of August. In the end I thought wearily of the bank account and decided I had better not, so I cleaned the bathroom and wiped the kitchen before I dashed out.
This made me feel very virtuous, although the kitchen was probably a waste of time because Oliver arrived home just as I was leaving. He has got a friend from school visiting and was not going to come down here until tonight, and I expect they were going to cook something interesting first.
He is not here yet. I am expecting him at around midnight.
We have had a nice evening, though. Number One Daughter was there, and Number One Son-In-Law turned up just before the end. Lucy was there, with Jack the Postman, whom I like very much, although he might need to consider a new career direction, since I can’t imagine Lucy’s expensive tastes being catered for on a Royal Mail salary for very long.
My brother and sister were at home as well, of course, and have been helping my mum organise her thoughts around the bits of life that the outside world puts there to make you scowl and groan, like probate and car insurance and mobile banking apps.
I had had enough of the day by the time I got there, and drank two glasses of wine very quickly. I liked the resulting hazy feeling that this produced, although it was hastily followed by a headache, because I had not thought to drink anything else all day, and even though I had made a cup of tea for the journey I had forgotten to drink it.
I have fixed that now. I have extricated my flask from the car and am feeling very quietly happy.
In a very short time now I will be able to start writing my story again. I can hardly tell you how much I am longing for that day.
All I have got to do is get Oliver’s new school uniform ready and make Lucy’s curtains and my time will be my own.
The only thing is that really I ought to have started making the Advent Calendars by now.
