I am feeling very happy indeed.
My world has become all right.
I don’t mean that it was not all right before, because of course it was. It has been very much all right, especially since the sun started shining a few days ago. Since that glorious moment the world has been very all right indeed, and I am collecting Vitamin D to save for the winter at every opportunity that I can.
We have our own Vitamin D even in the house, actually, because we have changed the bathroom lights for the sort you have in an aquarium for lizards. This helps to keep the Vitamin D trickling in during the dark gloom of January, but all the same it is very nice to have it liberally sloshing about outside, where it is completely free and even our beloved new leaders have not yet found a way in which they might be able to tax it.
Anyway, apart from the Vitamin D, life is pretty good.
My taxi has passed its MOT.
I am very happy indeed about this. It has been a little worry for some time, and poor Mark had to occupy almost all of his last shore leave fixing bits that were wrong with it, like the steering rack and the heater. It would not have failed because of the heater not working, but I would not have wanted to work in it. It would have been fine at the moment because of the warm weather, although the sun does go out quite early at nights now that we are getting towards the last breaths of the year. In any case, you can’t rely on sunshine, especially not in the Lake District, and so the heater had got to be fixed.
There were other things that had to be done to it, even post Mark, and I did them this morning. One of the headlights fills up with water occasionally, and had to be dried out with a hairdryer, and then I gave the whole thing a thorough clean.
This was as horrid as cleaning a taxi usually is, although it did have the small benefit that I discovered £1.27 underneath the back seat, stuck to a load of popcorn left behind by a disgusting child months ago and that I had not discovered up until now.
I do not like children, most especially not in the taxi. They are inevitably sticky, and they leak more often than they should.
Anyway, after my morning walk I cleaned it and polished it and sprayed it with the very last of the perfume left over from Disneyland Paris long, long ago, and then took it to the jet wash at Morrisons to do the outside as well.
It was very lovely when I had finished, although my heart was sinking as I took it to the garage. Mark had checked the front end, but not got around to the back, so all sorts of horrors could have been happening.
I dumped it there and scurried off to walk into Kendal. Mark always goes and loafs about at his uncle’s scrapyard when he leaves cars for their MOT, but I am not interested in scrap metal and I had some shopping to do.
I did not do much shopping. Mostly I hung around Waterstones, making a list of books I would like to read. I took the list to the library when I got home, and the nice chap said he would see what he could do. I got some other books out in the meantime and they look to be pretty good, so I don’t mind having to wait.
Eventually I made my way back to the garage. It is a lovely walk in the sunshine, over the bridge which goes over the railway, and which is a perfect place for loitering and looking at the world.
I had just settled myself on the bench with one of my library books when the nice mechanic came out with the keys and smiled, so I knew it was all right, and I was so relieved I could have hugged him. It would have been terrible if it had failed, because Mark is not back for ages and I really do not think I would like to try and change struts or ball joints by myself.
Afterwards I went to Asda. I had a startlingly lucrative night at work last night, because everybody else buzzed off and left me with a jolly good job, which was to take two lots of trainee vicars to Elterwater.
I eavesdropped on their conversation with considerable interest, never having considered the church in the light of being a career option before, but obviously it is, and one which has all sorts of opportunities for training and progression.
I am not sure I like the idea very much, it seems to me that the point of being a vicar is to listen to what God is telling you, and I do not think you need to get training in that. If you have got to be taught what to think by a bishop then I think you might be missing the point.
All the same, they were interesting to listen to, despite being wearisomely modern and progressive, the sort who recycle their sandwich wrappers and eat avocados for breakfast.
I spent their money in Asda this afternoon.
Hence I am happy.
I have got cupboards bursting-full of soap powder and dog food. The sun is shining and I have got a beautifully clean, scented taxi and some new library books.
There can be no greater happiness.
