I have had a day of outings.
Actually it was one long outing with lots of different sub-adventures in it.
Obviously I took the dogs out for their walk before I did anything else. I think I have told you that this activity is called Going For A Thing, because they speak considerably more English than you might expect, and the word Walk is sufficient to rouse them to a frenzy of excited barking.
When we had been for a Thing I dumped them in the bath. Roger Poopy seems to have discovered a secret badger lavatory somewhere on the fells, and has been rolling in it, with the result that the conservatory, which is where the dogs prefer to spend their leisure hours because it is hottest, absolutely pongs.
I washed the cover for their sofa as well. They were not allowed to return to it until they had been thoroughly abluted.
Once the atmosphere had improved a bit I left them feeling damply sorry for themselves on the newly sprayed and scrubbed sofa, and dashed off.
I had an appointment with the lady charlatan who shoves bits of fat people about in an effort to make them less painfully rigid.
I think the word is Chiropractor, actually.
I did not go straight there. First I went to Asda. We have not run out of anything, but it is the time of year when thoughts turn to winter stores, and I wanted to refill our box of Useful Supplies For Penniless Moments.
It is a dull box at the moment. There have been times when it has been stuffed with expensively scented candles and perfumes and things to cheer me up in the forlorn moments of February, but at the moment it is full of soap powder and shampoo. These things are very useful but not exactly cheering.
I did not purchase anything cheering today either, because frankly Asda does not stock anything like that. Asda specialises in dull, cheap and utilitarian, sometimes wrapped in bright colours with loopy writing to make you think they are secretly expensive.
I bought loo rolls and toothpaste and more soap powder, and then calculated that I had exactly enough time to go and clean my grubby taxi before the charlatan appointment.
I rushed round to Morrisons where they have a hoover and some of those very satisfying foamy brushes on sticks.
The machine would not work.
I spent an agonising ten minutes trying to get it to accept my business credit card, and finally dashed round to the till where the chap nodded wearily and swapped some fivers for some change, which I fed into the machine.
I was getting very late by then.
I scrubbed the car and hosed it all off at top speed, before hurling the floor mats back in and belting off across town, yelling in frustration at crawling traffic, roadworks and indifferent pedestrians.
I arrived without a single minute to spare, and flung myself on the chair, panting.
The lady was as polite and smily as last week. She asked me if I had seen any changes in my sore shoulder, which I hadn’t. She nodded sagely, and said she would be a bit more in-depth this week.
I didn’t have the first idea what that meant, but it turned out to mean some very unpleasant shoving my shoulder around whilst my joints cracked and groaned.
She stuck some more needles in as well.
For a smiling person she was quite uncomfortably ruthless.
When she had finished she rubbed my shoulder with an excitingly freezing gel to stop it hurting and said to come back next week.
I was surprised to discover, once the gel wore off, that actually my shoulder felt quite a bit better. I had not been expecting that, and have been wiggling it suspiciously ever since. It is still sore, in a hot and achy sort of way, but I reached up to close the boot on my taxi without the familiar stab of agony, and was so surprised that I tried it again to make sure.
It could be that it is getting better.
There might be something in this charlatanism after all.
I am not going to commit myself at this early stage. I will keep you posted.
It has been a good day. I have got a clean taxi and a not-so-sore shoulder and a cupboard full of soap powder. Also when I got home some kindly anonymous visitor had left a basil plant, some eggs and a couple of limes on the doorstep, somewhat to my mystification.
I was pleased with all of it, and madly curious to know who might have left it, not to mention disappointed to realise that I had missed a visitor.
Should the visitor be reading these pages, kindly identify yourself.
I am sorry I was not there. I would have liked to waste an afternoon drinking tea and chatting.
