I am trying very hard not to blow our cash on the purchase of some wonderful Old Imari plates to put in the camper van.
Obviously there is not the smallest need for me to do this. In the first place, work on the camper van has not even been started yet, never mind sufficiently completed for me to be contemplating the tableware. Also in the second place, I have got some already, after the last time I just glanced at them on eBay.
I have got to stop thinking about it. I really do not need any more.
The problem is that they are absolutely stunningly beautiful. Our new, gold, camper van kitchen sink arrived this afternoon, and they will wash up in it absolutely perfectly.
I have just looked again at them, in a wistful sort of way, and discovered that I had accidentally bought one already. I must have done it this morning, when I was supposed to be doing the National Insurance calculations, in a hurry so that I would not notice.
I suppose it would not hurt to buy another one.
I have got to stop thinking about it. Mark keeps going on and on about not filling the camper van with clutter because there is a weight limit and we are going to be too heavy in no time at all at this rate.
We really do not need six plates, no matter how beautiful they are.
Actually I have already got six plates.
We certainly do not need seven.
I had better think about something else.
There are some beautiful bowls.
I have got to stop. I think there is probably a name for the disorder suffered by the sort of person who compulsively purchases china on eBay.
Porcelmania, perhaps.
Jack has fixed Lucy’s car and taken it home. I am relieved about this, because it means that Lucy will be able to get to work whilst he is away in the next couple of weeks. He starts his new job with the RAC on Monday, and has got to go and spend two weeks being trained.
They have not yet had time to fix Jack’s car, which still has a broken gearbox. He has left it in the shed, and will come back and fix it when he has finished learning how to be an RAC man.
This means that the house is emptying very quickly. Oliver will be the next to go. He leaves on Sunday, to stay with his girlfriend in Bath for a month and to visit Number One Daughter to do some getting fit practice, ready for his next Army interview in February.
This will leave me and Mark, who leaves next Thursday.
I am trying not to think about that either, although for different reasons. It seems to have flashed past so quickly, with hardly any time for ambling about doing quietly nice things together.
Mark has got a bit more car-fixing to do tomorrow, and then we are going to start trying to do things to the camper van, really we are.
He has been at the shed all day, fixing cars, and he has got to go back there tomorrow, and then we are done.
We might even manage to get some decent time at it, because we have just heard that the local nightclub is now closed for the next six weeks. I had forgotten, but of course it does this every winter, re-opening for Valentine’s Day, which means that we can all get some early nights.
I could not be more pleased.
I won’t be sorry to go home early. It is terribly cold. Our walk this morning was only made bearable by the icy wind being behind me, blowing me helpfully up the hills. The dogs squeaked and scurried over the hard ground, and I stumped along determinedly, trying to keep the blood flowing to my numbed toes. In a couple more days the tourists will all be gone as well, and the last, darkest months of the winter will be upon us.
Of course we will be fine.
I am not going to think about it.
