Once again we had an abject early starting failure.
We loafed about in bed drinking coffee and contemplating the things that we would do once we got up.
We contemplated them for absolutely ages.
In the end, of course, we did get up, after which things turned into a frantic rush, because it was Clean Sheets Day, and we had to get the sheets washed and hung up before we set off to the shed to go and tiddle about with the camper van.
Mark took the dogs out whilst I paid the weekend’s takings into the Post Office.
Then we faffed about until the washing machine had finished.
I was faffing about with my current bee in the bonnet, which is to stick a shovel between the spokes of Uber’s dastardly wheels.
I might have mentioned this before, but in my opinion they are rotters and villains and trying to put decent taxi drivers out of business.
Just to be on the safe side I have purchased some shares in them to make me feel less irate every time some new evidence of dastardliness is produced. This has not discouraged me from trying every way I can to stop their wicked ways, and at the moment I am engaged in a fascinating and hopeful correspondence with some very clever taxi drivers nationally who share this objective.
Today I dispatched long and grumbling letters to our much-revered MP, who is, as you know, the wise and respected Tim Farron with whom I have a long-standing relationship which I suspect has brought very little joy to either of us. I wrote to the council and the local newspaper, and added the signatures of several dozen other drivers who had agreed that they thought the same but did not feel terribly inclined to spend their time in between customers with their tongues sticking out as they crafted pages of heartfelt prose.
I have been known to do the same with my more organised sister and family birthday cards.
We think that Uber are acting illegally in all sorts of ways and that our beloved leaders ought to jolly well stop them. We have written to them to tell them so, and then we are going to try to raise enough cash to take them to court.
I told Mark about this, and he laughed a lot, and said that it was the Government’s own fault for introducing us all to one another in the first place, which they did when they summoned us all to give evidence to their Inquiry. He said that if you picked out half a dozen of the brightest and most argumentative taxi drivers with a grievance, and then gave them one another’s email addresses, it was just a recipe for a bullet in the foot.
We went over to the shed after that.
We did not do anything to the camper van. We are organising our things so that we have got plenty of workshop space, which is difficult because of the massive size of the van. There is really not much shed left around the edges of it, so we are having to be ruthless.
We took a boot full of scrap iron to Mark’s uncle’s scrapyard and got twenty quid for it, and we organised a further huge pile to go to the tip tomorrow. We built a large shelf over the back door and piled Mark’s tiresome collection of spare wheels on the top of it.
We are going to scrap our bicycles, because they are ancient and rusty and came out of skips in the first place, and we think that when we get the new van on the road we will get some of the sort of bicycles that pedal themselves up hills. I had thought that people were getting very much fitter until I realised that these had been invented, and then I thought that they sounded like a jolly good idea.
We have got a lot more clearing up to do tomorrow.
I am having a very good time indeed.
