I have been tired today.
We walked over the fells this morning, after which I did the usual morning chores, but after a while began to feel weary. Rosie has come into season, which has added to the splodgy mess in the house, and the morning clear-up has become quite a challenge.
It all seemed like a very great deal of effort.
I thought I might like to go back to bed.
I did not go back to bed, because of there being plenty of time for sleeping when I am dead, and also because my taxi needed cleaning out.
All the same, I was curious about why I might be feeling so completely wiped out, so I put the blood oxygen measure on my finger, after which I took my blood pressure, in the way of hypochondriacs who have been allowed to own technology.
I fed the results into Google, who became very alarmed.
You must go to your nearest emergency hospital, he said, anxiously. Your vital functions are barely sufficient to sustain life.
This made me laugh so much I felt quite energised. I wondered if the batteries might be going flat, and installed some new ones, with the same results.
Obviously I did not trail off to Kendal hospital, where the explanation I Was Feeling A Bit Tired might not have made me very popular, although it did seem like a very good excuse not to clean the taxi. My vital functions are barely sufficient to sustain my life, I thought, perhaps I could have an afternoon off.
I cleaned the taxi anyway, because it was full of the horrid leavings of taxi customers. There were long blonde hairs entwined around the odd broken off square white fingernail, remnants of chips and flattened cigarette ends, and mud and leaves and a nasty smell.
It is suitably scrubbed and perfumed now.
I was tired all over again when I had finished, and retreated to the shed, where Guffy has taken to hiding. I have not been cross with her about her accidental guffs all over the place, but she knows that they are not a Good Thing, and has taken herself off to seek her fortune in the yard.
Mostly she curls up and sleeps on the shelf underneath the saw, but she has discovered the rat holes underneath the wood stack, and has been exploring them with some interest. I do hope she doesn’t meet a rat just yet, she is bigger than a rat now, but only just, it would be a close thing. She was pleased to see me, and although she declined to return to the house, I sat down on Mark’s stool and she came to purr on my knee for a while, biting my fingers sociably.
Of course I could not hang around the shed for the whole afternoon. I had been woken up last night by a horrible nightmare in which it was time for us to get on the train for London and I realised that I had forgotten to organise any luggage to take with us.
It was lovely to wake up and realise my life was not ruined after all.
It is still too soon to start packing. Everything would be very creased indeed by the time we arrived if we did, but I thought I might have a look through the wardrobe and decide what ought to be laid aside to be carefully stowed in the case when that glorious day finally arrives.
It was a good job that I did. The dungarees that I favoured most, being the mustard yellow pair, the brilliant orange pair and the pink pair, needed some buttons sewing on the straps.
This seemed like a very splendid job for a person who was feeling entirely disinclined towards effort, so I retreated to the sunny conservatory with my sewing kit and put the latest story of the SAS on my telephone, and it turned out to be an entirely contented way to occupy the end of the afternoon.
Guffy and the dogs joined me, so there was some mopping up to do afterwards.
Ah well.
