Fortunately I was woken from a bemused sleep yesterday morning by the telephone ringing.
This turned out to be Microsoft explaining that there was something wrong with my computer and all I needed to do was give them my bank details and they would sort it out.
I thanked them gratefully but explained that I didn’t have a computer and hung up.
It was half past eleven anyway. I have had some very late nights this weekend.
Anyway, it was a good job that I was up and around, because I had hardly finished staggering around the house clearing up the morning’s misfortunate cat guffs when the doorbell rang.
I dispatched Oliver to open it, imagining that he could do with some practise at explaining his thoughts on where he might spend eternity to the Jehovah’s Witnesses. Then I heard him say Oh! and Number One Daughter and Number One Son-In-Law bounced down the stairs*.
I said Oh! as well, then, and we finished getting dressed in rather a hurry.
It was a complete surprise but very splendid to see them. We had a pot of coffee in the conservatory, and Number One Daughter said that the house smelled of cat guffs, which we knew, and we had a sociable morning during which I drank almost all of the coffee. They are going to bring their dogs and leave them here for a few weeks next time Number One Son-In-Law goes offshore, because Number One Daughter is finding that her time is entirely occupied already by a full-time job and being a world-class athlete training for the championships in a few weeks.
That will mean that we will have four dogs and a cat. I am sure it will be endless fun.
After that most of the day was filled with flapping about trying to guess what we might need to wear to go to London, and in the end this morning I telephoned Mark to ask him.
Mark tried very hard to sound interested in whether he might prefer to walk around London in long trousers or shorts, but even I could tell that he wasn’t, really. I was interested but had no idea what the answer might be. It is warmer in London than it is here, and when we have been there in the past we have always discovered that all our clothes are too thick and heavy.
Number One Daughter lives in Salisbury. When she comes to see us she is always shivering after a few minutes. She doesn’t seem to have any decent woollen underwear.
In the end I thought that whatever Mark wears I would like to take some shorts with me, and then remembered that I don’t actually have any, apart from the dungarees whose legs I removed a couple of weeks ago, and so today I went shopping.
I had not expected that anybody would be in Kendal on a Sunday afternoon, and had been surprised when Google helpfully assured me that some shops would be open. I had vaguely imagined that people go to church on Sunday mornings and then come back home for a roast dinner and a little snooze, but to my astonishment it was packed.
I bought three pairs of shorts in different shades of pink, and very nearly bought a dress as well, but concluded in the end that it was rather embarrassingly transparent, and there is no point in a summer dress if you have got to wear a vest underneath it.
I am now prepared even if London has a heatwave, and am feeling self-satisfied with my organisational skills.
I haven’t actually packed anything yet, just thought about what I might pack if I were to get round to it.
I had better get on with it tomorrow. There will be plenty of time because Oliver has got an Army medical, and I have got to take him to the railway station for half past six in the morning, so the day will start practically before I have gone to bed and will last for ages.
Mark comes home tomorrow night.
We will be off on Tuesday.
It is really happening.
* Note to new readers and the absent minded, our house is dug into a hillside and the front door is upstairs. They did not arrive on the roof like Father Christmas or the SAS.
