I have been on the taxi rank for ages and ages, and nobody at all has troubled me for a taxi so far.
Apart from the lack of cash, this is splendid.
I have had a very busy day, and it is lovely to be doing nothing in particular. I have chatted to Mark on the telephone and read my book and eaten a sandwich, and am just starting on my second cup of tea. It is like being on holiday.
Every day starts, at the moment, with the cleaning up of cat accidents, because poor Guffy is not recovered. She tries very hard, but the path to the litter tray is splodgily paved with good intentions. I have removed the tablecloth now, because it provides excellent camouflage for disasters, and it is not at all nice to discover one just as you are about to eat your breakfast.
I have minimised the mess by confining all animals to the conservatory. They are allowed to join us in the kitchen for a brief social occasion before we go to bed, but after that they are firmly ejected. The dogs mill about the house during the day, but Guffy will not. She is painfully aware of her shortcomings, and prefers to stay in the conservatory and the garden, where nobody minds about inadvertent poo-puddles.
We are treating her with an antibiotic prescribed by the vet. So far it is not working, to nobody’s surprise, although its administration is not improving our relationship. There are several new holes in my fingers, sustained during the process of poking a syringe full of medicine down the back of her throat.
She would not even accept the apologetic bit of sausage proffered afterwards.
As it happens we are going to have a livestock-related theme to the next few weeks, because tomorrow Number One Son-In-Law is bringing their dogs to stay for a few weeks. This is because he is off on an oil rig, and Number One Daughter is rushing around training for the CrossFit World Championships in a few weeks. This does not leave her with sufficient time for leisurely dog-emptying walks or for generally paying attention to their little dog-troubles, and so I have agreed to look after them until the World Championships are over.
This means we will have four dogs and a cat.
The World Championships are at the end of July.
I am trying not to feel weary at the very thought of it.
Fortunately Oliver is at home, and better still, his nice girlfriend also arrives tomorrow, and I am quite sure they will both be delighted to go for long romantic walks together, only occasionally interrupting the tranquil summertime mood by bellowing at four unruly dogs.
They need some bellowing at the moment. Rosie is in season and they are behaving like the Readers’ Wives section of a smutty magazine.
Once the conservatory was clean and everybody had been emptied, I turned my attention to the day’s tasks. I am pleased to tell you that I have completed cleaning the top of the dresser. All that remains now is the bottom shelf, which is where we store alcohol, and which is rather cluttered, because lots of people gave us alcohol for Christmas last year, and we have not had enough nights off to drink it yet.
We need to do something about that.
I did not finish cleaning it this afternoon because my taxi also needed cleaning.
I do not at all enjoy cleaning my taxi, it is one of my Bottom Ten Favourite jobs, but I like having a fresh-smelling taxi very much indeed. Also there is every chance that the taxi inspectors will be hanging around the taxi rank over the next few weeks, and so I had to get on with it.
Taxi inspectors are not as terrifying as they were when I first started driving a taxi, a long lifetime ago, but they can make your life entirely uncomfortable should they so wish. I recall having upset a taxi inspector once, long long ago, and being sent home from work because the Savlon in my First Aid Kit had passed its expiry date.
It is helping to make my night at work very pleasant indeed.
Not only are there no importunate nuisance customers, I have got a shiningly clean taxi.
Another cup of tea, I think.
