I am very pleased to tell you that Oliver and Mark have managed to get Lucy’s car through its MOT.
They both attributed this success to the generous friendliness of the MOT inspector, but it must have been all right. Mark said that it was perhaps a bit smokier than it should have been but that this was because it has been sitting on the driveway with the engine idling for ages and ages, and it will clear up as soon as it is driven properly on proper roads.
They are feeling very pleased with themselves, and have brought it home. I have not seen them yet, because of being at work, but they are in buoyant mood, and suggested that I stopped being at work to come and spend the evening with them. I declined, because of trying to raise cash for Glyndebourne. Of course Mark does not have a taxi at the moment, his vehicle is a mere car until the new meter is fitted tomorrow, and so at the moment I am the sole breadwinner in the household.
It is a jolly serious responsibility.
I have put some temporary insurance on the car, but am going to be obliged to put some real insurance on it tomorrow, so that Oliver and Emily can spend the next week or two having driving practice around the country roads. I do not wish to contemplate any further faffing about with insurance companies on the mighty internet, but there are some times when you just have to grit your teeth and get on with it.
I can hardly wait.
I have not spent very much of today faffing about with insurance. The sun was beaming when we got up this morning. The day was calm and clear, and the dogs and I ambled over the fells in an unhurried, tranquil sort of way, the sort where the cows ignored us even though we had to push past them at the gate, and just carried on swishing their tails and burping as if we were invisible.
Tonka does not like cows. He has to be summoned and obliged to walk closely to heel, and even then he is always within a tail-swish of turning on his heel and disappearing off in the direction in which we have just come.
There was a very nasty cloud of horribly buzzing flies around the cows this morning, landing with little stings on every inch of exposed skin, making me flap and grimace, whilst the dogs rushed past as fast as they could, anxious to escape and to hurl themselves in the tarn.
I would have liked to hurl myself in the tarn as well, but of course I didn’t, because of being a responsible grown-up and remembering that it is not nice to have to squelch home in wet shorts, experience can be a disheartening thing.
After that it proved to be very difficult to motivate myself. It is very hard to become interested in hoovering the stairs when the sun is shining, so I didn’t. I put a cake in the oven that I had prepared a couple of days ago, and went up into the attic.
The attic is a splendidly sunny space, and I had to resist the temptation to put my feet up on my sewing table and gaze ruminatively out of the skylight, but I didn’t do that either. I sewed the curtain that I pinned last week, and was about to start on another tie back when I remembered, rather to my horror, about the cake in the oven.
It had become rather darker than is strictly recommended in most cookbooks, but seemed all right, if a bit brick-like in texture. I did not think this was necessarily a bad thing, it will discourage me from eating too much of it.
I am sure Mark and Oliver will eat it anyway.
I am going to go home and see them.
