It has been cold today, and I give you advance notification that the day has passed most contentedly but without thrilling event. Readers in search of vicarious excitement would do well to give up now and buy the sort of magazine that they keep by the checkout in the Co-op that promises the reader lurid accounts of vile and troubling events, such as descriptions of living with murderers or marrying the wrong twin or misfortunately leaving the baby on the bus.
I have never bought any of these periodicals, because of the embarrassment of presenting one at the checkout, but their headlines intrigue me, and occupy my imagination very creatively on the days when there is a long queue. None of the events hinted at within have ever happened to me, nor even to anybody I know, and unless my life suddenly takes a dramatic downturn, I am forced to acknowledge that the content of these diaries will remain for ever unexciting.
Today has been a remarkable illustration for that statement, having been very fully occupied with activities which were most rewarding in their own small way, but are unlikely ever to become the substance of a dramatic page-turner.
We woke up unpleasantly early this morning. Mark very bravely buried himself underneath thermal underwear and quilted shirts and went over to the farm to put his cam belt installation research into practice.
I was very glad I didn’t have to join him, because of the horrible damp cold of the day, but also because I was busy at home. I had remembered that Oliver is coming home this weekend and his bedroom was still coated in the sheen of sticky which was left over from half term.
I spent a satisfying morning collecting odd socks from corners and trying to get the loo to be white again. I carried armfuls of clean sheets and towels up the stairs, and bin bags full of crisp packets and sweet wrappers down again.
I swept the stairs behind me as I went, which I thought was jolly commendable, and then put Mark’s cardboard stair gate across in order to prevent access for muddy dogs.
Mark had taken his dog with him, so she probably was engaged in becoming muddy. My dog is still quietly dying by infinitesimal degrees, and does not like being outside in the cold any more, so he stayed at home with me, which has always been his favourite thing anyway. He spent the day curled up on his cushion in front of the fire, snoring peaceably and occasionally flapping his tail about in greeting as I went past. This arrangement suited both of us nicely, being unobtrusively companionable, we have long practice at not getting under one another’s feet, unlike Mark and his dog, both of whom seem to be absolutely everywhere all at once when I am trying to do housework.
It was a contented sort of a day. When I had finished groaning and rolling my eyes in the children’s rooms I got the sewing machine out and finished making the first of the aprons currently under construction, and then, in a burst of enthusiasm, finished hemming a silk scarf I have been making.
In the end I had got to go to work, where Mark joined me remarkably quickly, in a taxi which now has a reasonably predictable cam belt. We exchanged stories about our day, and drank some of our flask of tea before going for a swim.
Mark is still suffering from Man Knee syndrome, although it is now well enough for him to make my coffee in the morning, which is a huge relief. However it is not recovered enough for him to swim, so he has taken to wallowing gently up and down the swimming pool at a tranquil pace and then joining me for the sauna. We are supposed to be going on a twenty six mile walk in April, so he is going to have to hurry up and get better, because I do not at all want to have to carry the rucksack all by myself.
After that we went back to work, which is where I am now, at the tail end of a happy, although unexciting day.
I like my days like this.
