I have been to get my hair cut and worried about the Scottish invasion. The last bit is in my story, not real, obviously, otherwise you would have heard about it on the Today programme this morning, or at the very least on the hourly news bulletin later.
I told my hairdresser a bit about the Scottish invasion and similar concerns, but he just said: “Oh yes,” in the way that people do when they hope that you will shut up. Actually I didn’t at all mind shutting up, because it was so very nice to have short tidy hair again.
I was in such a state about the rascally Scots that Mark offered to come to Kendal with me to supervise, possibly because he was concerned about my level of concentration behind the wheel of the taxi. I declined, of course, because I know that really he prefers to get on with his axle, but I thought it was very kind, and made an extra effort to concentrate so as not to let him down. In the end I didn’t hit anything, and even remembered to take the top sign off the roof before I drove into the multi-storey, so all was well.
A very nice girl washed my hair, and asked polite things about what I was doing with the rest of the day, and I couldn’t explain that I was orchestrating an invasion of York, so I said that I was shopping, which seemed to satisfy her.
I really did some shopping after that. I went to Farrers, which is Kendal’s very nice coffee shop, to buy replacement supplies of tea and coffee, and the girl behind the counter warned me that we are about to have a worldwide hike in the price of tea, so I bought three bags, just to be ahead of the game, remember you heard it here first.
I collected the new taxi licence plate from the council and felt very pleased with myself for remembering. Getting a taxi licence is such a colossal fuss that once I have got the masses of paperwork over their counter and heaved a sigh of relief, several times I have forgotten all about the object of the exercise, which is to get a new plate to put on the back of the taxi. You have to collect this several days later. Once I forgot for over a month and a man from the council phoned up and was grumpy.
After that I went home and sat in front of the computer with a massive pot of tea and a sigh of relief. This story has not been at all good for the house. There is dust everywhere. We have decided that we will try and get some of it cleaned up over the weekend.
When Mark came home we thought that we would listen to The Archers before we went out to work. Usually we are at work by the time it is on, but it is so quiet at teatime at the moment that it is easier to wait until all of the day drivers have buzzed off home or there is no room on the taxi rank.
I am not going to tell you what has happened in The Archers but we thought it was rubbish. I have not been listening to it very much lately, because it is not as interesting as invading York, but we have heard it every now and again, and we thought that tonight’s episode was not worth stopping talking for. I am cross with the BBC. It is quite bad enough that they are being unkind about poor Donald Trump without getting the tea boy to write the script for The Archers.
I think that Donald Trump is very brave indeed. I would be really upset if everybody said the sort of things about my nice new haircut that they are saying about his hair on Facebook. He has got to put up with everybody laughing and because he is President and not a taxi driver he can’t even buy a nice cap or a bobble hat to cover it up. I think he is being very patient about it.
Perhaps I should post my hairdresser to him for Christmas.
Have a picture of the axle.
