We had thought that we might have a night off, but in the end we didn’t.
We were encouraged in this choice by the usual irresistible stimulus of not having enough money. It is a jolly good job that driving a taxi provides such instant gratification financially. Goodness alone knows how we would manage if we were obliged to wait until the end of the month before we could afford to replace the milk and bread again.
It is Tuesday, so it is quiet, but we thought that any cash would be a definite improvement on none whatsoever, so here we are.
We are not feeling in any way deprived, because we are taking the children to their Krav Maga lessons again tomorrow and the day after, and so we will be having two nights of idleness anyway. It will not be ordinary idleness, it will be camper van idleness, which is even better than the commonplace sort, and so we are looking forward to it. If we manage to organise ourselves sufficiently before we go, with some adequate washing facilities, we might even be able to stay overnight, although I am not holding my breath for this.
I have spent today frantically trying to organise my life anyway, in the hope that some extended travel may become a serious option if we try hard enough.
It did not start off on the best possible note.
At the end of yesterday’s cleaning extravaganza, in the spirit of having an Ideal Home, I chucked all of our towels in the washing basket, because they were getting damp and smelly.
I added the table cloth, a pile of cleaning cloths from our housework achievements, and a collection of smelly things unearthed from Oliver’s room: along with all of our normal washing.
The basket was too full to shut.
Then this morning whilst we were having our contemplative coffee-in-bed, the dogs bounded in, fresh from the wet garden. They had not used toilet paper or wiped their feet.
We peeled the sheets off crossly, and piled them on top of the overflowing washing basket.
I was barely able to see over the top of it as I staggered down the stairs: when I discovered that the lodger had also decided that today would be a good day to wash all of her sheets, and had put them in the washing machine on its three hour long Thorough Cycle.
She was not expecting my disgruntlement, reasonably enough, and politely offered to turn her sheets off and run them through on a faster cycle. This worked reasonably well, except it only had a slow spin, so all her sheets came out still dripping.
The washing line was full of the curtains that I washed yesterday.
Mark assured me that he was very sympathetic about sheets and other washing difficulties, but unfortunately he had man things to do. He rushed off to the farm hastily to mend my car. He left in such a hurry that he was obliged to come back shortly afterwards for the things he had forgotten, which was mostly the dogs.
It was a damp, dull sort of day, and everything hung limply on the washing line.
I made some mayonnaise and cooked some potatoes in butter and mint to take with us to the camper van tomorrow. Then I made cous-cous with spiced chicken, and a large bannock.
Every now and again I dashed out to the washing line and shook things hopefully, by way of encouraging them to dry.
Nothing took the hint.
I hung the curtains back up even though they were still damp, reasoning that hanging on the curtain rail would probably do just as well as hanging anywhere else.
I put the dehumidifier on and draped things over chairs and banisters.
The house began to look like Widow Twankey’s kitchen in the pantomime, except for the policeman whom I seem to recall that she discovered in the oven towards the end of Act One.
When we left for work there was washing absolutely everywhere, and a bag full next to the back door to be hung out tomorrow.
Mark fixed my taxi. He had to build a pulley and tensioner out of bits that he had got lying about and had harvested from the donor taxi, but in the end it worked, and once again everything sounds smooth and pleasing.
I am ready for bed now.
I hope the sheets dried in the end.
