Mark is being cross.
This is because he is having difficulties with his sister.
His sister is being very grumpy. It is my fault.
It is actually my fault because I have been horrid. She wrote him a very formal email telling him that he had got to get all of his things out of the shed and be quick about it: and I wrote one back which I sprinkled liberally with long words that I knew perfectly well that she would not understand.
I did this on purpose because I was being unkind and wanted her to feel stupid. I am not a nice person. When she wrote back I copied and pasted a dictionary definition into my reply and made patronising remarks.
You will not be surprised to hear that she is now not just a bit grumpy, but very cross indeed, and Mark rolled his eyes and said that I must not do it again. He has not moved out of the shed yet and can do without his sister stamping and raging in the background.
I am horrid. Even then I still thought that it was funny. I know it is not kind to make upset people feel worse, and I am trying very hard to think about how worried and distressed she must be. If I remember this I will not want to be cruel. I wish I did not feel such an awful impulse to behave so badly.
I would like to set the record straight here, even though she does not read this. I do not wish to be the source of unfair malice. Over the years Mark’s sister has been very patient in letting us use the shed. We think that we are right about all our differences, and she thinks that she is right. She is being cross because she is terribly worried about money. The awful thing about money worries is that they make people behave very badly indeed.
I did not even try to behave well. I am trying to feel sorry, but really I am not, not very. It is dreadful to think that I have found it funny to upset somebody who is already raging with distress.
The whole thing has made Mark grumpy as well. He came home from the farm today growling a great deal to himself about tiresome things that his sister has done. He is very kind in his nature, and is always surprised when people do things just to hurt his feelings. I have got to be horrid for both of us because he is rubbish at it.
He washed the taxis, muttering to himself crossly, and felt better afterwards. I was busy in the kitchen, washing all of our clothes from the trip away, and also making jam.
I picked the grapes from the garden the other day. I did this far too late, because of being too disorganised to get round to it in time, and much of the crop had been eaten by birds or gone brown. I crushed them and boiled them and strained them, and today I made a jelly with the watery bit and some chutney with the pulp. It was only a very little, but there was still a pound of jam and three pounds of chutney.
The chutney is Grape and Chilli flavour, because I am becoming a modern cook, and this is the sort of thing that they give you to eat when you go to somewhere smart. They don’t serve it in old Asda jars, so I will have to think a bit harder about presentation, but Mark says that the chutney itself is very nice and will be good for clearing our airwaves if we have colds or something. It is very spicy. I put in a lot of garlic and onions and mixed it all with vinegar and brown sugar.
The thing about chopping up chilli is that everything you eat afterwards is a bit eye watering, and also it is not very nice to get into cuts on your fingers. We went for a sleep afterwards and I had to try very hard to ignore the burning sensation under my fingernails.
I am at work now, and am eating chilli flavoured melon as I write.
It serves me right.
