It is very, very quiet on the taxi rank.
It is after ten o’clock, and I have done three jobs.
I should have started to write this ages ago I, because I want to go home now, but I didn’t because I have got a good book. It is about the shocking wickedness of the lies that the BBC told to Princess Diana when they wanted to persuade her to grumble about Prince Charles, as he was then, on the television.
The stocks are too good for the BBC. I think they should be collectively obliged to eat dog poo, as a symbolic representation of their programmes and news broadcast.
I would exempt Radio Three, which has hardly anybody talking on it, which is exactly how I like my radio these days. I had to delay going into the garage for fuel this evening because they were playing Copeland’s glorious Fanfare for the Common Man, which is tremendously stirring, and which I have loved since they used to play it at stock car championships, when the cars did a slow and dignified first lap before accelerating into a frenzy and smashing one another to pieces.
As it turned out, I might as well not have bothered purchasing the fuel anyway. I haven’t used any, apart from running the engine to keep me warm.
Music has been something of a theme of the day today. I had my in-the-computer meeting with my friend Amanda this afternoon, and we were busily laying plans for the summer, when we are going to go to Glyndebourne together.
I mean all of us, of course, her husband and Mark as well, not just the two of us.
We are going to go and see a Mozart opera called Die Entfuhrung Aus Dem Serail, which translates as The Abduction From The Harem. I don’t know it, but it doesn’t sound as if it will be tiresomely meaningful and sophisticated, so it will probably suit me very nicely. I am not very keen on the sort of entertainment which is full of black scenery and soliliquoys and people bemoaning the tragedy of a bleak existence in an uncaring universe, or even an uncaring cul-de-sac if it is a modern production. Abductions and hot pursuits make a far better night out, at least, as long as they are happening to somebody else.
It all looks very exciting. I showed Mark when he came home, and he looked with interest and said that it looked rather like a school picnic, which made me think that perhaps we have been to some very extravagant school picnics, which actually we have. It will be lovely to get our really-best clothes out again, although I might have to get my evening dress altered, because it was purchased for a person rather rounder than I am.
I could perhaps economise by just eating more chocolates.
Mark was off with the van whilst I was thus cheerfully plotting to spend all of his money. He took it off to a truck man with a diagnostic machine to see if they could work out a reason why the emissions would not drop to zero, apart from it having a twenty year old engine, obviously.
The truck man searched through everything, but could find nothing wrong, and made some uncomplimentary observations about the MOT man, whom he knew, and who does not seem to have an abundance of enthusiastic and affectionate friends. I am going to spend Monday trying to find another Ministerial MOT station which has perhaps had a cancellation and might be able to fit us in.
In other news, I went to the library and returned my library books, the ones that the computer has been nagging me about. I tried to explain to the chap behind the desk that I had not returned them because the library had been closed, but he just shrugged and said that nobody cared about the computer because they don’t do fines any more. I was quite astonished by this, how very civilised, so instead of dumping my books and stalking out in high dudgeon, I had a contented fifteen minutes ambling around choosing some new ones.
One of them was the one about Princess Diana and the rascally BBC that I have mentioned already.
I am going to go back to it.
Until next time.
