I am pleased to be able to tell you that the diagnosing machine arrived today.
I had been worrying about it. Amazon rarely turns up here before the afternoon, and needed it to turn up, because I have been having a quiet firewood-related anxiety, because the mighty Internet is issuing vague warnings that it might snow, and indeed, the world has become cold, in the way that makes your fingers numb and sore, even with gloves.
I have still got firewood left, of course, I have not used it all yet. Indeed, I could probably just about manage until Mark came back if I didn’t mind using every single last stick and probably burning some of the furniture as well. Obviously I do not want to do this. I do not want Mark to spend all of his next shore leave cutting up firewood. Also we live in an age of feminine independence, dreamed up by some idiot who never considered that it would mean they would have to lug their own firewood about, and hence I have a Responsibility.
The firewood is stacked in the field at the farm, where Mark has thoughtfully chainsawed and split a pile of it for precisely this sort of eventuality, but I did not want to trail over there with a splutteringly dubious taxi, and so I thought I would wait until the diagnosing thing turned up.
It took ages. I had been over the fell and emptied the dogs, sorted out the accounts and paid off all the bank difficulties, and still it had not arrived.
In the end I remembered that I had promised myself that I would do the ironing, and so dragged myself wearily up the stairs to the attic to make a start.
Ironing is such a massively dull chore. Really I do not know how people manage who have the sort of jobs where you have got to look respectable the whole time. Fortunately I am in a taxi in the dark, so nobody ever notices how crumpled I am, but some people must have to iron half a dozen shirts and pairs of trousers every single week.
I would be very tempted just to keep wearing the same ones until they became smelly.
I don’t like wearing the same clothes twice. Partly this is because when you are doing things like hauling firewood they get very smelly very quickly.
I had almost finished the ironing when a clunk from the front door, and the dogs barking their heads off, told me that the diagnosing thing had turned up.
I was on the horns of a Dilemma then, because I knew perfectly well that if I abandoned the ironing with just a few things left, I would be ages before I got back to it, and then I would spoil the whole of the next few days feeling guilty about it.
Also the hem had come down on Mark’s trousers and needed sewing back up again.
Unfortunately it was going dark.
I rushed out to the taxi with the diagnosing thing, and sat there for twenty minutes with my tongue sticking out and the sort of scowl that happens when you are concentrating really hard but actually are just a bit too stupid to understand exactly what you are supposed to be doing.
In the end I fixed it.
That is to say, the car is working. It is going all right once again. It has still got a big red sign on the dashboard that says STOP AND FIX YOUR ENGINE YOU CLOWN, but the engine is working so I don’t care, you can always put taxi cards in front of signs like that.
After that I dashed upstairs to finish the ironing and the mending, and loaded the dogs into the car to belt off to the farm just as it was starting to go dark.
I filled the boot with wood. This was a glorious pleasure. It was dry, and smelled cleanly of wood. It was gold-coloured and fresh, and I felt very grateful to have been so thoughtfully cared about.
By the time I had finished it was too dark to see what I was doing, but it didn’t matter, it was not especially technical, and nobody will be able to see the colossal twiggy mess left behind in the boot because of the dark, so that is all right.
I have filled the pile in the conservatory. I will be warm now for another few days.
It can snow if it likes. I don’t care.
I shall be warm and contented in front of my fire.
LATER NOTE: The STOP sign went off as well. What a happy outcome I have had to the day.
