Yesterday, at Mr B's specific request, I made meat pie for dinner. It was the least I could do in the circumstances.
Earlier in the afternoon, I had persuaded
him that we needed to take yet another trip to the tip (sorry, Household Waste Amenity Site.) Yes, Dear Readers, the Clearing Out The Garage Project is going great guns; so much so that Mr Mouse, who has been enjoying such a happy and fulfilled life
among the tea-chests, is threatening to leave home. I shall wave him off the premises with pleasure.
Anyway, we were only away from the house for half-an-hour maximum - but when we returned
it was to find a card awaiting us. Mr B knew immediately what it was, without even reading the words that informed us that delivery of an important packet had proved unsuccessful. Our Olympics tickets! Mr Thomas Cook had assured us that he
would email us in advance so that we knew when to expect our precious package, but clearly he had forgotten his promise. Unless he expected us to let him know every time we make a trip to the tip?
B kept impressively calm. Not a tear, nor a tantrum. Not even a word of blame for the one who took us out of the house on an errand which, let's face it, could have waited another day or two. I thought he deserved his meat pie.
Cleaning the inside of the car is nowhere near as much fun as cleaning the outside of the car (see yesterday's Blog.) There's no water involved, for a start, and it's all a but too much like housework but
in a confined space, so that you have to bend yourself into contorted shapes just to get the vacuum cleaner nozzle into all the nooks and crannies. I don't think, after all, that I hanker after a new career as a Car Valet, even if, as Mr B says, it would
bring in a little extra money to help pay for all the extra milk and coffee we have had to buy since I retired.
I can only assume that the "Tea and Coffee Club" in my former workplace, run with
great efficiency by the lovely Linda, is quids in these days.