I wasn’t proud or independent, but I was practical. I looked up what work is due to be done on the railway line next Sunday. The travelling to be done by bus doubled the length of the journey to nearly three hours each way. This is absurd. It meant that Al and Dilly would spend more time on the train than in London. So I am coming up alone after all – there’s some bus travel on the Saturday too, but not for quite so long and service is normal on Monday. So what I’m going to do is clean the flat on Saturday evening – I trust it’ll have been left clean, but you have to clean it yourself to be quite sure, don’t you? – do the painting on Sunday, do something else on Sunday – probably go to an exhibition, I haven’t looked to see what’s on yet – go and do the second coat of paint and it’ll either give me Monday morning free or time to sort out any problems.
I’ll be sleeping on the floor. I’m too old to sleep on floors, but I’m too cheap to book into a hotel when I’ve got the prospect of another bill from the agency. Odd, the way one’s mind works, isn’t it? If I was having a jolly few days in Town, I’d stay in a nice hotel and not think about the bill, but because it’s working in an empty flat, I think it’ll be far too indulgent to stay in the cheapest dive. Though mind you, I suppose I could have a look and see what’s available. It does rather make me ache to think about it.
In other news, Al got stung on the forehead by a bee yesterday and, since there’s nowhere much to swell on the forehead, he found that this morning his left eye had swollen shut. He went to help Eileen set up shop and came home again, but now both eyes are thoroughly swollen and he can’t see. He says he feels fine and he’s taken anti-histamines, and promises to go to the doctor if he feels ill, breathless or just ‘wrong’. But I can’t take over the shop this afternoon as I’ve got an appointment, so it’ll have to be closed unless he’s a lot better in two hours time. The Sage will help Eileen shut up shop – Al can’t do that if he can’t open his eyes.