You think you want to work in this idyllic location? Commune with nature in the paradise that is the Centre for Complementary Care?

You do?

Okay … I’ll swop. Whatever it is you do all day … I’ll swop.

This morning saw Gretchen and me trailing around the garden in a deluge working out where the gazebos are going to go for the music evening on Saturday. Two dejected women and a scarcely less-dejected gardener in the rain, huddling under a golf umbrella, peering into the murk and deciding that the Teddy Tombola could go in the Secret Garden and the musicians had better have a gazebo to shelter in, unless we wanted their sound system to kill them.

My first aid is good, but if you think I’m going to touch an electrified corpse, you’re nuts.

Then we got a telephone call from the poor soul who was our midday client. She was lost. We gave her directions. She ‘phoned back five minutes’ later even more lost. In fact, she was halfway up Muncaster Fell on a cart track. We told her to stay put, donned our coats and trekked out into the rain to find her …

Hardly had we got her back to the Centre and assured her that Mountain Rescue comes as part of the service, than Gretchen spotted three sheep on our back lawn. It’s bad enough that people are going to be sinking into the mud on Saturday - we don’t need them sinking into sheep pooh as well … So, Gretchen ‘phoned our friendly neighbourhood farmer and the conversation went something like this:

Gretchen: Hello there, friendly neighbourhood farmer. It’s Gretchen! How are you?!

Friendly Neighbourhood Farmer: I’m fine thank you Gretchen. How many sheep is it this time?

Cue arrival of slightly grumpy looking farmhand in pursuit of three sheep that are perfectly happy where they are …

Then we realized that we’d forgotten all about the necessity of feeding our volunteers on Saturday. I said, rather sourly, that we’ll have to buy sandwiches in because I’m not going to bloody well turn around and MAKE them … which is why I ended up down at the local petrol station sussing out who THEY got THEIR sandwiches from.

I got the information, rang the place, explained the situation, waited for the laughter (”Summer Concert? Saturday? Really??!!”) to die down and ordered 18 rounds of assorted sandwiches on white and brown bread. They’re being delivered to the petrol station on Saturday afternoon so that I can pick them up on my way past.

It’s 4.00pm.

Only another hour to go …