It is daylight now when we get in from work after Saturday night, which is nice because the birds are singing and the Library Gardens smells glorious when we take the dog for a last excursion, but somehow I always feel a bit cheated at having missed the night’s sleep.
This is even more so when – as we did this morning – we have got to get up at a reasonable hour because there is a great deal of day to be got on with.
Today was Lucy’s last day at home and everything had to be packed and got ready and tuck replacements purchased. I thought I had done all her washing and was not at all pleased to find some crumpled smelly things shoved into the side pocket of her bag. I flapped them at her and made critical parental noises, but in the end there wasn’t really much I could do except shove them back again, which I did, with instructions to put them in the laundry as soon as she gets back to school, but she wasn’t listening in the least, and I fully expect they will still be there when she gets home at the end of term.
Mark went out to work whilst I got on with all of that. I stripped the sheets off her bed and snuffled out all her buried washing, and made her bring down her collection of used plates. I just closed the door on her bathroom. Some things are too much to contemplate and I have got to work myself up to them.
In the late afternoon Mark came back, and we all went out for a celebratory farewell pizza, which was very nice indeed. They were huge, and oozed cheese and bits of cooked meat, and smelled wonderfully of basil and oregano, so of course we all ate far too much and rolled out of the cafe feeling a bit uncomfortable but very happy and sleepy.
I had to go for a little snooze before I set off with Lucy, which made her roll her eyes impatiently, but we got set off in good time, and it was a very pleasant journey back.
The gypsies are increasing in numbers all the time on the road to Appleby, which I thought was tremendously exciting. A great deal of the verge space is fully occupied now, dotted along for miles with little encampments of four or five families together.
Most of the vardoes were sheeted up with green canvas sheets to protect the paintwork, but some were exposed, and one, thrillingly, was open at the front as well so you could see the beautiful varnished woodwork and the little black stove inside it, and there was smoke puffing enchantingly out of the little crooked chimney. There were ponies of all shapes and colours tethered along the roadside, some shaggy and placid, some gleaming and very over-excited: and in the end we passed a wagon being driven along the road coming towards us, with a heavy piebald pony and a weather-beaten man who looked as though he was wrapped in a blanket
I squeaked with excitement, and made Lucy look up from her absorbing electronic device to see it all, but she sees lots of beautiful horses at school, which prides itself in sending riders to Windsor and Badminton and Horse of the Year Show, and thought that the ponies were scruffy and probably smelly and the caravans looked cold, and was glad that she lived in a house and not to get any ideas, so I left her to get on with whatever she was doing and kept my ideas to myself.
We saw a rainbow as we were coming down off the fells, which I thought was an omen of a good half term and Lucy thought was because of light reflecting on the dreadful weather. Then there were more rainbows, all the way to York, which was lovely, because some of them were huge and splendid.
Of course she wasn’t at all upset to say goodbye, and shuffled me out of her dormitory quickly in case I thought I might inspect her wardrobe or something, so we had a quick hug and she bounded off happily in search of other teenage girls to squeal with.
I drove back alone. It was getting dark as I got towards Appleby, and I tried to take a picture of the gypsies to show you. This involved some considerable personal peril, I can tell you, because I had to do it on my mobile phone whilst driving, and it would appear that every single police officer in Cumbria has decamped to Appleby for the duration of the fair, although it looked as though most of them were having a busy time in the pub in Kirkby Steven when I passed: so if you fancy a go at some sheep rustling now would be the moment. Anyway, I drove past and gazed at little groups of rugged men round campfires, and loading and unloading horses, and doing outdoor man things in the dusk, and thought it was splendid.
The women must all have been safely in the vans, and I’m afraid the picture is very blurry on account of being surreptitious: but I have included it anyway.
Mark says we can go up to Appleby Fair if we have got time, because he hasn’t been since he was a boy: but that I can’t buy a horse.
I think this is going to be fantastic and am very excited.
He might change his mind about the horse.
