Mark worked last night and I crept out of bed early this morning being careful not to disturb him.
Not that he looked likely to be disturbed by anything short of a gas explosion in the street, he said later that he had finished work and taken the dogs out, and finally got to bed at about five.
I had an early night, well, early ish: because I was going to York for Lucy this morning.
It was her last day of term: and Speech Day. We had originally thought that we would go down for Sports Day, which had been the day before, but when we consulted with Lucy she pointed out that she was only in one race, since competing in at least one was mandatory for all girls, and so she had chosen the shortest, and planned to spend the rest of the afternoon reading her book in the sunshine, and therefore felt that our support would be superfluous.
When we considered the cost of a night off work and an overnight stay in York we were inclined to agree with her, and so this morning I put my pearl earrings in and my Smart Dress on, shoved some crisps and ham in a bag in case she wanted to stay for the picnic, and belted off in a last minute flurry at just after eight.
As it happened nobody else was going to York from Windermere at eight o’ clock on a Saturday morning, and I was early, so I pulled in to a layby round the corner from school, set my alarm, and fell asleep instantly, to wake up half an hour later to realise that everybody walking past was staring curiously at the smartly-dressed snoring person in the front seat of the taxi.
When I got to school I gatecrashed the Leavers’ Service in the chapel, on the correct assumption that they would be serving coffee, and helped myself to three cups before starting on the game peculiar to girls’ boarding schools at the end of term, called Spot Your Daughter, where you have to pick your own offspring out of a milling crowd of three hundred identical teenagers, all of whom are ignoring you anyway.
I didn’t find her, and in the end made my own way over to the enormous marquee, which was a splendid affair with vast floral displays and red carpet. As I gawped round trying not to inadvertently sit in one of the special areas reserved for the parents of prize winners, of which I was not one, a tall blonde tornado hurled herself on me, and we were reunited.
It was much like most similar school events, with a great deal of polite clapping, and a Motivational Speech from a member of the England Women’s Cricket Team on the usual annual subject of girls being as good as boys and needing to aim for the sky and all the rest of it.
I thought that I listened as hard as I could, but actually I have discovered to my surprise that I can’t remember a single word of it to relay to you here, which rather suggests that actually I didn’t listen at all.
I suspect that I may have employed a similar listening strategy in my own youth, which may account for why this is being written from the driving seat of a taxi.
Happily, I managed to find a seat next to another parent whom I like very much, which was tiresome, as much like being in the fourth year again, we had to shut up and stop talking to one another when the speeches started, and I couldn’t help but note that now, as then, I was far more interested in everything she said than in the words of encouragement from the podium, so you will be pleased to hear that actually I had a nice time, and by the time we staggered outside the sun was high in the sky, and hot.
Lucy and I were in complete agreement that escape was a better idea than picnic, no matter how lovely the afternoon, so we hurled her copious quantities of luggage into the car and squeezed uncomfortably into the remaining tiny space in the front.
Then we bowled off hastily down the drive, laughing and celebrating freedom, and thus completely and ungratefully missing the art exhibition and the orchestral performance and the display of modern dance that the school had thoughtfully laid on for the benefit of visiting parents, in favour of dashing into the loo in the shopping centre up the road and tearing off our smart disguises to replace them with loose-fitting T-shirts and shorts and flip flops.
So I have got both of my little chicks back in the nest.
The summer has begun.
