Summer Holiday

I am on the taxi rank by myself.

Mark has had a misfortune. He was welding the camper up yesterday and couldn’t manage to squeeze into the space to get to the particular bit of collapsed bulkhead that he was trying to weld back together.

After a lot of messing about, in the end he could only resolve this problem by taking his mask off so that he could manage to get a bit nearer to it.

If you have ever done any welding you will know that this is not a good idea.

He is going to start his new job on Monday and now he has got a bright red blistered face.

I would have laughed, except he is so very sad and embarrassed, not to mention very sore, so I have given him our anti-burn cream, not that it helps very much, and this afternoon he has gone back to bed, where he ought to stay really, not least because his poor face is in a terrible state. Don’t try this at home, children.

He is only reluctantly starting his new job anyway, because he doesn’t want to be doing some rubbish real job when it is summer time for taxis.

They have asked him if he would be able to come in for a couple of weeks because they have got a lot happening, although he has already told them that he has got more important things to do than fart around going to work.

In the end he agreed that he will help out for a while, and then take some time out, and see them in September, preferably after the children have gone back to school.

This is all making our holiday look very unlikely.

He tried to talk to me about it this morning, with red eyes and a tired expression, because he thinks we ought to stay here and work, and not go dashing off in the camper van to southern parts and sunshine.

I pretended not to understand, because I want to go on holiday, which is what everybody else in the whole world is doing, but although I haven’t admitted it, secretly I know that he is right and we ought to stay here and make money whilst we can.

I suggested that we went on a Sunday  evening, and then came back on the Friday afterwards, so that we wouldn’t miss a weekend at work, but he sensibly pointed out that in that week he ought to be earning some money at a real job and even I could earn some money driving a taxi, and if we are going to continue with our massively over extravagant lifestyle with children in exclusive private schools and a house in the Lake District then we have got to make cash to pay for it every chance that we can get.

Lucy, surprisingly, agreed with him, partly because she has just come back from a week in the Ardeche  and doesn’t care, but also because she is working as well, and wants to earn money so that she is rolling in personal wealth when she goes back to school instead of just subsisting on the meagre allowance that I dole out whenever I have a lucky week.

He has pointed out our recent extravagances ordering new school uniforms and sheets and underwear, which is very sensible of him, and I am very glad he takes it all seriously because getting into debt is one of the most horrible conditions known to man, worse then herpes and harder to shake off, and I know that he is working very hard to protect us from this terrible fate.

Therefore I have decided to have a bit of a re-think about it all.

I have decided that instead of a holiday we are going to spend the rest of the summer tootling about the Lake District looking at the stunning scenery.

We can stay in the nicest self catering accommodation I have ever come across, handy for the centre of town with a private garden, and beautifully decorated, with unlimited access to an exclusive five star health club and spa: where nobody minds about the dogs and which is so thoughtfully supplied that I don’t even need to worry in case I have forgotten to pack anything important.

Oliver is off playing boys’ games in the sunshine. Lucy is improving her spoken Mandarin and losing weight.

It is going to be a fantastic summer.