Well, here I am recovered.
Only just, though, it has been awful.
Mark very kindly said that maybe it wasn’t all hangover as usually people don’t have a high temperature and a sore throat with a hangover. I have slept for two days, in between necessary activities, and feel fragile and sorry for myself and aching all over. Poor me.
However, the events leading up to it were magnificent. I think I have told you that we went out for dinner. Paddy used to be a chef before he turned into a taxi driver, and his son was home who is a chef in one of the big London hotels, and between them they spent all day wrangling about the best way to cook things.
In the end they produced garlic prawns in avocado dressing, asparagus soup swirled with cream, coq au vin and new potatoes, raspberries and lemon cheesecake, and the most fantastic cheeseboard ever invented, with Brie and cheese with chilli and smoked cheese, and little macaroons. It was gorgeous, and we stayed until two o’ clock in the morning, eating and drinking and laughing until we cried, it was the best sort of night.
We had got to get up the next day to get the camper van packed to go and see Oliver’s school play. This was more effort than it sounded, because I had washed all the camper van sheets, so they all had to be put back: and then I woke up feeling absolutely awful, which could have been the brandy.
Mark was a bit delicate but rather better than I was, and he kindly went to get the camper whilst I dragged myself into the shower and stood there trying to summon up some energy to get things ready.
Fortunately most of it was already done, and in the end we got to school in good time, although admittedly I slept all the way, and there was Oliver, excited and happy and full of himself, it was brilliant to see him.
I was still too sorry for myself to cook anything when it was all over, so we bought fish and chips afterwards, from a chippy full of other parents from school who had all had the same idea.
This was ace, and we had fish and chips wrapped in paper in the back of the camper, and caught up with all of Oliver’s news and listened to him playing his flute, he has got to three notes now: and Matron has told him to tell me that his trousers are too short and he needs some more, which I knew.
I agreed that it would be all right for him to keep his moustache until morning, because he was very pleased with it, and found him an old pillow, and then we went to bed and Mark drove us on for a while until in the end we camped just down the road from Lucy’s school. This was handy in the morning, because it meant that we didn’t have to rush, so we popped into Penhaligon’s for some scented candles before we trundled across to school to collect her.
Lucy knew we were there long before she emerged, because of the uniqueness of our camper van, which everybody recognised, and she bounced across to us looking shiny and pleased, to an ecstatic welcome from the dogs.
Mark’s dog had been, I think, secretly rather pleased at my continued indisposition, because it meant she could take unchallenged possession of the front seat, whilst I slept in the back and my dog curled up anxiously next to me, occasionally I woke up to discover him sitting up looking at me with concerned brown eyes. I felt guilty about this but would like to observe that this solicitude did not stop him from being very pleased indeed when it turned out that I was not well enough to finish my fish and chips.
We had our usual pub lunch stop with Nan and Grandad after that, which was lovely, I had some pasta, which was perfect unwell food, and some of Oliver’s ice cream, and Lucy and Oliver made us laugh with their stories, and we all admired Oliver’s moustache and Lucy’s proficiency in Japanese until it was time to set off for home, and work.
I have borrowed a taxi from Lakeside, which was very kind of them, although I shall have to think of something else tomorrow because they have got one of their own drivers in it.
I might have to have a night off.
