We had almost finished washing the breakfast pots this morning when Number One Daughter appeared.
She had come to visit the gym with Number Two Daughter, and to leave behind her Ritalin Boy and Ritalin Boy’s identical twin cousin, both of whom bounded up the back path and burst into the house with all the graceful elegance of excited oversized poopies, and dashed over to check the freezer for ice lollies.
After that they cuddled the poopies, which went rather better once Mark had gently explained which was the right way up, and Ritalin Boy had to be dissuaded from employing them in his favourite game of hiding things. We explained why the freezer would not be a good place for a poopy. He had not thought of this and agreed with interest, after which he dashed upstairs to hide my jewellery box, which I have still not found.
Number One Daughter had left them with some money to buy a magazine or some other juvenile extravagance. They were very excited about this, and we had a little walk out to the shops. That is to say, I walked, and the Identical Cousin walked. Ritalin Boy bounced, and skipped, and hopped, and jumped, and sang: “Bottom, bottom, bottom,” all the way.
When we got home I discovered that Harry was in residence as well, so I shoved three pizzas in the oven. By the time Numbers One and Two Daughters returned, full of stories of burpees and displaying pictures of Number One Daughter lifting a hundred and fifty five kilos of weights, I had fed all the children, and was feeling pleased with my virtue and domestic success.
The boys ate ice lollies and bounced on the trampoline. The poopies charged about and squeaked. Number One Daughter told us stories of her adventures, and we drank rather too much coffee.
Once they had gone we all dashed off to work for a relaxing break, except when I picked poor Lucy up at the end of her evening she was in a complete tizz, having had a night full of adventure.
Their restaurant had been visited by a large party of very intoxicated young men, who had created a great deal of mess and said rude words, and eventually been ejected by the police.
Whilst clearing it all up she recognised one of her teachers, who, it appeared, had been quietly present in a corner for the whole dreadful spectacle.
I am not sure which of the two of them was more shocked. The teacher had been obliged to observe one of the school’s delicately nurtured young ladies serving fried rice and chips to a boisterously drunk and lecherous stag party. Lucy suddenly realised that the teacher had overheard words loudly bellowed, which if even whispered in the sacred cloisters of her all-girls boarding school would presumably cause people to faint with ladylike horror.
They said good evening politely to one another, and agreed that holidays were not like term time, and as he left he said with some admiration that he wished she was in his class.
Lucy came home and had a restorative glass of wine with her dinner.
Harry stayed the night.
We have just got home, and it is half past five in the morning.
I think today has gone on for quite long enough.
Goodnight.
