We were woken up this morning by the cheery voice of John Humphrys on the radio telling us that it was six o’clock.
I felt as though somebody had been poking sand into my eyes.
We lay still for a few moments, trying to accustom ourselves to the absence of snuffling dogs wishing to make a hasty dash into the garden. Then Mark got up and made coffee. I lit candles and we sat in bed holding hands and gazing anxiously out at the snow gathering on the dark road outside.
In the end we left at half past seven, wearing our middle-class-lookalike costumes. For Mark this involves not much difference from usual, meaning his tweed jacket and cap, although actually I had ironed his shirt, since it was a special occasion.
For me it is a major tidying up operation, because makeup and earrings and respectable clothes are required, in other words, not the comfortable fleece jumper with Mickey Mouse on the front or the leaky boots.
You can see the sort of journey we had from the picture. It was snowy and exciting, but the roads were clear enough, and we arrived at Oliver’s school without incident. We were even in enough time to have a cup of tea from our flask in the car, brought just in case we were marooned on the hills and needed sustenance whilst we dug our way out.
We discovered Oliver handing out programmes for the concert. He submitted to a quick hug, after which we had to be contented with the occasional distant nod as he got on with the far more important issues of school life.
We watched a dozen musicians possessing varying degrees of natural talent, and several short excerpts from plays, and an enthusiastic performance of a story-in-song called Rooster Rag. We clapped heartily, not always in the right places, and laughed in the warm approving manner of parents watching embarrassed ten year old boys doing theatrical things.
Of course we enjoyed ourselves hugely, and Oliver said afterwards that he didn’t know what he was going to do now, because the concert was over and he didn’t have anything to worry about any more. He solved the problem by belting off to the third form common room to lark about with a host of other relieved youths whilst we went to hear from his teachers about his progress.
It was a good job that Nan and Grandad had gone to collect Lucy, because we were there for ages, waiting patiently in groups of other genuinely middle-class tweed-jacketed parents for a turn with each teacher.
They were all terribly nice about Oliver, and the headmaster very kindly said that his school council speech had been the sort of moment that you go into teaching for. This pleased us very much. I have never before had a child who would make somebody want to go into teaching, and indeed Number Two Daughter made me feel very glad that I hadn’t.
Everybody said that he had been trying very hard, although Mark pointed out afterwards that the trying hard seemed to come to an abrupt halt when it came to actually making an effort to learn something, like spellings or his six times table.
His maths teacher has come up with an ingenious maths homework for the school holidays, to be done on the computer, and she will be able to see what he is doing at the time he is doing it. This might possibly put an end to Oliver’s usual habit of having a last minute panic at the end of the holidays and spending the last few days frantically trying to catch up with neglected prep, much to his gloom and our amusement.
Eventually we had made our way around everyone, and apart from Latin he is doing perfectly well and somehow came third in Geography.
We retrieved him from a bawling knot of boys in the common room and reassured him that he had not been expelled, and went to meet Nan and Grandad and Lucy
We all arrived at the Waggon and Horses at exactly the same moment, and despite having thought last week that I might never drink alcohol again I changed my mind when confronted with a large glass of red. In fact the parents’ meeting had considerably sharpened my interest in drinking. I am very glad not to have been a teacher, I would be in a rehabilitation unit by now.
We had a merry lunch. We heard all of the children’s school stories, and updated everybody on the progress of the camper van. Nan and Grandad had been looking after their other grandchildren, and hence were equally enthusiastic about drinking, and I got quite giggly.
Of course eventually we had to take a reluctant leave and set off back through the snow, because of work tonight, which is where I am now. It is twenty one hours since we got up and we will not be at all sorry when the day is over, ace as it has been.
It has been a long sort of day.
