Oliver has come home for the weekend.
He seems to be none the worse for his compulsory rugby attendance, and indeed looked to be rather bursting with general health and well-being.
I went over to collect him because of not being able to fix the camper van if Mark went. Also I like going to collect the children because of the stories on the journey home. I heard all about a teacher who said an accidental rude word and who has gone up massively in Oliver’s estimation because of it. It wasn’t a very rude word. I would not even have noticed if anybody said it to me, but clearly by school’s virtuous standards it was unacceptable.
I must try to remember that next Parents’ Evening. In fact probably I had better stop Mark from talking at all. His career in farming and engineering has made swearing an important part of his vocabulary and I would not like him to have a mishap.
Oliver swore energetically and cheerfully for the first ten minutes of the journey home. He always does this. He is not allowed to say wicked words at school so he has a little outburst once he gets in the car, which always makes me laugh.
I am not the sort of parent who minds about rude words. I would be on a sticky wicket if I did, since I use them myself, especially in emergencies. Anyway, I can hardly expect the children to behave better than I do, so the house rules about rude words are the same for all of us, and involve not using them in front of grandparents, teachers or anybody that I am trying to impress. The children manage this far better than Mark does.
Mark spent the day working on the camper van again. He is not stopping working at this even though it probably won’t be ready for our holiday. In between fixing the side panels he has got a project going with one of our taxi driver friends, they are busy converting a rotivator into a motorised wheelbarrow. Apparently it will still be a rotivator as well and if they can ever get it started they will use it on the allotment.
I am refraining from comment on this item, although some of the other taxi drivers have been amused at length. In any case I have a suspicion that it might be faster to dig the whole plot over by hand rather than wait for the rotivator/wheelbarrow to be finished. Also the point of allotments are peace and quiet, not deafening gear changes and clouds of thick oily blue smoke.
Of course there will be clouds of thick oily blue smoke, it is Mark, and probably diesel flavoured potatoes. They are very excited about it. I can hardly wait.
Once I had chugged back over the fells with Oliver he disappeared upstairs to play things on his computer and try his hand at songwriting, which is his other current passion. Do not expect a gala performance any time soon, especially if you are a grandparent, a teacher, or anybody I am trying to impress.
We had a bit of a sleep before work and eventually retired to the taxi rank. I have had a picnic and a read and half of a flask of tea and glanced through Facebook and about an hour ago I took somebody just round the corner because of it being up a hill.
It is a quiet night.
Perhaps I shall have another little snooze.
