We got up early because of getting the children for exeat.
We had got to leave at ten, so we rushed about washing the pots from work last night and pegging washing out on to the line and emptying the dogs.
We didn’t take the dogs with us, because of long car journeys making them grumpy and sick. This is not great in a taxi, so we left them sulking on the sofa, where they were hiding because of the hoover.
We were halfway over the mountains before we realised that neither of us had thought to bring breakfast with us. This was a gloomy moment, because obviously the realisation was prompted by sudden pangs of hunger.
We decided to be brave and soldier on, because we had arranged that Nan and Grandad would collect Lucy and we would all meet up in the pub for lunch. We thought that we could probably live on our fat until then.
Oliver was waiting for us in the tower archway, and jumped up and down waving excitedly. Of course it was brilliant to see him, he is getting so tall and freckled and grown-up.
He talked all the way down the motorway, he and some of the other boys have been collecting beetles which they have been keeping in their sponge bags. This must have been a surprise for Matron. It turned out to be a surprise for the beetle-keepers as well, because the beetles were not at all grateful for the little houses that they had been offered, and simply flew away.
The beetles were linked, in some way that I never quite grasped, to some ink-related activity which fortunately had turned out not to poison the boys who sampled it but nevertheless had adhered fairly thoroughly and in large quantities to Oliver’s trousers. I am going to have to put them in washing soda to soak overnight.
Between beetles and ink, and the usual remarks about the French teacher, and his reacquaintance with his collection of rude words, the journey passed happily.
Nan, Grandad and Lucy were already in the pub when we arrived.
Five minutes later I had a glass of wine in my hand as an aide to ordering dinner.
Ten minutes later I was feeling very drunk indeed.
This is what happens when you have a glass of wine for breakfast.
It was a very pleasant drunkenness. The food which followed it was excellent, and we ate until we began to suffer from mild feelings of remorse. Nan and Grandad and the children all together are the most entertaining company I can think of, and by the time we staggered out again my face hurt from laughing so much, and I fell asleep in the front seat of the car.
Mark, who is braver than I am and had not drunk so much, drove us home, where the children were fascinated by our new self-propelling hoover. Oliver instantly discovered the remote control, which we had hitherto neglected, and put batteries in it to get it to work.
The remote control has a little joystick on it. He could hoover and chase the dogs all at the same time, without needing to leave the rocking chair.
I have never known a boy to be so interested in housework. Oliver hoovered whilst Mark and I dived upstairs for a snooze before work, because we are too old now to last from early morning until early the next morning without a little nap halfway, no matter how urgent the need for funds.
In the end the hoover puffed and panted its weary way back to its little charging dock, where it plugged itself in and refused to play any more. Mark and I hauled ourselves regretfully out of bed and off to work.
It is brilliant to have the children at home. I didn’t want to go to work very much.
They will still be there tomorrow.
Hurrah.
