I regret that I must own up to having had a day without a single moment of exercise in it. I have been entirely and completely occupied all day.
It does not matter that I am penitent and guilty. This will not help me get fitter and thinner.
I have failed, and might have to go on failing for a day or two unless I can organise my life a bit more efficiently.
The children are home.
We arrived in Yorkshire just after midnight last night, having had a tranquil journey across the icy fells. This passed wonderfully quickly, because of the Game Of Thrones CD talking to us in its gentle, measured tones, and issuing its stark warnings that winter was coming.
Obviously we knew that, because of the icy winds and bursts of sleet. There is no feeling nicer than to curl up in a warm bed in a bright little camper van, and to listen to the weather growling outside.
When we woke up there was just time for coffee before we had to drive the last couple of hundred yards up the hill to Oliver’s school. By the time we arrived practically everybody in the entire school had spotted the camper van at the bottom of the drive, and he was expecting us.
The concert was in the chapel, and happily, the boys were allowed to sit with families. Troublingly, no boy turned up for us. We sat on our own, and I was beginning to feel mildly worried that we had got the wrong class or the wrong day or something, but it turned out that Oliver had just forgotten, because of being occupied with something more interesting than singing devotional songs for a chapel full of adoring parents. He appeared during the first song, and squeezed in next to us, grinning cheerfully.
He sang in the choir. He is still the smallest boy in his class, despite having grown about four inches since September, I am glad I do not have to feed the others.
After the concert there was coffee, and compulsory sociability, most of which I managed to avoid by pretending to be deep in conversation with Mark, who thought this was very amusing. I like very much to sit on the outside and watch everybody else during events like this. It is absolutely riveting to watch couples and see whose smile does not reach their eyes because they have had a row in the car in the way, or to watch Army fathers, bored and impatient, or younger mothers feeling slightly uncomfortable about their dress, glancing round to see if anyone else is wearing anything reassuringly similar.
I could do this all day. Also I do not know how people find things to talk about with virtual strangers. Once you have gone past the weather and everybody’s health practically everything else I might ever be interested to find out about is either intrusively personal or impossibly complicated to explain. You cannot ask whether people were intimidated by their parents or what they think about the possibility of parallel universes when you are nodding and smiling over coffee in the school dining room, occasionally being interrupted by people who are trying very hard to look pleased to see you and also to remember your name.
Not that they don’t do this very well. One charmingly conversational lady came to talk to me this afternoon. I would have promised on oath that I had never seen her before, but she knew my name, and whose parent I was, and even what Mark did for a living. I felt suitably uncomfortable at my own social incompetence, and determined, as always, to try harder.
In fact what we did was slope off as soon as we decently could, having had too much coffee followed by an hour of talking to teachers. It turns out that Oliver is doing perfectly, acceptably well and has passed his exams. This always surprises me, he must try harder at school than he does with his homework at home: but the headmaster assured us that he is on track for Common Entrance, and we don’t need to worry. This is a relief, as regular readers will know, because Common Entrance is beginning to loom horridly in his future, like retirement when you have not bothered to save up for a pension.
Once free we dived happily into the camper van and went to meet Lucy and Nan and Grandad for lunch. This was the usual cheerful affair, enlivened very much by Grandad’s stories of his own days in the prison service. I could have listened to these all afternoon, they were fascinating, dreadful and heartbreaking and funny all at once. He and Nan have also made a bet on my progress, although with a different slant. They think that I will probably manage to pass the entry bit, but after that it is a matter for speculation whether I will first be driven to murderous violent fury by the prisoners or by the other staff.
We ate loads, and Oliver’s tooth came out stuck in a bit of his chocolate pudding. I did not at all want to go home, but of course we had got to go to work, so in the end we did.
It was dark when we got home, and we were late for work, so I could not go to the gym, which was shut. I am just as unfit as I was this morning. Secretly I am not entirely sorry about this, because my legs were starting to ache whenever I stood up.
Also tomorrow is another day.
Have yesterday’s picture of a slippery walk.
