I am sleepy and finding it difficult to concentrate tonight. This is not a good thing, because actually I am at work, and it is not an ideal frame of mind in which to be driving a taxi.
I am going to have to get out and walk about, which usually helps. I do not want to be too dopey to work, because we have not got any cash at the moment and so earning is a useful thing to be doing, especially if I can manage not to nod off and drive into the lake by accident. I can sleep tomorrow afternoon when nobody is too drunk to drive themselves home.
I should have had a sleep today, but I just didn’t. I was busy with lots of things that needed doing, and instead of going back to bed I baked cakes and biscuits to feed to Mark and Ted for their dinners.
I have to bake an awful lot when the weather is cold, because they are working outside, and they stay much warmer if they are thoroughly fed. Ted’s wife does not bake much because of having three tiny children and a full time business of her own to run. This is supporting all of them until Mark and Ted make some money, so she is beginning to look a bit weary and not very interested in cake manufacture.
I got very wet on my walk this morning.
It wasn’t raining at all when I set out, and for the first time this year I ditched my big coat in favour of a body warmer. Our big coats are warm, and mostly dry, but they are waxed, and heavy, and bear the scars of countless days spent in Mark’s workshop and hauling logs.
We went across the Rec and had our usual morning encounter with the small feather duster shaped dog who is Roger Poopy’s friend, and with his owner, who is my friend. I set off up the fell then, at which point the heavens opened and the rain beat down on us like small icy golf balls.
I got drenched.
When I got back I had to organise getting Oliver back to school.
Compared to Lucy’s school, where I went yesterday, Oliver’s school is practically on the doorstep. It is only a couple of hours away: but there was a lot of preparatory labour to be undertaken first. I had to iron uniform and polish shoes, and all the other things you are obliged to do with a great deal of your life when once you took the decision to be reckless with your contraceptive.
He had made a card for one of his teachers who is leaving, and spent much of the day with his tongue sticking out, laboriously spelling out gratitude for his literacy. He has started to be enthusiastic about artistic things, which is a development, up until now his art has largely involved stick men waving guns.
When we got back to school he showed me his self-portrait, which is above, and which has been awarded the accolade of being Picture Of The Week.
It represents the contents of his head. It is a soldier wading through mud whilst the world explodes around him.
I was mildly concerned about this and wondered if the mud represented inner difficulties, a boy struggling through an endless mire, but he said no, they had learned about it when they studied World War One in history, and anyway it was easier than doing legs.
When I left him I had to attend a meeting about the approaching ski trip.
A representative from Interski had turned up to show us a film of teenagers having a jolly good time on holiday.
We were all mildly appalled.
The teachers in charge of the actual trip coughed and straightened their tweed jackets and stepped in hastily to assure us that normal Aysgarth standards would be firmly applied to the trip. Bedtimes would be enforced, along with the usual bedtime story arrangements, electrical items removed, vigorous exercise and fresh air would be compulsory, and a sufficient healthy diet would be arranged. Matron would be in permanent attendance in case of injury or anything emotional, so we need not worry about anything troublingly foreign happening.
We were all relieved to hear this, and cheered up. The Interski man looked mildly anxious but nodded supportively, and we agreed that it would probably be all right after all.
After that I came to work.
I wish I could enforce my own bedtimes.
