When I asked Oliver last night what he planned to do with his holidays, his reply seemed to me to be remarkably prescient.
“I’m going to procrastinate about my homework,” he said cheerfully.
Being a responsible sort of parent, when the mood takes me, once I had laughed we had a think about whether he wished to spend his holidays doing this, or whether he would rather be a Different Sort Of Boy.
He agreed, reluctantly, that he did not like getting to the last week of the holidays and then spending every day doing homework and panicking.
We considered ways of avoiding this fate.
In the end we thought that we would do things differently. He would come with me on my rush up the fell in the morning every day, do an hour’s homework on his return, and then retreat to Minecraft as much as he liked, with the benefit of a clear conscience and a peaceful soul.
This morning we commenced this virtuous programme of activities.
It was raining.
It was not really raining very hard in Windermere.
We did not put our big coats on, but set off up the fell.
He is a very fast runner.
I could not keep up with him at all. He dashed off ahead of me, bounding up the steep bits like an anorak-clad goat with ridiculously big feet. I puffed and panted in his wake, like an anorak-clad walrus attempting to scale a ladder.
On the top of the fell the wind was howling and the rain lashed into our faces until we were scarlet and dripping. We bawled congratulations at one another over the wind and set off back without even stopping for breath.
The dogs behaved brilliantly, possibly because of being too miserably wet and cold to bounce about getting into trouble, and slunk back down behind us, keeping close to our heels.
We were so wet that we ran most of the way down as well. My sodden clothes flapped uncomfortably and we squelched with every step.
Reaching the back door and the sudden warm silence of the house was wonderful.
We stripped off on the doormat and left everything in a steaming heap on the floor. Then once we had dried ourselves off, Oliver ate sausage rolls and crumpets and yoghurt for breakfast and turned his attention to a practice Common Entrance maths paper.
I turned my attention to my neglected wardrobe door. I have been putting this off because it seems like cheating to do something so unlike a chore when Mark is at work.
I had no chores left to do today. I am quite sure you will remember that during the course of the last week I have cleaned and baked and produced candles and soap and also answered all of my letters, been to the gym and provided us all with clean clothes every day.
As far as I was concerned, my housewifery responsibilities had been adequately discharged. I could paint with a clear conscience of my own, which was splendid.
I spent most of the day dabbing peacefully away at it. It is not the sort of project with an instant result, and by the end of the day even I could barely tell the difference: but it was a gentle, pleasing occupation, and I enjoyed myself very much.
Oliver went off to play computer games with the forecast clear conscience.
He said that this was brilliant, and that he would do it every day.
The picture is of Ritalin Boy, who has also got a clear conscience, He has been awarded some Certificates of Virtue by his very patient class teacher, making us all suitably proud. He is very proud as well, despite his alarmed expression.
He is so newly well-behaved that probably we shall hardly notice he is here when he comes to stay over the Easter holidays. Number One Son-In-Law called today with that promising suggestion.
“What have you just signed us up for?” asked Oliver. “Thank goodness I’m going skiing.”
I am sure it will be lovely.
