To my great distress this morning, it rained.
We woke up to clouds the colour of elephants, and depressingly streaming windows.
On top of this we had overslept and were late.
We had only overslept by ten minutes, and we would easily have caught up on ourselves if we had hurried, but we didn’t. We sat in bed drinking coffee and just decided to be late.
I was especially upset because the BBC had promised a heatwave, and I don’t like thinking that perhaps I can’t entirely trust them. Radio Four is supposed to be honest and balanced and present all points of view, so even if there is a heatwave in London they should not just gleefully go on about ice creams and sunburn, but should mention that there are other parts to the country which might not feel the same. I was saddened to think that they might not be as impartial as they are supposed to be, because they are a Great British Institution and should be more dignified.
I sloshed up the fell and back, thumping through oily puddles until my new leggings were soaking and crusted with mud. I have got some new leggings to run in now, there is a reason that athletes in the Olympics do not turn up on the track in a Barbour jacket and jeans. It is nice to run in leggings. They hardly weigh anything and do not get caught on stiles or slip inexorably downhill as they get wetter.
I needed a shower when I got back, because of the mud, which had even managed to reach my hair. Oliver had one as well, because of going back to school, although not at the same time, obviously.
When I had finished I cleaned all of the shoes and baked a cake. It was a cake that started off with a Jamie Oliver recipe and has now been modified to suit my own tastes and also the ingredients that are readily available in the Co-op. I had several lemons beginning to dry up in the fridge, so it is a lemon and grape flavoured cake. I do not eat cake at the moment, not for any reason other than I prefer fruit porridge if the choice presents itself, but Mark does, and so does Ted when he is not on his yacht, so I keep making it.
In the end it was time to take Oliver back to school. We loaded his bags and his bike into the car, because it is the summer term now, and I even managed to remember his cycling helmet, about which I was secretly rather proud, I am a properly organised parent after all.
We had a happy journey across to school, talking about exams and being a senior boy. Gordonstoun has invited him to apply for a scholarship, which will mean that he has got to go for a weekend of interviews and exams some time next February. This is scary business, because his current school will have to prepare him, which means extra lessons and practice papers and his photograph on the board of scholarship candidates outside the common room. Oliver is both excited and terrified, and so am I.
He spent the rest of the journey ordering things that he wanted for school on my Amazon account, when I checked later I discovered that we have purchased Books Two, Three and Four of an inspiring-sounding series called Classroom Assassin. I hope he keeps them in his cupboard out of Matron’s sight.
School was bathed in glorious sunshine, and I was suddenly ridiculously warm in my jersey and furry boots. The barbecue was lit, and the smell of frying onions and spiced meat was drifting enticingly across the courtyard. The Head greeted us enthusiastically, and told Oliver that they had accepted Gordonstoun’s offer of putting him in for a scholarship, which made us both gulp with excited horror. Oliver shook his hand and promised that he would work hard, which might be a fib, it is cycling and cricket this term.
We spent ages unpacking cricket kit and jackets and books and pyjamas. Matron had left his new cricket whites on his bed to be tried on, and I went into her office to sew the name label on them whilst Oliver put his music things away. I did not need to do this, because Matron will do it if I don’t bother, but that never seems at all fair.
In the end the bell rang, and Oliver belted off in the direction of the barbecue and I ambled through the sunshine back to the car.
I called in for coffee with my friend Kate on the way back.
When I got home the skies had cleared to a gorgeous pink and pale blue colour and the sun was setting.
Perhaps we will get the heatwave tomorrow.
I hope so. I do not want to sow the seeds of doubt about trusting the BBC.
