It has been the loveliest, most splendid day imaginable.
As you know, we crept into the camper van after work last night and went into Kendal, where we parked right next to the school gates in order not to be delayed in the morning.
We woke up for coffee, and then Mark buzzed off for his exam, leaving me in charge of the work telephone for their non-profit rural broadband business, which rang and rang until Mark got back, and then stayed quiet for the rest of the day.
I answered the phone as well as I could and untruthfully told everybody that they were working on a major installation somewhere without phone signal. I did not mention that Ted was on his yacht and that Mark had gone back to school to see if he could get a qualification, especially to the more disgruntled callers who wanted internet before the bank holiday.
In the end Mark came back, and seemed guardedly pleased with himself. He was not exactly confident, but for his first stab at a public GCSE examination it had not been too bad.
The state education system of the nineteen seventies has got a lot to answer for in Mark’s case. He is possibly the most dyslexic person I have ever met, and so did not sit exams at school because of not being able to read the questions. Now he is grown up he has taught himself to read, and has read absolutely everything from Jane Austen to John Wyndham, and managed to qualify as an engineer even though he couldn’t spell it.
Anyway, we set off for Yorkshire in the sunshine. It is sunny again. It is brilliant that the weather has been so happily and continuously glorious that I have stopped bothering to tell you about it. I would like you to know that this is not because I have stopped appreciating it. I have spent today wearing a soft cotton jersey dress that blew gently in the breeze, and has been the most comfortable garment on the planet, I did not need a vest or a jumper or woollen socks or anything.
We did, in the end, stop by school to collect Oliver, who has grown again.
It was almost unnerving to meet him. He is getting taller all the time, and has somehow become grown up since we saw him last. This might be because school has bravely started giving them sex education, he relayed the more entertaining bits for our benefit on the journey to York.
He said that he was suffering from post traumatic stress disorder brought about by his French oral examination, and that he kept getting flashbacks, like Vietnam. He said that the teacher asked him what sort of chien we had got, and he could not think of the word for ‘smelly’.
He does not come for a cuddle any more. He hugs me, as if I am the small funny one.
It is lovely to be together again.
We dropped Oliver off with Son Of Oligarch for his party, and Mark and I went around the corner to the Grand Hotel, where they had very kindly arranged for us to park the camper van.
This turned out to be beyond lovely, because they only had the tiniest car park, and everything else in it was some sort of limousine or jaguar or other sleek black conveyance.
They had saved us a space at the end of the car park and were brilliantly good mannered even when they realised that the pantomime camper van chugging smokily through the gateway was the one they were expecting to entertain for the afternoon.
Mark handed out tips liberally to make sure that they wouldn’t change their minds, and we headed inside for lunch.
Inside was even better. It was not, in the end, the hotel that we had visited before, but the one across the road, so it was all new to us, and was as civilised and wonderful as you could ever ask for.
We were ushered into two huge leather armchairs by an open window, and the barman said that he thought he could probably guess exactly what we would like, and would we be happy for a recommendation?
Of course we took him up on that, and he turned out to be so perfectly right that we could hardly believe it. He served us a chilled rum and apple cocktail, spiced with nutmeg, which was one of the loveliest things imaginable for a hot day.
We sat comfortably in the sunshine whilst the barman told us about the history of the cocktail, and ordered wild boar and pineapple ham and fried sweet potatoes.
This, when it came, was meltingly divine, and we ate with absolute joy. It does not get better than superb food and frosty cocktails and gentle sunshine, whilst looking out at an historic city from a comfortable armchair, next to your husband, and giggling together.
Life is utterly brilliant sometimes.
We had pudding as well, so it is a good job I have been doing exercise lately. I had a hot lemon soaked waffle with honeycomb and pistachio ice cream.
After that we had tiny, bitter coffees and waddled away, dazedly, hand in hand.
I was glad that we had not cancelled it.
We had spent so long eating that we did not even have time for an afternoon snooze before we had to collect Oliver.
Once we were together again we drove to Lucy’s school and parked in the lay-by, which is where we are now.
The sun is setting.
The evening is still and heavy. The camper van is filled with the scent of blackthorn, and we have been on a gentle amble along the farm tracks with the dogs. We are sleepy and warm, and very soon we will be having showers and going to bed.
I have got the happiest life.
