After all of our adventures, we are back on the taxi rank in the rain.
I am not at all sorry about this, firstly because we have run out of money, and secondly because it is a peaceful place to be, especially since I have got a good book.
It is peaceful because there is nobody here, Number Two Daughter was absolutely right about that. The torrential rain and flooding does not seem to have inspired holidaymakers to don wellies and anoraks and explore the countryside. People seem to have preferred to stay in Liverpool or Newcastle where at least they can drink familiar beer and keep their shoes dry.
We slept peacefully last night, lulled by the white noise of endless rain bashing against the camper van, but when we woke up this morning the world was blue and bright, and we had a happy holiday coffee in bed, looking out over ploughed fields and still wondering about chairs.
We had got to hurry up, because after we collected Lucy we had only an hour to get to Oliver’s school where we were obliged to attend a talk about Common Entrance French.
This should have been enough time, but we were late anyway, because Roger Poopy was sick all over the back of the van, and then walked in it, so we had to stop and clean up. Lucy told him that she still loved him, but the rest of us were less enthusiastic, and Mark told him that he was a tiresome pillock. This hurt his feelings, and he hid under the bed for a while.
When we reached Oliver’s school the talk was already in progress. I hoped that this was the reason that it seemed to be somehow completely incomprehensible, because the nice young man who was doing the talking was clearly trying his best.
He talked about different boys who will do different bits of the French exam depending on where they are going to go to their next school. Oliver does not shine at French. He does not shine rather spectacularly well. We listened gloomily, trying to imagine ourselves persuading Oliver to get up in the holidays and voluntarily tune in to the French news broadcasts, which was the outcome for which the young teacher hoped.
This is one of the ways in which one can recognise a new teacher. The old hands are more au fait with the traditional methods, most of which rely on an effective combination of bribery and threats, and have small expectation of enthusiasm.
The young teacher also hoped that we would encourage Oliver to read the handy Common Entrance text book. School does not provide this, and its title disappeared instantly out of my head, so he will just have to borrow one from Actual Head Boy.
In any case, our house contains dozens of French text books, all of which have been the property of one or other of the children, and most of which bear the legend: “£16.99,” on the cover. Without exception they are as pristine as they day they were printed
Once we had retrieved Oliver we dashed into Bedale to the brilliant butcher’s shop for pork pies . We bought sausage rolls, and pork pies with piccalilli, and pork pies with Stilton, then parked at a garage and had them for lunch.
We had missed breakfast, so this was ace.
We listened to the children talk for ages. Mostly they talk to one another, because Mark and I do not understand much of what they have got to say. Something called Voltron features importantly, and today they were talking about writing computer code. Lucy showed us her drawings, which were ace, much better than any of mine, and Oliver said that somebody on the television had said that computer games make you violent.
We pointed out that violence is not a new invention brought about by Microsoft. The Spanish Inquisition managed to be horribly violent without any suggestions originating from computer games, and nobody has tried to ban churchgoing as a result.
The children played on their computers, and we listened to our story on CD all the way home, which made for a quietly satisfying journey.
Windermere was grey, and sodden.
Fallen branches and drifts of leaves filled the puddles. We parked the camper van in the alley to unpack it and clean it up.
Then we got ready for work.
I could happily have stayed for another week.
Have a picture of the dogs on the beach.
How adorable.
