We have had such a busy day that I can hardly tell you about it properly.
We are in the camper van, in Manchester, parked in a scruffy car park near the Palace Theatre. It does not matter about the car park being scruffy, because we are all a bit scruffy, and scruffy car parks do not tend to object to scruffy camper vans.
Lucy had her interview in Lancaster today.
This interview was for her summer holiday adventure, being a security guard for festivals.
She was jolly nervous about it, so nervous in fact that we got there an hour early, because she was terrified in case we were accidentally late. Of course this turned out to be a complete waste of worry, because they were so charmed by her that they told her they would let her know, and wrote to her offering her the job before we had even left the car park.
Her musical summer of sunshine and sandals now assured, she cheered up considerably, and we spent the journey south feeling pleased at her wonderful good fortune. She has had a very busy year so far, what an adventure her life is turning out to be.
We arrived early in Manchester, where all of the leaves are considerably more grown up than the very junior ones we have still got in the Lake District, the place is wonderfully green, and it made summer suddenly feel rather close.
We had come here to do some preparations for summer, so this was encouraging.
Before very long, Lucy will be having her final school Speech Day, for which she is expected to look glamorous, in high heels and a hat, and an end-of-school ball.
Obviously she does not just need heels and a hat, she needs dresses as well, and this is an important purchase, so we had come to go shopping.
Oliver also needs clothes, because once again his wrists have stretched out of the end of his sleeves, and his ankles have become noticeable.
We went to Debenhams, which appears to be still there, despite dire predictions on the radio.
Not only is it still there, nobody seems to have become so frightened by the prospect of imminent unemployment that they are selling ball dresses off cheaply, which was disappointing.
Lucy tried on dress after dress.
I helped with the zips, and Mark and Oliver sat patiently outside the changing rooms, occasionally going off on little forays to find more dresses that they thought that she might like. Oliver did not see why he should do this, but Mark said that it was a manly skill that he needed to learn, and insisted. He explained that shopping with women is a challenging task. Before he grows up he will need to learn patience, and to be able to sound really interested in whether or not the colour is flattering, and also to have a lot of money.
After about twenty dresses she had had enough, and we had only found one dress that we all thought was perfect. It was a hundred and sixty nine pounds, so we didn’t buy it, but we might have to go back tomorrow if we can’t find anything just as beautiful but cheaper.
We went to look for clothes for Oliver then, but couldn’t find very much. There were some hoodies that he liked in a shop called Gap, but Mark does not approve of wearing a brand name all over your front, because it is vulgar, so we didn’t buy those either. We might go back there tomorrow as well, if we don’t find anything else.
By then we were starving and exhausted and sick of shopping, so we piled into Oliver’s favourite buffet restaurant for dinner.
This is an international buffet, which serves absolutely everything, from sushi to pizzas.
We ate pretty much everything.
We were so hungry that we ate and ate and ate.
I haven’t eaten meat for about six weeks, not because I have got principles, but because I have lost interest in it, but somehow today everything smelled so wonderful that I ate plateful after plateful and gave myself indigestion.
When we had finished we all leaned back in our chairs and groaned a bit, and tried to loosen our trousers, surreptitiously, under the table.
This discomfort did not stop us having pudding as well.
After this we went to the theatre.
We went to see West Side Story at the Royal Exchange.
West Side Story is the most stunning, brilliant musical, with the most fantastic score, and of course we loved it.
It was not the best production that we have ever seen, and when we talked about it afterwards we had a very satisfying time deciding what we would have done better. We thought that the person who had directed it had never suffered from passion and so perhaps did not know what it ought to look like.
This did not matter very much, because the music is so passionate that you do not really need somebody trying to look as though they are feeling overwhelmed by their emotions.
Oliver said they should have been sent for a run round the rugby pitch and then to go and see Matron.
We collapsed happily into the camper van afterwards, hands sore from clapping, and the glorious, wonderful music echoing in all of our souls.
We are going to bed. It has been utterly perfect.
Have a picture of the restaurant.
