We have faffed about a very great deal today.
There seems to be an awful lot to organise when you have got children.
To start off with there was a stack of washing that dwarfed the washing machine. This was because both children have just arrived home, hauling sacks stuffed with laundry behind them, as if they were the offspring of a surprising liaison between Widow Twankey and Father Christmas.
Also I discovered that we had an Issue.
Oliver goes back to school tomorrow. Obviously there are no lessons, and he and his fellow leavers are off camping in Cornwall.
Lucy, as you know, is also off, to be a hired thug at Glastonbury.
This is all very well, except I discovered today that we are not in possession of two lots of camping gear. We have got one rucksack and one sleeping bag. The sleeping bag, it turned out, last had Oliver’s friend Harry in it. It was sticky and smelled faintly of boy, and so was added to the laundry pile.
Some desperate rummaging through the junk pile in the loft revealed a second sleeping bag. I had not noticed this at first, because it had been squished down into a bag until it was approximately the size of a large tennis ball. I dug it out optimistically, although it looked far too thin to be of much use.
I put this one on the laundry pile as well, in the hope that it might fluff up a bit, but it didn’t. I have not thrown it away, because perhaps Lucy could use it along with a quilt and a blanket. Also, as she mentioned yesterday, there is always the possibility that she might make a friend. A warm one would be useful.
Fortunately the Weather Gods must have realised that there are some days when the Washing Game is just not going to be funny, either that or they were distracted somewhere else, maybe somebody was having a barbecue in Wigan or something. Anyway, it stayed dry for the whole day, along with a brisk breeze, and everything dried wonderfully quickly. This was more of a relief than I can tell you, wet washing draped gloomily around a house in which the fire has not been lit is a picture of domestic misery.
I went to the bank, which is always good for a gossip and giggle, especially when the manager has gone out, and then on to Booths for some ethical mangos. Everything you buy in Booths is ethical, you can tell because it costs about half as much again as it does in the Co-op.
The mangos are ethical because of not being wrapped in plastic and I pretended to myself that I had made the extra trek up the hill because of virtue, but it was not really. I just like the mangos in Booths better. I could not work out what was ethical about the dog poo bags, although I read the packet very carefully. In the end I thought perhaps nothing much, so I went to the Co-op for those on the way home, and saved myself 97p.
When I came home I unearthed Oliver’s kit list for his camping holiday, and tried to organise it all.
This proved to be a headache, because of lots of things being still in his drawers at school. I had to go down the list crossing things out and writing notes in the margin, like ‘only 2 prs’ and ‘Will school waterproof do?’ and in the end I just gave up and just dumped everything I could find into his bag and emailed Matron with a request for help. She will be on top of it anyway. She has done twenty five leavers’ camps. This is my first, as well as my last. Some things are best left to the experts.
When I had finished I went to the gym, in consequence of which I am sitting here on the taxi rank aching all over. The BeautifulMe Loveliness WellPerson Health Spa has clearly run out of fifty pence pieces for the meter, because the swimming pool was freezing. I did the ice plunge before I jumped in the pool and there wasn’t any difference.
The girl on the desk had a weary air, because obviously lots of people have whinged about it, although I didn’t let that stop me. She promised that it would be fixed on Wednesday, which I didn’t believe.
I had better stay away until it is fixed.
What a pity.
