Jazz

It is all happening here.

I caught up with one of my neighbours in the alley last night who apologised for not having been round for coffee lately and explained that she had been shot.

Apparently it was a sort of drive-by shooting, except the shooter was in the Library Gardens car park, so probably it was more of a waiting in a queue to get out sort of shooting.

It was only an air gun, and so she had not been badly hurt. There were no blood-drenched bandages or any of the other interesting features that distinguish Hollywood shooting victims, but obviously she was very disgruntled about it indeed. I would have been pretty cross as well. You do not expect people to shoot you when you are standing on your own doorstep, we do not live in London.

I am sure you can imagine that I was absolutely agog with the interestingness of it, and encouraged her very much to come round and have some coffee next week. It is not every day that you have wicked crimes happening in Windermere. I have never before met a shooting victim, although I did once meet somebody who had shot somebody else. It was during my brief career as a prison officer. I had rather an interesting chat with a witty and entertaining gentleman whom I liked very much. He turned out to be spending time in Her Majesty’s accommodation because he had once blown somebody’s head off.

My neighbour had not had her head blown off, although she said that she had a bit of a bruise on her shoulder. She knew the person who had done it and had told the police all about it, and so with any luck Arrests Will Be Made.

We have been busy preparing for Lucy’s imminent departure, mostly puffing up and down the stairs to the loft. Mark took her car for some new tyres, so it was left to me and Lucy.

There was a bookcase, and a couple of chairs and a dressing table, I can’t remember how we managed to get them up there, but getting them down again was a bit of an adventure. There are a lot of stairs in our house, and they all go round corners.

We both had bashed toes and trapped fingers by the time we had finished, and the living room looked like an Age Concern warehouse. Furniture does look rubbish when you bring it out and expose it to the daylight.

Gordonstoun rang whilst we were in the middle of it, with the glorious news that Oliver was displaying special musical ability and would be having some extra music lessons. He is going to carry on with his drum lessons and also learn to play the saxophone.

I will not tell you how much extra this is going to cost, but I had to have a little sit down.

How pleased I was.

Mark swore creatively when  told him, and said that he had better become a famous jazz musician before he left school, never mind afterwards.

I think it will be lovely. He can come and play beautiful liquid Gershwin melodies in the new orangery, if ever we get it built.

It might take a bit longer than we thought if we are paying to tutor an upcoming jazz musician.

I finished Lucy’s apron, although not mine because of having run out of time, and made a cover for her bicycle seat, and we started to load everything into her car.

The picture is the stuff that was left after we had filled her car to bursting. She could barely squeeze into the driving seat.

This lot will have to go in the camper van, we are going to try and get it loaded after work tonight, although at the moment it is raining hard, so it might have to wait until morning.

It is our last night of having a daughter at home.