We have returned.
We are now isolated at home instead of being isolated gypsies.
It all worked rather well in the end. We set off last night after it had gone dark, and drove up through the night. Obviously we had to stop for fuel, but you will be pleased to hear that our isolated status was not in the smallest danger, because it was a card payment into a petrol pump at a deserted garage. We always wear plastic gloves to touch petrol pumps anyway, otherwise your taxi picnic tastes of diesel, and so it really wasn’t any different. Even if we had left the petrol pumps crawling with malignant viruses it would not have mattered, because they would soon have perished in the bitter Scottish frost.
The night was icy. I think I mentioned that we had one small breakdown mishap, and even that did not breach our splendid isolation. All the water leaked out, and the engine thought that it might blow up, so we had to stop hastily, for Mark to fix the hose that had perished, but nobody noticed us. Scotland at night is a quiet place. There did not seem to be a living soul around, and we replenished the water and were back on the road like vanished wraiths in the night.
We stopped for fuel at midnight, at the 24 hour Tesco in Perth, and wondered if it would not do any harm just to dive in and purchase some grapes as travelling fodder, without talking to anybody at a self-checkout. As it turned out we were preserved from such wickedness because Tesco is not 24 hours any more, probably because they haven’t got enough left to sell, and there was a big notice on the door telling all late-night itinerants and vagabonds to buzz off.
We sighed, and made our grapeless way north, until we got too sleepy to carry on and pulled into a lay-by, where we slept, fitfully, as lorries thundered past and made the van sway in their wake.
We took the picture when we woke up this morning, so if you are reading this in Surrey you will see how very different things are when you are North of the Wall. Also you might see that there was not much to tempt us into social interaction. It was cold. We took the dogs for a quick empty and shivered a bit, and went to collect Oliver.
Oliver appeared on his bike a few minutes after we had pulled into the Duffus House driveway, where we were merrily yelling things through the windows at the housemaster, who was standing at a safe distance.
Oliver had not been sure what to bring home, and I could not go in to Duffus House to help mediate, so in the end he just brought everything. He brought his stuff outside, and we loaded into the van, as he scurried back to his dorm for the next load. We could not hug him or touch him until he had finished bringing everything out of the house, and then in the end he jumped into the camper van and gave me a kiss, after which infection-drenched moment there was no going back.
There were stacks and stacks of boy-luggage in the camper van, flowery laundry bags and bright red sheets and boots and gum shields and computers, and we piled it all up on the top bunk where Lucy would not need to sleep, and set off.
We stopped after a little while, and had a happy lunch listening to stories of school, some of which might not have been strictly true, I do not think that even in Duffus House they are obliged to go out into the woods to hunt bears for breakfast, although given the state of the supermarkets at the moment I suppose all things are possible. He has won an award for being hard working, and he is very happy.
It is a long journey, and I confess to dozing several times as Mark piloted us through the mountains. We dawdled on the way, so that we could fuel up at night, but we made it back here in the end.
We are home. We have a boy.
I am having a very nice isolation.
