Fortunate forgetting

We were getting ready for bed last night when it occurred to us that we had forgotten our wedding anniversary.

This was a couple of days ago, on 30th of March, timed, when the event took place, to fall between early lambing time and late lambing time, and also held on a Tuesday evening in order not to interrupt the taxi driving working week. You can’t get married after half past five in the UK, so we had it then, so that everybody had time to get there after they had done the school runs.

It was a good time of year to get married because we could decorate everything with daffodils, which were cheap and abundant. If you are considering getting married do bear that handy budgetary hint in mind. Also it means that Mark can buy me congratulatory flowers every year and not spend more than a couple of quid. March is a good time to get married.

It was a long time ago.

We have been so busy flapping about trying to reorganise our lives into their newly-unemployed routines, we had not given it a single thought.

We recollected cheerfully that probably it was a good thing that we had forgotten about it, because it would not have been nice to have longed for a celebratory evening out under the present circumstances. As it turned out, we did not mind in the least that we could not go anywhere, because we had not given it a single thought. This was brilliant, because it meant that there were no wistful regrets for dinner under the stars on a moonlit beach, or perhaps in a rotating glass penthouse restaurant or spicy Oriental hideaway.

We did think that we might do something when the world gets back to normal, but of course we won’t. Actually we never do anything anyway, because we are always working and don’t ever seem to have any spare cash. I don’t think we have ever celebrated with anything more roisterous than a takeaway and a box of Merlot.

Maybe next year we will get our act together, although I don’t suppose we will.

Oliver was mildly disconcerted to have an email from school this morning, explaining that when they restart in a fortnight, Everything Will Carry On As Usual.

Everything that doesn’t involve actually being there, that is.

Normal timetable, however will be resumed. He will be expected to present himself, in front of his computer by half past eight every morning, in order to attend a full programme of lessons, lectures, assemblies and prep.

I was a bit disconcerted by this myself, to be honest, it means that I will have to get up and make sure that he is fed and presumably dressed. For the last six years this has been Matron’s problem, and I have not really got very much idea of what he might expect from a morning routine.

Most certainly I have never contemplated providing the full school breakfast, which usually involves bacon and eggs, and some sort of fish now that he is in Scotland, not to mention all of the other extras like hash browns and tomatoes and mushrooms, served with orange juice and toast and a few slices of health-giving fruit. Whilst he is at home he is generally issued with a chocolate spread sandwich and a yoghurt, sometimes for every meal. I have never worried about this because I have always assumed that he will go back to school before actual malnutrition sets in.

Not only that, but it means that we will have to actually get up ourselves. We have always lived nocturnal lives, and although we have relapsed a bit into something more closely resembling daytime living, it could perhaps best be described as ‘late daytime’, the sort that does not usually get started until after ten.

I have got two weeks to come up with a plan of action that will make me into a properly supportive parent, it is a jolly good job his school is not the sort that expects you to do full and active participation in their education.

So far he has been on holiday for practically the whole of this crisis.

I am not at all looking forward to home-education.

Have a picture of the conservatory. The novelty of having it has not yet worn off and I am still taking happy photographs of it.