Growth

We had a difficult start to the morning.

Of course they were all off to work again, but Oliver had been so tired that we left him in bed until the last possible minute, where he had slept the sleep of an exhausted teenager for more than twelve hours.

When he got up he could not find any trousers to fit him.

Every single pair was too tight as well as too short.

In the end we shoe-horned him into a pair of jogging pants and told him that he could grow as much as he liked, but he was not going to get any new clothes until he stopped, let that be a warning to you.

His boots were too small as well.

We found a pair of trainers that had once belonged to Actual Head Boy and glued them back together where Oliver had already worn them into ruins, and shoved them back on to his feet.

He must have grown in the night.

I was not entirely sorry because his feet have been the same size as mine for ages, and so I will be inheriting all of his hardly-worn footwear. I will be the proud owner of both expedition and rugby boots, cricket shoes, a pair of trainers with glued-up soles, and a pair of sensible Clarks black lace-ups. I will not need to buy any more footwear for absolutely ages.

Oh goodness, I hope that business picks up a bit.

Not only has Oliver suddenly expensively doubled in size, the washing machine has developed an ominous rattle to go with the leak. It was so loud this morning that I could not hear the radio.

I have started to listen to a new radio station online. This is run by Rupert Murdoch and hence is full of interesting snippets of information about Australia, which is a place about which I knew almost nothing until now.

This is my small rebellion against the BBC, for their utter massacre of The Archers over the last few years. I know we can hardly blame them for the current bucket of pig swill that is The Archers  in the spirit of Bat Flu, but they are entirely culpable for the rest and I will never forgive them. Once upon a time you could set your seasonal clock by The Archers, but it is currently produced by some Young People who have never been out of London. They seem to be interested in exploring feelings, in a diverse and inclusive sort of way, and think that the programme ought to be interesting.

I do not mind diversity and inclusion but I much prefer to hear people worrying about the invasion of creeping buttercup in their garden, the depredations of the carrot fly, and the outbreak of Orf among the sheep. These things keep me listening and saying Hmm, in a contented sort of way.

I have not forgiven the producers for the episode when the pub exploded. Now that there is an alternative, the BBC can get lost.

Anyway, they are rubbish since Tim Brooke-Taylor died.

The new radio station seems to be a sort of online magazine. Most of the voices are vaguely familiar having been poached from the BBC anyway, and their interviews with politicians are interesting rather than upsetting. I like this. I do not think that it is up to radio journalists to shout at politicians and make them say uncomfortable things. I think that that is what the Opposition is supposed to do. I think that journalists are supposed to find things out and listen to what politicians have got to say so that we can make our own minds up.

Today William Hague was talking about when he had been Foreign Secretary. When he visited Korea he had to eat sea slugs. I made my mind up that he was definitely very brave indeed.

I think I am going to like it very much.

I have been alternating online magazine radio with listening to a Jilly Cooper book, also on my phone. I think probably this has reduced my stress levels nicely. It would be dreadful to have to be a sophisticated intellectual, to be expected to have an opinion about Xi Jinping, and to have to read books by people like Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I am glad I don’t live in London.

It has been nice to have online stories, because I have been harvesting blackcurrants. I have not picked them all yet. The blackcurrants at the side of the shed do not get as much sunshine and so have still got a few days to go, but the rest were black, and sweet, and heavy, so I picked them before the birds did, and today I made blackcurrant jam, and blackcurrant ice cream, and blackcurrant chocolate biscuits.These last turned out to be rather splendid, you might want to try them yourselves.

They were all exhausted when they got home, and Oliver has begun to think longingly of school, as a place where almost nothing difficult, like stripping wallpaper or demolishing sheds, is required of you.

We remembered Lucy’s comments on going back to school after her first summer in the Chinese restaurant.

I love school, she said. All I have to do is sit at a desk and watch somebody else working at the front of the class.

Oliver was wholeheartedly in agreement.

He has gone straight to bed.