Beached

I am writing on the move.

I have got no idea what time it is. It is difficult to judge this in a place where the sun does not truly set. It is evening. Mark is driving and I can hear the children chirping and giggling in the back. We have been on the beach, and the dogs are fast asleep next to me, exhausted and sandy.

Oliver does not really chirp any more. His voice has become gruff, and when Lucy went to hug him she was surprised to rediscover his newly increased height. I suppose they are not children any more either. Oliver will be sixteen this year, and Lucy twenty one, where did it go?

We are driving through the most wonderful Scottish countryside, utterly drenched in the colours of a sunny springtime. The gorse is in full, brilliant yellow, flower, brightly lining every roadside. Its rich, chocolate scent is drifting in through the windows, and the trees and fields are glowing emerald, presumably because they have been fairly well-watered lately.

It has been the happiest day.

It has been so nice to travel with Lucy. She was supposed to be writing her essay, but she didn’t in the end, because of gazing at magnificent Scottish wilderness. She is supposed to be writing it now, in the back, but she isn’t doing it now, either, how will she ever become a proper policeman.

We called at Johnstons of Elgin for Mark’s cap, which they had kindly saved for him behind the till, because it was the last one in stock. We ambled about looking at things whilst they got it out, and discovered some beautiful sleeveless cardigans, in the softest cashmere.

I must have looked at them yearningly, because Mark said that they would be just perfect for a taxi driver to wear on cool summer evenings.

They were marked down to half price, in the sale.

Not only that, but I had got a discount voucher that I had been saving for Mark’s cap, promising ten percent off Your Next Purchase.

Readers, we bought two.

I was consumed with guilt, but not enough for me to say: oh no, I couldn’t possibly.

I am going to be the most middle-class-looking taxi driver in Windermere, possibly in the world.

They are so soft and lovely I keep wanting to stroke them. I am going to wear one of them for the very first time when I go back to work tomorrow. We have been reading a book about happiness, which says that if you were the only person in the world you would not want half of the things you think that you want, because they are really to impress other people, like palaces and new clothes, but it is wrong about soft cashmere jumpers. If I was the only person left in the world I would walk up to Johnstons of Elgin and dress myself in cashmere for the rest of my life. 

It was reckless and extravagant and I do not care. My world is going to be a little bit lovelier, every night at work, although I am going to have to try very hard not to spill my dinner. 

It was still not quite time to collect Oliver, so we went to the harbour and walked along the sandy edge of the beach.

This was ace. The sea was clear, and brilliant blue, crested with white where the waves thundered into the rocks. A row of beach huts, splendidly painted in vivid shades of blue and pinks and yellow, lined the front, and people in overcoats and thick jumpers were sunbathing in front of them.

After that we went to school, where another security man chased us up the drive thinking that we might be gypsies, and was embarrassed to discover that we were not, just like they all are. Lucy helped Oliver pack, whilst Mark and I ambled up and down the drive with the dogs, and in next to no time school was over and we were away, so we went straight back to the beach.

I took the picture then, it is of seals in the distance. We knew that they were seals because whilst we were watching they got up and waddled about a bit.

Obviously we were having such an ace time, listening to stories of sailing and sleeping on beaches and acting in drama productions, we did not get set off for ages, and we are going to have a long journey tomorrow.

It is late now, and I have gone to bed. Oliver fell asleep even before dinner, and could hardly wake up enough to eat anything, retreating straight back to his bunk, where he has been utterly unconscious ever since.

The rest of us had wine and curry.

It has been the most brilliant day.

Long haul tomorrow.