I have had a communication from Oliver.
This is an unusual event, and when I saw his name at the top of the email I assumed, correctly as it turned out, that he must be urgently in need of something which could only be provided by a parent.
He wished, he explained, to abandon learning French, at which, he added succinctly, he was rubbish. He would like instead to do drama, and could this please be arranged? The drama teacher thought it would be all right, even though he was a bit late starting, but everybody needed to hear what I thought about it.
I telephoned school.
I was on the fellside with the dogs at the time, and so had to talk over background noises of blackbirds and sheep and the gurgling of the very full beck. I should not have done this, because I think school already suspects that we are secretly gypsies.
I like Oliver’s tutor.
I explained that even though he might be rubbish at drama, given that he was starting a year late, he was certainly rubbish at French, and so he might as well be rubbish at something he liked.
She said she would see what she could so.
Oliver did not want to learn French anyway, despite the biographical detail of France having been the land of his birth. He did want to do drama. Regular readers might recall that we had a similar difficulty with Latin at prep school, from which he was ejected, also for being rubbish.
Nevertheless, he had been obliged to learn a language, despite a glaring lack of aptitude, and even Extra Remedial French Support had made no difference.
I explained to school that whilst it was always possible that he might go for a career treading the boards with his name in lights, he was most certainly not going to have a career as a translator, and hence he might as well do what he liked.
I wanted to go in the stage in my youth. My grandmother always predicted that I would have my name in lights one day, and as it turned out, she was exactly right.
It said Sarah’s Taxis, and was on the brilliantly lit top sign of my very first taxi many years ago. I got the idea for the name by sitting next to Paddy’s Taxis, Kevin’s Taxis and Billy’s Taxis on the taxi rank.
Of course it is possible, although not necessarily desirable, that Oliver might indeed head for a career in the theatre. My great grandfather was a travelling music hall performer, so perhaps Gordonstoun is on the right track with the suspicion about us being gypsies. My grandmother wanted to follow in his footsteps and dance in the chorus line, but her mother, who was respectable, disapproved fiercely and would not allow it, so my grandmother danced by herself, in the wings, respectably, instead.
School agreed, eventually, and so I rang Mark to keep him up to speed, not that I imagined for a moment that he would mind.
Mark said that Oliver spoke sufficient French to order wine and croissants, and that he had worked in France for three years without a French GCSE and probably it would be fine.
I am quite pleased because it gives me an excuse to sign up for an internet channel that shows theatre. I have been eyeing this up for ages, and keep asking Mark what he thinks. Obviously Mark thinks it will be fine, but we have not yet saved up the sixty quid you need for a year, and so we have not done it yet.
It is called Marquee, and it means you can watch all sorts of magnificent theatre productions, by companies like the Royal Shakespeare Company and the Bolshoi Ballet, but at home, in your own living room.
I have seen both of these in the theatre, and they are ace. At least, they were ace. I think the Royal Shakespeare Company has currently got some peculiar ideas, like having women playing kings, and old people playing young ones, and all that sort of thing.
I do not like this very much. I am sure it makes a very valid point about something that I ought to agree with, but I can agree with it perfectly well without it needing to spoil my evening at the theatre.
All the same, I think we will have to sign up for it for Oliver’s sake.
It is going to help him no end.
Have a picture of my morning walk.
