We have had the nicest day, even though it is Saturday, and I am at work.
I do not mind this at all, because tomorrow we are off to Scotland, and then it will be two days before we need to worry about taxis or rural broadband again.
We had hardly got up this morning, admittedly rather late, when the dogs barked their heads off and we had visitors.
It was Number One Son-In-Law, along with Ritalin Boy and his identical twin cousin.
They are not quite as identical as they used to be, maybe it was just that all small boys look more or less the same.
It was lovely to see them, and even better, they had brought me a little palm tree for a present.
I liked this very much. It ought to go in the conservatory really, because once the lettuces have finished there will be a big space at the end of the bed, but it is so beautiful I think I will put it in my office. It makes me think of holidays, not actual holidays obviously, because there are no palm trees in Blackpool. I mean the sort of holidays I have in my imagination, where I am listening to sitar music floating on the warm breeze, and strolling past blue and gold temples whilst eating spicy chicken wrapped in banana leaves.
They had turned up in their van, which is an ordinary van with camper van things secretly inside it, and they were on their way to jump in Coniston again.
Number One Daughter was not with them. She is having a very busy week, writing her final dissertation for her degree and doing the last qualifying rounds for the Cross Fit World Championships. You will not be in the least surprised to hear that she does not have much time for anything else. Most people would be entirely occupied either by writing learned papers or by being world class athletes. Doing both at once is certainly filling the unforgiving minute.
Hence Number One Son-In-Law has collected Ritalin Boy and they have both buzzed off out from under her feet. They have spent the last week in the Lake District wilderness, constructing massive terrifying zip lines and then sliding down them, exploring tunnels in underwater caves, and swimming across lakes to the islands, because they also believe in filling the unforgiving minute, preferably with something exciting.
They stayed for a cup of tea, and then rushed away to have some more adventures, leaving us to flap about doing the dozens of things that needed to be done before we went out to work.
We are going to Scotland tomorrow, and we needed to be organised.
We called all hands on deck.
Lucy had lots of things that needed to be finished in her car before she left. Mark built her little table and Lucy made the last of the curtains.
Oliver and I started cooking.
We had to cook things that could just be chucked in the camper van oven and heated up. It is not nice to drive for hours and hours and then to have to wait for another hour before you can eat. Inevitably this results in us being accidentally drunk before dinner is ready.
Lucy is not coming with us. She has got to go back to Northampton and be a policeman again. We cooked things that she could take with her as well, so that when she gets home not only will she not need to be hungry, but she will have a small memory of home to sustain her in her travails.
Oliver made a fruit mousse, with cream and cream cheese and raspberries and peaches, which we poured into little tubs to set.
I sliced up a pineapple, and made pina coladas, with coconut cream and spiced rum, which we poured into jam jars so that they could be shaken into foamy glory and served in weary moments.
Mark made air-fried sweet potato chips, with garlic and paprika, to put in the oven.
Between us we made an enormous curry, with mango and bananas and cream, and rice fried in butter.
It does not sound like very much, but of course it took ages, and when we had done we had to dash about getting ready for work.
We left the children tidying up and bringing in the washing.
Tomorrow we will all be going away.
Have a picture of Ritalin Boy.
