We did not make it back to hang about outside the Hallowe’en disco and rake in pots of cash.
In fact it must be nearly over by now, and we are not even halfway down Scotland yet.
It has been a very busy sort of day.
It all started when we arrived at school. This was as splendid as it usually is, we trundled up the drive to the astonishing spectacle of the groundsmen chugging around on trucks fitted with colossal hoovers and blowers, busily sucking up the tons and tons of leaves that have fallen overnight.
There were massive piles of them by the roadsides, and clean grass on the verges again.
Of course leaf mould makes brilliant compost, no wonder they have such spectacular gardens.
We got back to Oliver’s house, and Oliver and I unpacked Oliver’s things, putting them carefully away in his immaculate little bedroom whilst Mark investigated the state of his bike.
This was the first delay. It took absolutely ages, because it needed new tyres. Of course Mark had brought new tyres, and so he and Oliver re-invigorated the bike whilst the dogs belted up and down the garden, wrestling and growling, and rolling in rabbit poo.
We are not discreet visitors. Between the enormous fairground camper van and the racket the dogs were making and the somewhat surprising moment when we inflated a tyre just a bit more than we should have and it exploded with a rather noticeable pop, I should think the housemaster was quite relieved when we trundled away again.
We had had an exhausting morning. There had been a terrible moment just before we reached school when the engine unexpectedly ceased to work, leaving us rolling powerlessly, not to say anxiously, down the road for some time before Mark persuaded it to start again.
Once we had abandoned Oliver Mark wanted to remedy this dysfunction, so we popped round to the agricultural suppliers where he purchased a new diesel filter, and then round to the woods where he fitted it, which we thought would solve the problem.
By that point we knew that all hopes of disco-haunting were entirely dissolved, so we abandoned the thought, not without considerable relief, I might add, and thought we would have a walk on the beach instead. We trekked through the pinewoods to the shore, admiring the truly bewitching display of peculiarly unfamiliar toadstools on our way. Then we dumped all footwear and walked barefoot through the little waves all the way along the beach.
This was truly magnificent. Obviously the water was icy, the sort of icy where you know you have still got toes, because you can see them, occasionally, when the waves ebb a bit, but your feet have all of the sensation of a couple of mis-shapen house bricks. We liked it anyway, because sometimes it is good just to feel the sharpness of life, and we were sloshing along in the shallow end when something wonderful happened.
Not fifty yards from the beach, from the shallow sandy part where we were, a pod of dolphins appeared.
They were beautiful, and so close we could have splashed icily out and joined them, although you will not be surprised to hear that we didn’t.
They curved and arched and dipped smoothly through the water, and one dived, showing its wonderfully elegant tail for several breathless moments above the surface.
Mark said they were hunting a shoal of fish, surrounding it and confusing it. They must have been very scary if they were. They were dark and fast-moving, perfect, streamlined predators in the icy water, I am very glad not to be a mackerel.
We stood and stared and gawped and gasped in happiness. Then we walked on, still splashing contentedly in the shallows, because dolphins do not eat people, fortunately.
In the end we had to turn back, which we did reluctantly, because the day was so steel-grey and perfect, and had a very pleasing encounter with another chap, also splashing barefoot along through the waves, which was lovely, how splendid to know you are not lone eccentrics.
Our feet glowed cosily all the way back through the woods, but when we reached the van we discovered that the diesel filter had not been the problem, and the repair had not worked. We coughed and spluttered along for ages, stopped for fish and chips and some contemplation, and eventually Mark investigated again, at Carrbridge, and found a loose pipe.
This fixed it.
It is midnight now, and we are still in Scotland, although we are proceeding at a splendidly dashing pace now, at least by camper van standards. We might not make it home tonight, but it has been such a lovely day that we don’t care. We have had fish and chips, which were ace, we have spent the afternoon paddling, and we have seen some dolphins. Oliver is happily settled at school and planning his future career looking after the children of the world’s aristocracy, and the camper van is working perfectly.
We could not ask for more.
