Short

Five minutes, so it’s going to be short.

My eyes will not stay open for very much longer.

We have a boy. He isn’t really a boy any more. He is tall and deep-voiced and much like the other splendidly bouncing, self-satisfied youthful giants who were engaged in throwing a tennis ball to one another over the roof of the boarding house when we left.

Also there was a Girl.

She was nice, and we disappeared, tactfully, whilst they said goodbye to one another. She is going to be an animating artist when she grows up. I liked her.

He had packed everything so we just hurled it all into the camper van and departed. We had been trying to catch up with the parent of one of his friends who is coming to stay next week, but she had disappeared into the huge Gordonstoun campus like a squirrel into a forest, and so we didn’t.

We had already managed a brief meeting with her on the beach at the harbour. Our dogs belted up and down the sands with hers until they were all gasping and breathless from exertion, and we had a cup of tea and chatted in the sunset.

We saw the Northern lights when we stopped for the night. They weren’t rippling or doing anything exciting, but they were pleasingly green.

Mark has got out of the shower and I am going to finish writing. This is a rubbish diary entry, so I hope you did not have a very large bowl of porridge to eat whilst you were reading it.

I am, however, pleased to tell you that Number One Daughter very generously sent me some cash instead of a Mother’s Day present. I am very pleased indeed about this and am going to go and blow it on a haircut. My hair has been making my neck itch for weeks. Nobody looks at ladies over fifty so I might just get it all shaved off. That would be brilliant.

I am going to bed.