Sometimes I love hearing from school.
Every week we are sent a copy of the round-robin emails sent by house staff to the boys in Duffus Boarding House. This week’s included a terse and irate complaint about irresponsible behaviour in the kitchen. I do not know what had happened, but the housemaster seemed to feel that it needed to be explained that it was unacceptable to stick peanut butter sandwiches to the ceiling.
There were a series of somewhat anxious warnings addressed to some anonymous potential villain who has been removing the tags on the fire extinguishers, presumably in readiness for some messy skulduggery. Last week’s, mysteriously, complained about newspaper in the electrics, and attached the following curious request:
Please empty bath after use – Also when using the
bath please stop screaming as it can be heard in Altyre.
The one from the week before included this instruction:
No high heels please.
Let us not forget that this is an all-boys boarding house in the remote corner of Scotland. I do not imagine this was often a necessary instruction during King Charles’ sojourn there, and rather suspect that he might no longer recognise the place.
Over the last couple of terms there have been several entertaining remarks, including an invitation to attend a lecture about Operating A School Bolt Action Rifle Safely, a request reading: Please stop drawing penii on the name tags, and a complaint about so much Dairylea being smeared on the kitchen wall that it had actually removed the plaster. I did not know that Dairylea could be used in this way and will remember next time we are doing renovations.
I have crossed ‘housemaster in a boys’ boarding house’ off my list of potential careers for when I grow up.
I have occupied today with activities related to my actual career, being driving a taxi. I have been ignoring this for the last few days, being occupied with visitors and extra-curricular funerals. Mark’s mother is still with us, in the sense that she stayed last night, and will be staying again tonight, but has been out having a jolly good time with her friend Sandra today, and probably we will not see her again until tomorrow. This is because we will be out at work by the time she comes back, so she will have to creep past the dogs by herself when she comes home in the stilly watches of the night.
I took the dogs out for a long hike over the fells this morning, they have been sold a bit short lately. I discovered on my return that my muscles had also become used to idleness, and were aching and stiff when I tried to take my boots off. It was a pleasing sort of walk, there was a pair of skylarks pursuing one another amorously above the high fell, and the buds are promising leaves in the next month or two. It has rained so much that everywhere was brown and sodden, and the becks were all so fast and excitingly full that I had to wade, splashily through most of them.
My trousers are still wet now.
I am not going to be writing very much over the next few days. My computer has disappeared off to Apple to be repaired, which means that whilst I am out in the taxi I will be out of even the furthest reach of the mighty Internet. I will still have my telephone but I do not write things on this because of having fat fingers and being obliged to squint at the screen in order to read the ridiculously small print.
Tomorrow is Saturday in any case.
I am quite sure you will not miss me in the least.
