Oliver slept for sixteen hours.
Gordonstoun works on the basic principle that exhausted young men are less of a nuisance, and hence keeps them as busy as they possibly can. He finally emerged just after lunchtime, still yawning and rubbing his eyes.
We were pleased to see him because of everybody being very busy and needing help. He was given the choice of parent to assist, a bit like the way you do when you are getting a divorce and want to score Favourite Parent Points, which regrettably I lost because he unhesitatingly chose Daddy, who was off to collect Oliver’s car from the farm in order to replace some bit or other.
I fed them both on a stack of pancakes made with extra eggs. Then I drove the two of them and the dogs, who had most certainly not been given a choice, across the fell to the farm, and dashed back to appreciate the silence whilst it lasted. There were still the cats, obviously, who were busily hunting down spiders in the conservatory, knocking over watering cans and snapping off treasured plants in their wake, but as far as I was concerned that was very definitely not being a nuisance, not by the standards of the cats. The cats can do being a nuisance like no other creature I have ever met, until you have tried to write a diary in bed with a small fluffy creature purring on your duvet and actually dribbling into the keyboard whilst you type, you have not experienced tiresome.
I was sorry that Oliver had chosen Daddy but somehow he had preferred a day in the sunshine tearing around in his car to standing at the sink washing dishes for me. I had a lot of domestic things to do to make up for having been on holiday.
I shall say it quickly but it took me all day.
I cooked curried chicken for Mark and Oliver for hungry emergencies, plain chicken for anybody who might want it and for cat bribery, three sorts of shortbread biscuits, being plain, peanut-and-almond, and chocolate caramel shortbread. Then I finished off by making blackcurrant chocolate and salted caramel fudge.
It really doesn’t sound like much but it jolly well was.
In between I rushed in and out hanging more washing in the garden. One of the tiresome cats had had another digestive leakage in Oliver’s camper van bed, necessitating Oliver sleeping in Lucy’s bed, and a huge pile of laundry when we got home.
I think I have already mentioned that they are adept nuisances when it suits them.
Number Two Daughter telephoned in the meantime, to tell me about the joy of marathon running. She made it sound like so much fun that I was quite sorry that I did not run in it as well, maybe next year.
Mark and Oliver returned home with Oliver’s car and took it to bits in the back alley. I do not know what they did to it, but they got dirty, and came in looking pleased with themselves. They think that the car will pass its MOT on Monday, if everything goes well over the next couple of days. I hope it does. It would be nice to cross another thing off the long list of Things About Which I Am Worried.
Oliver will be mobile as soon as it does. He and Mark will be able to drive all over the place, practising hill starts and roundabouts to their heart’s content. His driving test is booked between Christmas and New Year, so they are going to have to practice hard, because obviously for most of the intervening period he will be at school.
It is better that Mark does this than that I do. I am not a very good teacher. Saintly patience is not my strongest asset. I am not exactly sure what is my strongest asset really, perhaps an ability to make blackcurrant chocolate.
Eventually they came in, and we all realised we were starving. We rushed round making taxi picnics for us and pizza for Oliver. Oliver eats all sorts of things really, but I am not a terrifically imaginative parent since he grew out of Turkey Dinosaurs and Fish Fingers.
We are at work now.
Oliver thinks he might like to run a marathon as well.
That will just leave Lucy as my only non-marathon-achieving offspring.
No pressure, Lucy.
