Unlike Ritalin Boy’s Other Grandma on the previous day, we were not woken up by boy-noises in the early stirrings of the dawn.
In fact we had been up for quite some time, in a sitting in bed drinking coffee sort of way, when we heard them stirring. In any case, they emerged from their tent and recommenced their activity with the Lego, and so it was some time before we imposed ourselves on one another.
Some of the Lego matched the carpet, and did not get found until I was in the bedroom barefoot later.
I knew that they were up when I went to the loo and found that the loo roll had been unwound into a sort of tissue-paper puddle on the floor. I went into their room to say good morning, and asked, hopefully, about my hairbrush, but they both denied any knowledge of such a thing.
Mark, who does not brook small boy arguments, corralled them downstairs for their breakfast, explaining to Ritalin Boy that he would be quite happy to take him out dressed in no clothes at all if he did not put some on, and that the decision was his to make.
Once they had all gone I did not drink wine and go back to bed, which was what I longed to do with my whole soul. Instead I made a start on the day’s activities, and then was brought to an abrupt halt by a phone call from Number Two Daughter.
It wasn’t really a phone call. It was a series of crackles and beeps on Messenger, followed by several more, the only part of which I could clearly understand was the explanation that they were having problems.
It took about fifteen calls and a series of messages before I could work out what was going on.
She and her partner had made it as far as Dublin, where they were having immigration difficulties. Number Two (Common-Law) Daughter-In-Law is an Australian, and hence has got no automatic right to come and live in the UK, and has got to have evidence of some sort of vague intention to leave again.
She has got every intention of leaving again, once the weather becomes damp and chilly, as far as I can tell.
I spent the next hour listening to a series of automatic messages on the Manchester Airport Customer Service Unhelpful Line.
In the end I had the inspired idea of calling the Border Force central offices, and they gave me the direct line for the Manchester Airport immigration office. Once I was speaking to a person instead of an automatic message attached to an inbox which was full and not accepting any more messages it was all sorted out in a few minutes.I sent a triumphant message to Number Two Daughter assuring her that their progress into the UK would be unimpeded. They would not need to find a lorry and cling desperately to its axle, nor hide themselves in the freezer compartment of a huge shipping container. They could sit peacefully in their seats on the aeroplane and only wonder if they should have paid extra for the luxury version with in-flight coffee and the right to use the loo.
Once that was sorted out I started rebuilding our bedroom.
We have not quite finished the painting but cannot stay downstairs any longer. I am telling myself that I will get round to it over the next couple of weeks, but I know perfectly well that I won’t, and the tiresome bits which need a second coat will remain that way for ever.
The children helped me haul the bed back upstairs. It turns out, depressingly, that Lucy is rather stronger than I am, and it slid upwards with almost the same ease as it descended. Then I ran round putting clothes in wardrobes and making everywhere tidy until it was the reluctant moment at which I had to take Oliver back to school.
Once he had been safely deposited, scrubbed and trimmed, I belted over to the station to meet their train.
They were looking splendid. Brown faces split by huge white grins.
We talked all the way home, and for quite a long time after that. The picture is all of us congregated over dinner, which was a take-away, because I had had enough for the day.
I am going to bed now, talking about having had enough. This is not nearly as detailed as I would have liked it to have been, but I am falling asleep in my chair, so I will have to write again tomorrow.
It has been a very full day.
