The picture at the top is of the sea, and a line of cloud above it, taken this morning from the top of the fells. It does not look as close as that when you are there, my phone has a magical Bring Them Near feature which means that you can see things that are miles and miles away. Or at least, you could if you went running whilst wearing your reading glasses, which I don’t. The magic of the distant sea had to be saved for when I got back and could look at the photograph through appropriate spectacles. This did not matter. I enjoyed the thought that I could see it, even if I couldn’t really.
I am sorry to tell you, as if you couldn’t see already, that this is a dreadfully shortened entry, prompted by my desperate need of an early night. If I do not go to bed quite soon then I am likely to fall asleep whilst driving, which is never a good idea, and worse if you are a taxi driver.
We are on the taxi rank, of course. Mark has been at work and I have taken Oliver back to school. I like doing this, because the drive across gives me lots of time to talk to him. He has only got one year left to go at Aysgarth now, and we laughed about the funny, brave, scared little boy that he was, and talked about how it will be when he sends his own son. He thought that he might favour the “for goodness’ sake, you’ll be fine, pull yourself together” approach, because he thought that it would save hours and hours of time wasted on tearful phone calls that got better the minute you said goodbye anyway.
He never cries these days, he likes school very much indeed and bounded off today without looking back. It has been the most brilliant thing, he has got more courage now than I could ever have imagined possible. He is very kind to homesick people at school, because he knows how awful it feels.
LATER NOTE: I am now at home, and hastily writing some last words to this before I go in the shower.
Everything was put on hold by the arrival of Number Three Daughter, the lodger, who is having a wearily stressful time, and so has come back home to be the lodger again for the night, which is rather lovely. We sat in the kitchen and talked for ages before I remembered that I was too tired to remember my own name, and also that I had not finished writing to you.
I have finished now, even though I have not told you about the ironing, or building a little fence in the garden, or cleaning shoes, or hoovering the kitchen. I am sorry about this, and hope that you do not find it too upsetting.
I will still you all of that sort of exciting detail tomorrow, so you don’t feel that you have missed out.
