It has been Saturday, which is only ever a very short day.
We knew when we woke up this morning that anything we did would be curtailed by the mutually exclusive needs of getting some more sleep and earning some more money.
We are going shooting tomorrow. There is not going to be time in the morning to do anything apart from rub our eyes and stagger about complaining and swilling coffee, so I have prepared our picnic today
In fact it is going to be a fairly large gathering, because as well as the six from our household, we are being joined by another boy and his father, who actually live not very far away from us, and who visit sometimes during the holidays.
I like both of them very much, and both Oliver and I think that the son is going to be a Dead Cert for the role of Head Boy at school next year. He is articulate and entertaining, bright and charming, and is headed for one of the major public schools when he leaves.
Regrettably they do not have a wife and mother on hand to make a picnic, the wife in question being employed somewhere in the south of England doing something lucrative. In addition to this, before he gets round to coming to school to shoot things with his son, the father is going to have to occupy the first part of Sunday morning taking a service and giving a sermon in church, and is not going to have time to consider curly lettuce and napkins and lemonade.
Hence they are going to picnic with us, which is going to be splendid.
I am only mildly concerned about the startling effect of going directly from church into Number Two Daughter’s robust company. It will be a character-broadening experience for all concerned.
In consequence there will be eight of us.
That is a lot of sausages and crisps.
Mark cleaned the taxis whilst I flapped about, anxiously.
The thing about never having had quite enough sleep is that after a day or two it becomes a bit challenging to think clearly. It did not take very long before I had reached the state of mind where I was muttering to myself and wagging my hands about.
Not long after that I was in the middle of a rather impressive mess, having started doing half a dozen things all at once, and not actually finished any of them.
I cooked pizzas and cut salad and cooked sausages for tomorrow, in addition to which I prepared our regular working picnic.
In the end Mark came in, and we took things across to the camper van, where we lit the fridge, which runs on gas, and packed the picnic into it. This was helpful, because then I could see what I had done and what I had forgotten.
Mark brought the spare camping chairs and some refills for the jelly baby tin, and in the end I thought that probably we would have enough to feed eight people, and if not then there was plenty of wine, which would probably go well with shooting.
We were just getting up from our afternoon sleep when we had a call from Number One Daughter.
Ritalin Boy is in trouble at school.
His teacher carelessly left her key fob on her desk. It was the key which gave her access not only to her classroom, but to all other areas of the school, including the main entrance.
Ritalin Boy thought that it might be amusing to hide it.
He glued it to the underneath of somebody else’s desk, where it remained for two panic-filled days until finally some less creative child found out, and grassed.
He was right about it being amusing. I was amused, which is why I have shared it with you, because I think that even the more virtuous among you are likely secretly to be amused as well.
The teacher said mournfully that she could not trust him any more.
I think it showed a lack of professional judgement to have trusted him in the first place. Ritalin Boy is not the sort of child who ought to be left unsupervised, and if she hasn’t worked that out by now she should consider packing up teaching and becoming a librarian or something.
I was impressed, though.
He will go far.
I haven’t got another picture. Sorry.
