1) Me. Fifty five years old. A taxi driver.

I have just edited this and discovered that the original said that I was forty nine and a half. I must have been writing these pages for absolutely ages.

2) Mark. My husband. A brilliant engineer who can mend absolutely anything. Clever and patient. Works in partnership with his friend Ted doing something incomprehensibly technical to do with rural broadband. Drives a taxi in his spare time because of the school fees.

3) Lucy. Number Three Daughter. Lived at home for the early years of these pages but she is now twenty one, and has now departed the nest to the Midlands, where she is a police officer. She chose this career because it offered the most opportunities for getting into fights, which is her favourite thing. Very pretty with long gold-coloured hair and a cut-glass accent acquired at her all-girls exclusive boarding school which makes the other police officers laugh. Thinks I am scruffy and embarrassing.

4) Oliver. Number One Son. He is fifteen now but I have left the previous descriptions in as well because they made me feel happily nostalgic. Still at Gordonstoun where he is in Duffus House. The journeys to and from school go all the way through the glorious Scottish highlands, and do instead of holidays, which we can’t afford as well as the fees.

Twelve years old and eager to please but terribly dyslexic. Also at boarding school, where he has been since he was eight. He is a scrum half and shares a dorm with some rascally Russians. See Son Of Oligarch and Actual Head Boy.  It is an all-boys prep school which is ace in every way and run by people who think that it is a good idea for small boys to charge about noisily and be happy. He is due to go on to Gordonstoun in the north of Scotland when he finishes, in September 2019.  Is still at the lovely age where he still thinks I am perfect.

(SHHH) I am updating this because the main writer cannot be asked to update it so I have taken it upon myself to update the old and forgotten.

4) Oliver. Number one Son. nearly 14 and going away to Scotland and enjoying new and fun activities such as kayaking ,mountain climbing, Trekking and Much more soon to come in further updates. Gordonstoun Is a mixed-Ed Prep school where I will still be sleeping in dorms with rascally boys. While socialising with boys and GIRLS in the day. I am at the Age where I can see that the Old fart that is my so called mother is not so perfect but I love her none the less.

5) The Dog. Small and smelly. We tell people he is a dwarf Labrador but actually he is a Shih-Tzu with a haircut. He has got Short Dog Syndrome and growls at everybody to make sure they are properly scared of him even though his legs are about six inches long. He doesn’t have a lead because Mark used to train sheepdogs and thinks that leads are for people who can’t control their dogs, with the result that he is an angel when Mark is here and a complete arse the rest of the time.

6) Roger Poopy. Son of The Dog. Taller than his father. A brainless idiot whom nobody wanted even when he was an adorable poopy. Also known as The Clearance Poopy. Comments about the lead also apply here.

7) Pepper. Roger Poopy’s Best Friend. A black Labrador. Passionate about food, Roger Poopy and diving into lakes.

8)  The Peppers. Our neighbours. Owners of Pepper. Partners in late-night bad behaviour and early morning dog-emptying.

9) Elspeth. My Best Friend. Clever and trying very hard to be middle-class, which she does fairly well. Runs her own outdoor pursuits business but largely sits at a desk persuading people to buy climbing courses and worrying in case she is getting fat, which she isn’t.

10) Ted (also Mrs. Ted) Mark’s friend and business partner. Doesn’t like being written about because he thinks that people who remember him being on the council might read it, so I can’t tell you that he spends most of his time sloping off to sail his yacht around the Med, which he finds more exciting than rural broadband.

11) My Parents. In their eighties and powerhouses of adventurous living. Are wonderfully, liberally generous with both funding and advice. I am ashamed to say that generally I am more appreciative of one than the other. Think I am a very elderly teenager.

12) Number One Daughter. A living slab of muscle. In the All Arms PT Corps in the Army. Cross-fit champion and enthusiast, competes in huge competitions with people built like Tyrannosaurus Rex. Thinks I am fat and idle.

13) Number One Son-In-Law. Ex Royal Marine, current climber, weight-lifter and oil-rig worker. Eats the entire time. Thinks I am slightly mentally incapacitated.

14) Ritalin Boy. The human dynamo offspring of Number One Daughter and Number One Son-In-Law.

15) Ritalin Boy’s Other Grandma. Long suffering and nice. Remembers to feed him proper meals and put him to bed at the right time and hence gets lumbered with him more than I do.

16) Number Two Daughter. Skiing instructor and occasional lodger in quieter moments of her glamorous international jet-set lifestyle, and is the life and soul of every party. Currently living in Canada with Mrs. Number Two Daughter. Thinks I am very dull and pedestrian.

17)  Mrs. Number Two Daughter. Quality control inspector in a cannabis factory. Yes, really. It is legal in Canada.

18)  The Lodger, also occasionally referred to as Number Three Daughter. Childhood friend of Number Two Daughter, and recipient of plentiful amounts of helpful advice. She is very polite about this, much more so than any of the other daughters. She isn’t actually the lodger any more, she lives in Bowness, but this hasn’t stopped the advice.

19)  Nan and Grandad. High on our list of favourite relatives. Live near Lucy’s school and so have accompanied us for many  end of term pub extravagances.

20) Son Of Oligarch (also Son Of Oligarch’s mother). Russian friend of Oliver’s from school. Loud, energetic and cheerful, has been at boarding school for so long that he speaks Russian with an English accent.

21) Actual Head Boy. Oliver’s friend. Started life in these pages as Almost Head Boy, because his progression was practically guaranteed. Lives fairly locally and comes to visit when he is not touring museums and looking at classical artworks.

22) Harry. Oliver’s childhood Best Friend. Has been around our house for so long that he has got his own toothbrush. Is actually in the house even as I am writing these words.

23) The Other Taxi Drivers. My colleagues, who I like very much. All living and breathing proof of the theory that you don’t decide to become a taxi driver until you have been sacked from everything else. A motley collection of immigrants, pirates, redundant people, borstal graduates and autists.

24) Lakeside Taxis. Used to employ me to cover the occasional shift for them, when they were desperate. They have stopped doing this because I am completely incapable of behaving like a responsible employed person for longer than about two days. We buy clapped out taxis from them every now and again, because Mark can fix them and it is cheaper than buying something that works.