We are here.
We are on holiday.
I am as happy as a sigh of contentment.
We are in the beautiful Midland Hotel. This, for the more distant among you, is the nicest place in the world, or at any rate the nicest place in Manchester. It is elegant and civilised and as lovely as ever a hotel could be. It is the place where I would live if I won the lottery, which so far I haven’t.
We have been here so often that it feels like home, and also that it feels horrid if ever we come to Manchester and do not come here.
This happens sometimes because of limited funds, but not now. Today we are here, we are on holiday, and it is Christmas. I am as contented as I think it is possible for a person to be.
Mark’s friend Steve came round for the dogs this morning, who were in a state of heightened alarm because of all of the suitcases and their dog bowls being in a bag by the door.
They charged about barking whilst we packed, and we tripped over them and shouted at them to shut up. We were not at all sorry to chuck them into the back of Steve’s van and wave goodbye: and then suddenly we had done everything and the suitcases were in the car and we could go.
It was as if all of my troubles just melted away.
Obviously this was a complete illusion. My troubles don’t dissolve at all, because obviously my biggest trouble is not having enough cash, and the Midland is the sort of expensive that leaves a little lump in the back of your throat when they give you the bill, so actually it is quite the reverse of dissolving troubles. It is troubles solidifying into huge jagged unassailable rock faces, but for these few days I don’t care in the least. We have saved and saved and one day we will be dead and then we will understand that it really didn’t matter in the least anyway.
We pulled up outside the Midland and handed the car keys to the concierge. He is a nice concierge who has children. Mark has been saving shiny fifty pence pieces with Peter Rabbit on them, mostly for Ritalin Boy, but he kept some aside to give to him, because we remembered that his children liked Peter Rabbit as well. I don’t know if they still like Peter Rabbit, because they will be a year older than when we last saw him, but I expect they will like the fifty pence pieces anyway.
Another man put our luggage on a trolley, and whilst I was collecting the room keys from Reception my friends Kevin and Kate appeared, so that was the end of sensible grownupness, and we were properly on holiday.
We went to the bar and the luggage had to make its own way to the bedroom. I found it there, with our coats hanging neatly in the wardrobe, when I went up later on.
We settled happily on a large sofa around a little table, and exchanged stories of adventures. I told them about the prison service, which is the opposite of an adventure really, a sort of anti-adventure because all I am doing is staying at home. They told us about their exciting new jobs as well. Kevin paid attention at school and has got a proper job. He seems to be in charge of double glazing for the whole of England.
He obviously knows his stuff, because when I told him that our double glazing was not working properly and keeps getting condensation all over it, he said that it was not the windows but because of drying the washing, which was very clever. It looks as though we need a tumble dryer not new windows. It is a good job he is not in charge of sales.
After a little while Number One Daughter and Number One Son-In-Law turned up as well, with Ritalin Boy, which was lovely. I have not seen Ritalin Boy for ages, and he has become tall and civilised. This happens to people when they are nearly eight, he is almost grown up.
We talked and laughed until it was time for Mark and me to go and collect Lucy from the station.
I loved the station. It was a true gateway to the world. There were lots of platforms and trains rushing in and out, and we waited for Lucy on a very high-up platform, overlooking the city. Below us a band was playing thrash metal music in a pub, which sounded terrifically exciting and rebellious but we were glad that we were hearing it from a distance.
Lucy has had a lovely time, and learned all about stopping people from being nuisances in bars. She has made friends with the other people on the course and thinks that she will like doing it all very much.
We had dinner in a Greek restaurant. It was noisy, and full of people, and the food took ages, but when it came it was truly superb. I could have carried on eating it all night, like the Romans used to do. I had chunks of lamb that practically collapsed when I touched them, cooked with spinach and garlic and tomatoes and wine, and was entirely worth any indigestion that might follow later.
We are back at the Midland now. The children are in bed, and Mark is in the shower, and I am about to leave you and join them all. The world is hushed and warm and lovely. I am full of good dinner, and my family are here, and I have got a good book to read and nice things to do tomorrow.
There is no nicer feeling in the world.
I am on holiday.
