It is difficult to write lots and lots about a long journey and still be interesting. No matter how hard I try, today, the eve of such an exciting turn of our lives, has actually been a bit dull.
We did not set off after work last night. Partly this was because we were so tired we could hardly see for yawning, and partly it was because it turned out that we were not nearly as ready as we thought we were. Despite waking up at eight this morning, it was still almost twelve before we had loaded everything into the camper van and were wondering if it would all still work.
Of course it did still all work, except for the brakes, which are always an interesting challenge. Mark put new brake pads in it this week, but somehow it does not matter what you do to them, the brakes are a special law unto themselves, and every now and again they just put themselves on, with a special odour of burning to alert us to their enthusiasm. We have got no idea at all why this might be, but it does help with the sense of adventure.
We loaded all of Oliver’s carefully packed stuff, and we were off.
Dearie me, it is a long way to Gordonstoun.
We had saved some money for fuel but obviously it wasn’t enough and we thought that maybe we could use Mark’s credit card to get us home again, we will worry about it tomorrow. If we are still here in a week or two you will know that the credit card did not work.
We chugged slowly northwards. It is still light in the evenings here. Also they are still cutting the fields, and there was plenty of opportunity for the travelling family pastime of bellowing: “Round bales!” loudly, whenever we pass any. This is most fun if nobody else has noticed and you can make everybody jump. It does not count if they have already been wrapped in plastic.
This stems from Oliver’s babyhood when he liked round bales very much, and we all had to admire them profusely every time he glimpsed any, anywhere. He grew out of it in the end, but the rest of us did not.
It was nice to have the travelling time. We took the opportunity to explain what girls are, because of course there will be some at Gordonstoun, and it would be handy to know how to recognise one. This is not as straightforward as it sounds at a school where the boys wear kilts as well. I am mildly concerned about this because Oliver’s experience of girls is limited to his sisters. He is going to expect the girls to be the ones who are weightlifting and getting into fights.
Eventually we arrived, and I am writing this, sleepily, from the harbour where the school boats are moored. We took the dogs for a late-night emptying, and had a look at the sea. It is windy, and the sea is satisfyingly scary. It is hurling itself against the harbour walls excitingly, although not enough to make us want to park somewhere else.
Lucy rang. She has been on her induction day at Northamptonshire University, which she thinks that she is going to like. There are fourteen about-to-be policemen on her course. The university is modern and in a lovely place and has an ace library. She thinks that she will be happy there. I do hope so.
We ate home made pizza, which actually was not too bad, and we are going to bed. Oliver is asleep already. I am so tired that I can hardly see the keyboard, which is why this is not rich in bon mots and elegiac prose.
Tomorrow we say goodbye.
He will be fine.
