It’s a bit sad to be coming home, said our boy, when we picked him up.
We laughed a lot, because that is exactly the way we would like him to feel.
It was really the most splendid carol service. The whole school stood in their house groups around the edge of the big courtyard, and a Christmas tree and four burning braziers, stacked with flaming logs, stood in the middle.
Oliver was not in his house group, because of being in the choir. We could not make him out, in the dark and at such a distance, but we knew that one of the deep voices singing Hither Page And Stand By Me was his, and felt proud and excited on his behalf, what a wonderful event to be a part of.
It was shatteringly cold, and the sky was absolutely clear. In between carols we could hear the geese calling to one another as they flapped off on their long journey, and the stars glimmered in the smoke from the braziers. The Head Boy and Head Girl, called Guardians for some arcane Gordonstoun reason, handed the Headmaster the flag and he promised that he would look after it carefully until they all show up again in January. He always does this. I wonder if any misfortunate Headmaster has ever lost it, or had his wife shrink it in the wash.
I don’t expect so. The real middle classes don’t get themselves in messes like that.
We had had a lovely day. We stopped north of Glasgow last night, and by ten o’ clock this morning Mark had taken all of the dogs out for a walk and we could set off. There are three of them at the moment because we have still got Tonka. This means that doing anything at all in the camper van means ploughing through a small forest of waving tails and trying not to accidentally step on anybody’s paw.
It also means twelve muddy paw prints and not merely eight. They are everywhere.
I washed up and made the bed whilst they were all out of the way, and by the time Mark came back we were tidy and organised.
In the end we had a very cheery chug up the motorway, eating grapes and listening to the story. I had finished off some more knitting by the time we got to Carrbridge, and started another piece just to make sure it wouldn’t be too difficult to get started again. It is always best to leave these things at a point where it will be easy to pick up again. Otherwise I never do.
We were earlier than we had expected, and so took the dogs for a long walk along the beach. Roger Poopy and Tonka belted along, wrestling and rolling and making excited growling noises. Mark and I were more sedate and Roger Poopy’s father ambled along contentedly behind us, so we had to keep stopping to wait for him.
The coast there is brilliant, sandy beaches and rock pools. The sun had just slipped below the horizon, and the colours had just begun to rinse out of the day.
We reached the camper van in the very last of the daylight, just as the sea had become the colour of oily silver, and the crescent moon was climbing above the mountains.
We were sorry that we had to let the dogs in, but of course we did, and the camper van carpet is now sandy with muddy paw prints.
Oliver had not quite finished packing, and Mark oiled his bike chain whilst he dashed about hurling everything into bags, and then we were away.
Oliver talked and talked, all the way to the A9 junction, at which point he fell asleep. He has had a very busy term.
It is midnight, and we are exhausted.
I will tell you some of his stories tomorrow.
