Tucking

I am not writing anything today either.

It is simply too hot to be bothered.

I am not complaining. I like this very much, although I would like it better if I were not at work. I wish I had the sort of job where I could say, with an air of injured virtue, that it was too hot to work in a Red Warning Zone, and still get paid by a frustrated but impotent employer. Schools were doing that a few weeks ago, perhaps they might also have a case for saying that it is too hot to be on holiday now, and so they will have a week indoors. They could probably tack an extra holiday week on to September when things have cooled off a bit.

We considered not being at work tonight, but we are saving up to go away next week, and so here we are.

I have had enough already, and it isn’t even dark yet.

There are still a lot of Saudis here. To my amusement I had an Indian from Oldham in the taxi last night, who said grumpily that he hadn’t expected to find so many foreigners cluttering up the place. We had a short but satisfactory conversation about the irritatingness of foreigners, especially the ones who wander about in the road or who try to pay for a three pounds fare with a fifty pound note. He told me, with some relief, that he thought he was fortunate to live in Oldham, where they don’t come.

I liked him very much.

I have occupied the daylight hours with escorting Oliver to the orthodontist, and blowing all of our money in Asda. This last was costly because he wanted tuck and shampoo for school, and I wanted drink, for all the time.

Mostly I wanted it for our holidays, which are starting next week. I have been saving up my permitted weekly units of alcohol for this very purpose. You are only allowed to drink so many units of alcohol every week, a unit being a thimbleful of wine, otherwise your doctor frowns at you, especially if you are stupid enough to tell him. I haven’t had a drink for days and days now, and so when we finally get away I will be able to polish off about six bottles and still be perfectly all right. I am looking forward to this.

Fortunately I have got the sort of doctor who is broadly in favour of drink anyway.

Oliver had purchased sufficient tuck for him to have developed diabetes by Christmas. He is almost as excited about going back to school as he is about going off to Canada. He has been showing me pictures of himself having jolly larks with his chums, and it all looks very magnificent. More, the exams will be over, and he will be doing A Levels. 

We are meeting him up there in a couple of weeks. He is flying up to Aberdeen when he comes back from Canada.

We have stockpiled his luggage and tuck now. His brace has been adjusted, his contact lenses arrived. His new shoes have been ordered although not arrived because the tiresome idle nuisances who deliver for the stupid courier that was once Hermes and is now some other stupid name, did not bother today. They were supposed to be delivering a box containing school shoes. They sent me an email explaining it was too oversized and heavy to be unloaded without specialist lifting equipment so they will try again next week when they have got their crane handy.

I was very cross indeed.

Apart from the shoes I think we are almost ready.

The swifts are vanishing now, and despite the glorious heat, the autumn is almost upon us.

Not long to go.