I am writing this in a hurried moment whilst waiting for Mark to come home and for my bank statements to download, which, irritatingly, they are not doing.
I have got to the point of writing my story where I thought I really would like very much to do my tax returns.
All great novels reach that point sooner or later. I have got to a key point at which I have realised I do not have the first idea what happens next, and hence thought that sums rather than creative writing would be my preferred occupation of the day.
I have been thwarted in this virtuous ambition by the unspeakable uselessness of my home computer’s approach to Internet Banking. I logged in no less than six times, which it was quite happy to accept until I requested statements, at which point it told me, crossly, that I could not access this information because I was no longer logged in, and promptly switched itself off.
I do not feel very patient with the virtual cyber-world sometimes.
Nothing daunted, I opened the Banking App on my telephone, which kindly allowed me to view my statements, not that they were any use whatsoever, since the writing on my telephone is so infinitesimally minute that an ant would need its glasses on to make any sense of it. I did not trouble about this, but carefully went through them all and emailed them to myself, so that I could view them in Old Lady Size on my home computer, which is large and square, and sits formidably on my desk.
Unfortunately it is also a bit of an Old Lady computer, purchased in 2011, and which is now beginning to struggle with early-onset dementia.
It downloaded four of the statements and then refused to have anything to do with the rest.
I can see them on the telephone as having not only been sent, but also received, but my computer is not interested, and even with my extra-strong painting glasses on, I can’t read them on the telephone.
I am going to purchase a new computer and invoice the Inland Revenue for the balance. I am not impressed.
In complete contrast, I went up to Oliver’s room this afternoon. His desk would not look out of place on the Starship Enterprise. It has two massive, curved, co-ordinating screens, upon which he can move documents from one to the other, a splendidly backlit keyboard in various shades of neon, and an enormous box full of computer processor, which has flashing rainbow lights and a speedy can-do attitude to life.
I had gone up to help him piece together an application for being a Gordonstoun Colour Bearer, which is a sort of peculiar Scottish version of a prefect, and possibly involves something to do with flags. There is also a thing called a Guardian, which is more or less the First Among Equals, and which might or might not be a Head Boy. I have had these fine distinctions explained to me a couple of times, with about as much understanding as I had of his physics test when he was in the third year.
Anyway, once they get to the upper sixth they are expected to write to the school to explain why they might be good at being in charge of it. Personally I think Oliver would run the place very well. He is at least as sensible as some of the teachers I have encountered in my long acquaintance with educational establishments. Also he would have the huge advantage of complete indifference to whoever is running the Scottish Government by the time the autumn term starts.
The whole thing has given us some cause for contemplation. Of course he has only got a one in forty chance of becoming Head Boy, this being the number of sixth formers who will probably be applying for the job, and we discovered yesterday that Derren Brown, who we all admire very much, has produced a show which will be running for a week in Manchester, from the very day that the new school year starts.
We considered the complete unsuitability of potentially being appointed to do the whole first-day full-of-honour flying the flag thing, whatever it is, and then not showing up.
One in forty is considerably greater than your chances of dying of bat flu, and look what a fuss got made about that.
This would not be an auspicious start, we thought.
Fortunately we thought this just as my finger was still hovering over the Buy button, and decided that of all the degenerate, rascally things that we could collectively do, this would be among the worst.
We sighed, and desisted.
Afterwards I went downstairs and booked him a driving theory test. He had another driving lesson this morning, and came back bouncing happily with the achievement of it all. I was very pleased to see him because it meant that I had somebody to reach things down from the top shelves.
He seems to have grown up a very great deal all at once.
He is going to need some new trousers soon.
