Stitched up

Mark has not gone after all.

He was due to set off at lunchtime, but at half past ten this morning he had a telephone call telling him that the job was cancelled.

He did not know whether to be downcast or relieved. I am both, because I had to do a very lot more expensive sausage-shopping this morning, but on the other hand at least he is going to sweep the chimney tomorrow.

In the end this small calamity occupied quite a lot of the morning, with telephone calls and emails and general rabbitings, but in the end it all seemed settled.

He will probably be going on Monday. This means that he will still miss my father’s funeral, but on the plus side, he will be here to work for the bank holiday weekend.

These things happen. Number One Son-In-Law can never ever promise that he is going to do anything, because the oil industry changes its mind so often, probably helped along by our beloved leaders. Indeed, a few weeks ago he was paid an absolute fortune just to sit in an hotel in Aberdeen for a couple of weeks, just so he would be handy if anybody needed him.

I wish somebody would give me some money to sit in an hotel. I would very much like to get on with my story.It has been so long since I have written anything that I can’t even really remember what I was writing about.

I didn’t write anything today, either. Oliver’s new school uniform has arrived and we have been sewing labels into it. By we, I mean me and Oliver.

Oliver is something of a newcomer to sewing, but Norland is going to oblige him to learn. With this in mind he is quite keen to get some practice in, and today he joined me in the attic to make a start.

The cats had claimed the attic for their own, and were not at all pleased to see us. I do not think I mentioned that I am currently in loco parentis for Lucy’s cats. She is going away to some jolly called Sol Fest, with Elspeth and our friends Kevin and Kate. I do not exactly know what this is about, but I am quite sure that I do not want to go. Elspeth goes there for the purpose of sitting around peacefully peeling the bark off sticks, and Kevin goes in order to play his Irish whistle. Lucy is going to keep Elspeth’s daughter company at the bar. Neither of them are interested in sticks or whistles.

Anyway, the cats would not like it either, especially in the rain, and so they have remained at our house. I have cooked them a chicken to eat because I can’t bear the horrible smell of cat food. They seemed pleased about this, but it did not extend to welcoming me into their space in the attic, where they have built themselves gloriously smelly cat-nests in the warmth and quiet.

Once we had cleaned the cat fur off everything, we could sit down and make a start on some sewing. I was quite pleased about this. Of all my four children he is the only one who has taken an interest in learning to sew, and hence I was not very good at teaching him, although he seemed to be getting along famously, interrupted occasionally by telephone calls from some affectionate girl, which seemed to amuse him. Anyway, we have started on the endless process of turning trousers to the right length and adding the familiar legend IBBETSON to everything. He has sewn on a label all by himself already.

Fortunately he will be sharing a flat with some other students and doing their own washing, so there will be no need to name all of his socks and underpants, they will not be subject to the boarding-school boiling-and-losing treatment. I am pleased about that, at any rate.

His new flat has got a double bed so his school bedding will not do. I am going to have to get him a whole new set.

Mark will just have to start working again soon.