I was pleased to discover that I did not have the headache I had deserved this morning, and indeed managed to carry on with all of the day’s activities perfectly functionally. This was a splendid bonus.
The day was completely occupied with Back To School activities.
Poor Oliver is not at all happy at the idea of returning to school after such a magnificently long break.
He came and sat gloomily in our bed this morning and told us of his miseries, which included having to go outside on to the playground at break and not being allowed to kick footballs at the tower because of the windows. He felt that this edict offended his human rights, and also rendered him bored at a time when outdoor recreation was compulsory. Also there was a boy whom Oliver felt merited being punched on the nose, which activity has turned out also to be prohibited, much to Oliver’s frustration.
We consoled him as much as we could, and even offered to purchase a mysterious machine called a Rip Stick in order to occupy him at break times in place of the window-menacing football. Boys are allowed these, whatever they are, but Oliver declined, remarking pessimistically that they always get banned after a few weeks anyway, because some idiot starts sitting on one and hurtling down hills and bashing into other people at high speed.
In the end he decided to take his football anyway and try and avoid windows, which I thought was a good idea. I suggested he accompany me into the village to replace his pencil case which is presumably somewhere hidden next to Lucy’s Mandarin coursework. It has disappeared without a single trace, and everything in it has had to be replaced.
I quite like the children to have new pencils and things for the beginning of the school year, but I would very much have preferred it if he had not lost his fountain pen, which not only cost almost as much as a computer but also was a difficult-to-replace item especially designed for left handed people.
Oliver had no interest whatsoever in protractors and pencil sharpeners, and preferred to stay at home and execute zombies on his computer, so I went with Number Two Daughter instead. After that I was obliged to spend some time sticking name labels on to rulers and pencil sharpeners, and carving bits off the ends of pencils in order to emblazon them with his name. Fortunately when he gets back to school his first name becomes superfluous to requirements. At school it is surname only, which cuts down the effort when you have got to write it a couple of hundred times.
I decided on balance not to bother with thirty quid for another specialist fountain pen, and dug out an old one I had remembered was lying about in the desk drawer. This was not a specialist left-handed writing implement, but since I couldn’t imagine his writing being any worse than it is already I thought it probably wouldn’t matter too much.
I washed it and refilled it and labelled it with his name, which left me with inky-black fingers for the rest of the day. Oliver tried it and thought it would do, which was a relief, with any luck the other one will turn up eventually as well.
I labelled his just-arrived new wellies, and worried about the sports socks which still haven’t turned up. I put some new photographs in his Photopocket and wrote his name in the only pair of his flip-flops that I could find, which caused some consternation when he wanted to go outside in them later and they were packed. I don’t know what has happened to all of his flip-flops over the summer. The poopies ate some, but there should still be several pairs left, and I must have put them somewhere safe.
I sewed the last labels in on the taxi rank this evening, and at last we are ready.
Tomorrow is the Day of Scrubbing, poor Oliver, we discovered yesterday that he hasn’t had a shower since Blackpool, it is going to be a shocking experience.
Last, last sleep.
