We were unexpectedly busy last night.
This turned out to be because almost all of the Eastern European taxi drivers have buzzed off back to Hungary where one of the Hungarian taxi drivers is marrying a girl who works at Cafe Italia, which is the local bistro.
The direct consequence of this is that there are not enough taxis for a weekend, and Cafe Italia has an endearing notice in the window explaining that due to the lovely wedding of our beloved brother and sister, we have all cleared off until Monday.
Cafe Italia is my favourite place to go and eat pizza when we have got enough money. We don’t have any money at the moment, so that is all right, but it is not at all nice to see it closed down and dark. Cafe Italia is a bright lovely part of Windermere when it is open, cherry-red awnings and sunny round tables, it is always full of smiling people. I am jolly glad that they are coming back and not all gone for good.
Mark and I were the only taxis outside the Wheelhouse nightclub last night. This was because not many of the English drivers like working there. I don’t suppose that the Hungarian ones like it much either, but they are robustly determined to be undisturbed by English people’s peculiar intoxicated behaviour, and so their absence makes a distinct difference. It is an odd place to be without all of them.
It being Saturday, the day has been largely occupied with sleep and work preparations. Lucy sloped about in her pyjamas all day, being fatigued from her hard labours in the camper van and also having failed to organise employment for herself yet.
She astonished us yesterday by mentioning that she might like to consider going to one of the local colleges to do sixth form.
To say that we were astounded is to understate the case. Lucy has been a pampered treasure for her entire life, and her discreetly genteel public school has always seemed to be easily the best place for her continued nurturing. She has a cut-glass accent and matching expensive tastes, and is not terribly familiar with the grub and struggle of most people’s every day existence.
Of course we wanted to know why.
She explained, unconvincingly, that she thought it might be a good idea if we had more money to spend on Oliver’s education, and, umm, things. Also, she thought, it might be a new adventure.
We listened with surprise, and agreed, without conviction, that there was no harm in looking.
The first one she thought about was Kendal College.
We telephoned them.
The woman on the phone did not know which A levels they offered, nor if they would be able to timetable the ones that she wanted. She added that it was not possible anyway to do more than three, because the five hours a week allotted to each subject was quite enough to exhaust anybody.
We listened with varying degrees of horror.
I was unimpressed that nobody could tell us which A levels were available, what else could they possibly need to know about? Mark said that fifteen hours wasn’t even enough to be part time, never mind a full time student, and Lucy was stunned into silence at the concept that the timetable would not be rearranged to suit her personal study requirements, the way that it was at school.
Kendal College, we decided, might not be the right place for us.
Lucy wondered if she could investigate some others, and I said that she could.
In the end this afternoon she said that she had spoken to an establishment called Queen Katherine’s School, which she thought might look nice, and which provided all the A Levels she wanted to do, and could she go and look around it next week?
We agreed that she could.
It is state-run. It has got boys and rascals in it.
Mark scowled and grumbled about it all evening at work. He is not a putting his foot down sort of person, but I was left in no doubt that he does not wish to release Lucy into the wilderness of Kendal with all its accompanying dangers of predatory young men. Lucy, he thinks, is far better safely inside the walls of her nunnery, with plenty of other well-bred young ladies, and and a timetable which includes wine tasting lessons and how to care for one’s pony.
Of course although we will explain our own opinions, the final choice will be Lucy’s. It is important to remember when you are a parent that is nothing as attractive as the thing you have been told that you can’t have
I hope she does not decide anything awful.
I will keep you posted.
