I am in Yorkshire.
I am sitting in the camper van listening to the wind outside. There is snow on the ground. We are a bit early for dinner so I have seized the opportunity to start writing to you.
We were late getting up, because of working last night. We stayed in bed drinking coffee and trying to arrange our thoughts for a while, and I had a quiet worry about clothes, because of Number One Daughter’s shirt not having arrived.
I was just working myself up into a little flap when the doorbell rang, the dogs barked, and my shirt was there, pristine and beautiful, pale mint stripes with embroidered flowers.
It fitted beautifully.
I had to look on the ever-helpful Internet to find out if if would be all right to wear a blue check skirt with it, and when I was assured that it would be fine, the clothes problem was resolved.
I decided not to add the yellow and orange spotted scarf with the little mirrors and the purple jacket, just in case.
We dashed round washing up and leaving everything tidy, and I took Lucy to Sainsbury’s so that I could be sure that she and the lodger would not perish from famine before we got back tomorrow.
Lucy bought some horrible white sliced bread and four Pot Noodles, and the lodger promised to bring Chinese for them both, which was reassuring. I heaped the dog bowls high with food, just in case, and filled their water bowls until they were brimming. The dogs did not want to come with us. They cried when Lucy went to Sainsbury’s and then would not be parted from her on our return.
Lucy was busy arranging her future career. She spent the morning rewriting her CV and then telephoned the chap who has the security company which hires all of the doormen for the local pubs and clubs.
She told him that she was seventeen and still at public school, but nevertheless would like to come and do work shadowing at some nightclubs with him so that she could have some experience of watching stupid drunk people getting into fights and being chucked out.
He was a little surprised, but agreed all the same, and so as long as his insurance doesn’t make a fuss, Lucy will be starting her future career as a nightclub bouncer at Christmas, when she breaks up from school.
I shall leave it to her to explain to the careers mistress.
We left her sitting on the sofa composing an email to him describing exactly why she liked the idea of a career in the violence trade, and set off for Yorkshire.
We allowed lots of time, because of the weather being scarily unpredictable, and because of not knowing exactly where the pub was, but in the end everything was easy. We found it without difficulty, and there was a parking space underneath a streetlight right outside, so we will have no problem at all finding the camper when we have finished.
We will be going in shortly. As I write this I am still quaking with anxiety. By the time your eye flicks to the next paragraph the whole thing will be done and I will be either colossally relieved or appalled with myself, depending on how it goes.
I have had the loveliest, happiest possible night.
What fantastic, entertaining, friendly people.
I would have liked the night to go on for ever.
I have no idea what we ate, or drank, come to that, except there was an awful lot of the last. I have laughed and listened and been interested and had the nicest possible time, what an absolute joy, I wish we could have the whole night all over again.
I hardly told any upsetting stories. I don’t care if I did. Honestly, there are some splendid, kindly, gentle, happy people in the world, and we have been with them tonight, what a great loveliness. Send your children to Aysgarth and then Gordonstoun, the nicest people in the world ever are in charge.
I am going to bed feeling more contented than I could ever tell you.
Mark took the picture. It is me, right now.
Goodnight.
