7th October 2007

Sarah finally got back on her feet by Thursday and even made it into school, looking rather pale and wafer-thin. She was utterly exhausted by evening, but true to form, dragged herself in again on Friday. By the weekend, she seemed much improved, albeit with a healthy dose of teenage grumpiness (but let’s be honest, that’s fairly standard at the best of times).

Sue did her usual two days at school but didn’t get called in for any extra supply work. Thankfully, most teachers are still running on post-holiday energy and haven’t started dropping like flies just yet. Give it another cold snap.

My week began with a bit of a bang. One of the staff casually informed me that his wife had decided to divorce him and that he’s now holed up in a local hotel. That makes two marital collapses among the team in just three months. I’m starting to wonder if the staffroom kettle is cursed. In more uplifting news, I spent most of my spare time at home tree felling, stockpiling logs and hoping for a smug winter of log-burner superiority.

Jamie finally washed his car again after I helpfully inscribed “clean me” into the dust on his bonnet. It must’ve been a source of shame every time he drove. He still has the same girlfriend too, Lara! That’s what, two weeks now? Practically a golden anniversary in teenage terms.

Charlotte, Suraj, and Lucas came to stay on Friday and Saturday night. Charlotte had won VIP tickets to the Grand Designs exhibition at the NEC in Birmingham (no idea how you win VIP access to a celebration of self-installing bi-fold doors, but there we are). They took Sarah along on Saturday and left Lucas with his doting grandparents, which would be us.

Saturday afternoon, I hosted a BBQ with some rugby mates, and we all huddled round to watch England vs. Australia. Against all odds… WE WON! Cue much shouting and waving of sausages. Later, I was even heard cheering on the French when they beat New Zealand. Yes, the French! Normally, I can’t abide them, so smug, so untrustworthy, but needs must, and they are northern hemisphere. This anti-attitude towards the French has been firmly in place since our ill-fated honeymoon there in 1976.

On Sunday, I took to the hedgerows on a noble quest for sloes, time to begin preparations for the annual batch of sloe gin. Due to a long dry spell, the crop wasn’t as bountiful as last year, but I still managed a carrier bag full of beauties. There’s something rather peaceful about foraging for tiny purple fruits, although not quite as serene as drinking the result. Sloe gin remains Sue’s favourite tipple, and quite frankly, who can blame her?