Back to school

The unaccustomed early morning routine was going quite smoothly. It’s such a luxury to have hot meals as an option sometimes, so no packed lunches for me to prepare this morning.  School bags had been carefully packed the night before, even PE kits were remembered, albeit minus one plimsoll which has mysteriously disappeared.

And then some last-minute excitement.  Both pairs of school shoes were as filthy as the rainy day they had been last kicked off and then thrown into the shoe box in some seasonal tidying flurry.  Now I remembered the children had run around the farm yard in an end-of-term high-jinks celebration – still in uniform and me not wanting to dampen spirits as things were quite damp enough.  My father would not have been impressed with my shoe-cleaning discipline but it’s amazing what wet wipes can do.

We got to school in time and looking not too dishevelled.  Not counting Jack’s hair, that is. It’s very big.  He takes after his father, whose nickname used to be ‘Hedge’.  But we’ve all been a bit coldy over Christmas and I do not want to make it worse: perhaps the story of Samson had too powerful an effect on me but it seems wrong to lose those locks when still sniffing.  I would not clip out my dog or horse if they were under the weather.  Jack’s big hair lives to see another day.


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