It’s been a busy weekend. Few aren’t these days. But as is often the case the best laid plans, as someone once said, gang aft agley. Today is no exception.
Saturday, you may recall, was Gala Day in town. The float was ready, tractor sourced, children excited. Some hasty repairs were required even before getting underway, after some scabby tup, loose on the road, found something at the right height to rub against, breaking a bit of…. ah you’ve still to wait on the photos and know not what the theme was . Soon chaps.
Anyway a prize from the judges came again, third once more, the process every bit as mysterious as it always is. And off we went round the town, making a noise, streets thronged, silly string and sweeties launched as the procession marched on.
But the day was half done by then. For Boy Urchin had a football match, after the office work was dealt with. And what a match it was too, they almost looked like a football team, for the first time. They changed ends 4-1 to the good, and Boy Urchin handed the goalie gloves on, taking up his customary spot in the defence.
The opposition though were not happy, a long winning streak endangered, and they set siege. I’m told by the boys on the couch on those beaches down Rio way that Parking the Bus is the in thing to do. A breach was established, despite heroic efforts by goalie no.2 which would certainly have escaped his predecessor, the deficit was cut, and cut again. 4-3, when’s the whistle due?
Well the boys held firm; there was joy on one touchline, despair on t’other. The league leaders’ ten match run was gone. And if only we had footage of the third goal. RVP himself would enjoy it.
And so to gala, excited, chuntering endlessly, weepy. Boy Urchin was quite high too. And if that wasn’t enough it was straight on to the old Rural Hall, after the festivities in the park, party time. Bouncy castle, burgers, midgies, and a very late night. Old friends too, seen too rarely these days, and cake. What’s not to like?
Just the sort of day you like when you’ve had little sleep and no food on the one before; just the day to precede another disturbed night, and another day of fast. A day following, indeed, when energy supplies were in demand. For finally the plans to move stuff around, perhaps even bin some, could see some action. The Genealogist’s Study is taking shape. The detritus that filled that space is in the shed, in the garage, in the bin. The old shed contents, some of them anyway, are in the new shed. The Urchins’ plastic kitchen is out of the garage and – well it’s in the garden at the moment.
But it will find a home in the old shed, maybe; once I’ve removed all the dirt and debris that gathers after nigh on a couple of decades. But I didn’t expect heaps of soil under the shelving, piled up in the corner. As well as daylight through the roof and the walls, we’ve holes in the floor too. As well as moths and moles, and midgies, the rats have been active this year, perhaps last, possibly longer, eating through the flooring. Ah well.
So today there were plans. And the sun rose, very warmly. Two planes left a slipstream saltire in the sky. Good day for a cycle, after all the other chores were done, or so I thought.
But there was pain, agony even; overdid it yesterday perhaps, not as young you know. Still perhaps by lunchtime…
Then the phone call. It’s the school. Come and collect. It’s end of term assembly tomorrow, and a third consecutive perfect attendance award. The report cards are done. What better time then to throw up all over the classroom floor. So he’s at home now, very subdued, very pale. Waiting on the first of tonight’s matches; waiting for Friday training and tales of that match; waiting for selection for Saturday, last game of the season. And the bike’s back in the garage. And the Doc phoned. (for me not him)
The best laid plans…
PS … and construction’s under way – mid June and the house martin’s are finally nesting. Strange year.