Week 12: Tea Time

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I know you've had a long trip. What? Yes, I appreciate it's been longer than Dominic "Durham" Cummings on a drive Up North. But if you will just be patient for a little longer I will be able to tell you whether you are going up, down or staying in Limbo for a bit longer. It won't take an eternity": - St Peter sorting out the Good, The Bad, and Those That Have Been Bad, But Have Lobbed Enough Money At The Pope To Be Going Up After Hanging About In Limbo As A Penance.

And that's rather how it has felt this week as we wait to learn the extent to which Gin (so called because of her habit of dabbing it behind her ears) will be returning to teaching in the classroom. Will it be next week or the week after? Will it be full-time? Will the kids be able to keep the infested hands off of each other? Will Old Todger, the school's Maintenance Man, be deployed in his wellies, his weedkiller sprayer re-purposed, to decontaminate All Who Enter? Gradually the details are emerging, changing, being agreed and overturned. The one thing we know for sure: the school has installed heat-seeking cameras at the entrance. Should at least warn of any incoming surface-to-surface missiles.

Gin though is coping pretty well with the uncertainty. When I say "coping", I mean drinking gin. A lot. Can't blame her really.

It's me that's been finding Limbo harder. I'm not saying that I've been snappy, but even C (for Cat), having unstuck himself from the kitchen floor last week, is keeping his gaze averted. He would make a very handsome set of slippers.

Yes, I'm ashamed to say that Grumpy wouldn't really do it justice. I've been Grumpier than Mr Grumpy from Grump Mansions, Great Grumpmow, Grumpshire with a toothache and swollen nuts.

No you bugger off.

But Good News! B (for Boy) has an almost normal sleep pattern and has held it there for the week. This is Heaven! (but hold on Mr H, you are in Limbo? Yeah I know, this religious stuff is confusing). He worked himself into a something of a dudge over whether to continue playing football next season, losing the ball in matches having become a source of deep anxiety for him. I guess the trouble with being Good at something is that it carries a Weight of Expectations. Perhaps being bleeding hopeless does have advantages after all. Anyway, after wrestling with this, he has decided to carry on next year, which is great as it is the only reason he has to regularly get out of the house. Or would be. If we weren't locked down, and hadn't spent half the winter with matches cancelled because of waterlogged pitches.

But Bad News! G (for Girl) has been Spilling The Tea. I am informed that in young persons parlance, this means "Gossiping". In this instance, it means spilling her tea. All of it. A whole mug. Over her laptop. She tried to dry it before re-starting it, but the tea that continued to run out from the back of the screen and DVD drive rather suggested it might be Fruitless. Poor G was so distraught about this, she didn't sleep for 24 hours. Bloody hell, if it isn't one, it's the other.

And so another week of supposedly Cleaning and Caring (but Actually Cooking and Grumping) passes by. I wonder if in Week 13 as we head out, we will pass Dominic Durham Cummings on his way back?

Love & elbow grease,

Mr H.