Just had an unexpected knock at the door and my heart leapt into my throat. Turns out it was yet another delivery of clothes for R . She seems to regard her student finance as a social/shopping/vodka fund - think we are going to have to talk about this. Apparently if you do have the 'visit' the poor souls delivering the message blurt it out really quickly because they're afraid that if it's death you might be hopeful of injury.
As I am at home during the day I have developed such a different perspective on my home domaine, being out from eight in the morning until six in the evening means you inhabit a different world from the day-time people.
I have a neighbour who is such an enigma. Local legend has it that she was a beauty from a fine family who got embroilled in sex and drugs and rock and roll in the 70s and is now our neighbourhood equivalent of Brian Wilson. She wanders around the countryside gliding over the ground like a ghost, or if you happen upon her unexpectedly sometimes she will just stare at you as if she has never seen another living person before. You can feel the pain she carries around because it's etched into every nook and cranny on her face - she's a sort of human Marie Celeste. I tried speaking to her yesterday but she just looked straight through me as if I didn't exist, it's quite terrifying to think how life's experiences can alter the consciousness. I wonder at what point her life changed so dramatically and then realise that we are all at the mercy of fate.
The dinner with friends was lovely. Lots of good food and witty banter. Another one of our gathering was a Sandhurst parent and we discussed, analysed and probed why it was that our children had chosen their course. It's still a bafflement to me why anyone would want to fight for a living, but like C my friend's son has a tremedous sense of social responsibility and so maybe they're the modern equivalent of the Knights of Old with their sense of Noblesse Oblige. I still find it bewildering that I could have two sons who are commissioned officers in the armed forces.
H stumbled upon the Royal Naval Reserve whilst at uni in Brighton (call sign Golf Alpha Alpha Yankee or GAAY) and did admittedly have the most wonderful exploits with them. Lots of bobbing around in their little ancient Archer class patrol vessel - they even paid him for the honour. So that was how he decided to turn his back on the Law and embrace a life on the ocean waves - or more precisely under them. When I asked him why on earth he would want to be sealed underwater in a huge tube for months at a time he replied that seemingly submariners are an elite. An elite corps of masochists to the earth-bound. The irony is that if all goes according to plan H will pass out on exactly the same day, but one year later than C - again on their father's birthday. Life is strange.
C's mobile phone bill has arrived - two hundred quid. I shall pay it of course.
Have to go for my daily stroll now.
Speak soon. A soldier's Mum x
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