Blimey: what a scorcher! I get up late and Bartelt is there, outside the front door, sitting in a deckchair in the sun reading in German. Luckily the book is written in German, so it's going well. There is an empty coffee cup beside him. It would seem that everything is in order.
Caroline is marking homework – she's a maths teacher these days. I think, when we were teenagers, she would have considered this to be a singular failure - the last thing she wanted to do - despite us both being taught maths by the inestimable Mrs Troth.
Oh, but I was a fan of Mrs Troth. One of the best teachers I've ever encountered, and I've encountered many teachers, and several of them have been good. I am an enormous fan of maths, there is such a beauty, fluidity, pure communication in it, and so much of this was shown to me, gently but with directness, by Mrs Troth. She was one of those teachers for whom I had the utmost respect. In fact, when I ended up with a different maths teacher for my A levels I actually called Mrs Troth and had a long conversation with her about wanting to move down a set to her set, and not stay here in what was being referred to as the X set – one above the A set. I came to see they had called it the X set because it was undefinably appalling. Merv, as we called our teacher, once uttered the line which is written on my soul: “Rebecca and Jamie, you're both wasters.”
Now, this was true of Jamie, but not of me. Jamie was clever, but he was disruptive and almost literally too cool for school, which, looking back, was not difficult given how uncool our school was. I, on the other hand, have never been too cool for anything. I was a swat and, well, craven, desperate, eager to please. Yeuch. The idea that I was a waster was, well, I guess, in wilder moments I might have aspired to wasterdom, but even now with my actor/writer lifestyle, I'm just not a waster. I had, in fact, had my considerable mathematical confidence destroyed by Merv. I went from being one of the best mathematicians in the school to crying over my homework and feeling pure terror in the lessons - like any other normal mortal. To this day, one of my most repetitive anxiety dreams is of sitting a maths exam and realising that I've forgotten everything I need to know for it. A common enough dream, but I adored maths and retained it really easily... before Merv.
Jamie, on the other hand, was just a bit of trouble. I liked him, in fact I saw him a few years ago at a wedding – he's married with two children I think, now - still a lovely guy. Oh, and despite being a waster, Merv, Jamie went on to get a first class maths degree, so put that in your pipe and etc.
Caroline and I talk and enjoy one another while she marks. A bit later we all go for a walk and a bit later still Martin and I go for tea and cake in a nearby town and attempt to work. As usual, the internet is intermittent, which I personally think the internet should be called, from this tour on. And the search for working wireless could be called the intertrack.... for which you need a search engine, obviously. Yes, not being able to get on line when you're producing and managing a tour is as funny as these 'jokes'.
As well as being Easter Monday it is also the last day one can apply for Olympics tickets in the first ballot. I feel rather conflicted about it because of the way it has been organised (you can only use a VISA card, you need to be able to bet a lot of money etc) but apply for some anyway: I'm not one to let my principals get in the way of me having a good time an an historical event. Caroline and I will go to the gymnastics if she wins any in the lottery.
The next morning is a school day for everyone, except Phil, for whom it is a work day. Caroline's mum comes by and she, Martin and I talk about her husband's last 35-years enduring multiple sclerosis. He has only recently died. The disease had taken his life, tiny piece by tiny piece, and also hers. The consultant on the ward where Lionel spent the last of his days has told her that he knows of no one who has cared for an MS sufferer on their own for 35 years. We ask Sally if she'd be willing to be interviewed for a show we want to make about health, caring, illness, pain etc. She is more than willing she says, while at the same time intimating that talking to her wouldn't be that interesting. She's lovely and marvelous and has no idea quite how marvelous, clearly. Exactly, in fact, the Sally I remember of more than 20 years ago when Caroline and I were teenagers.
We drive south. We have to head for London on Tuesday as I have an audition. I've had to buy an expensive day-return to London. I am aware that our transport costs are going over budget... but I'm also aware that it's only money: as far as I know, neither I nor any of my nearest and dearest are dying of a degenerative disease, and so the cost of train tickets can go hang.
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