So today we are down in London for a trip to the ballet with our chum Anne. We pulled in at Kings Cross just after one and, more pertinently, ten minutes after my train book was finished. This was just about perfect, allowing for a little “after think.”
Since then, we have chatted the chat, admired the new greenhouse, exchanged gifts and been for a very long and very boozy lunch. Everyone else has now wandered off for a snooze before cultural pursuits take over this evening, but I am not a snoozer and, even if I were, the bustin’ strong post prandial coffee would not permit this. So I shall, instead, catch up on yesterday.
There is a strange background noise, by the way, and I can’t decide if is the wind tunnel effect of the Islington corridors, a barn owl, a whistling fox or Keith snoring. It could always be the conjunction of all these…
Anyway, I can’t lie. I was pretty disheartened when I finally went to bed on Tuesday. A full day of box triage and furniture moving had left mum’s house stuffed to the gunwales. You couldn’t even get into the living room and one of the basement rooms was in a similar state. This clealy couldn’t last, but the overflow area in the garage was also full. I also had looming deadlines for the Christmas postal stuff. In the end I took the morning “off” and ran around like the proverbial blue arsed flea, writing cards and letters, stuffing envelopes and allocating gifts. Whether the various recipients get the right stuff is, frankly, a lottery. There’s a baby cake I have entirely lost track of. Anyway, I was done just before twelve and headed down to the chaos zone. Mum had inched slightly forward in my absence, but if I am honest, and despite her great efforts, very much in an arranging the deckchairs on the Titanic way (do not repeat this people…!). So I set to and hauled a lot of stuff out of the filled to overflowing smaller basement room and reconfigured it in such a way that the electricians could actually get in to sort out the ceiling lights.
It’s definitely a fox, but a whistling one
That done, I resumed living room triage, locating cookery books which could now be laid to rest in the kitchen bookcases which had now dried (they were still being painted yesterday). The haul of cookery books was disappointing and there should be more out there. Perhaps they have been eaten by the gardening books, which seem to have multiplied. What happens in storage, stays in storage….Anyway I plugged on until just before my, long awaited, GPs appointment then ran up the road. I must have been in hyper efficiency mode by then, as I arrived an unprecedented ten minutes early, which gave me time to exchange some chat with the ever friendly canine receptionist. It was GP practice at its best and finally I think we have got to the root of a long term problem and will be tackling the cause rather than the symptoms. I jogged back and, in celebration, moved a whole lot of stuff into the new cupboard the *Laddie (*technical term there) had just finished. By this stage the light was failing as the new consumer unit had still not been connected and as (a) I was due at Christmas drinks next door in 50 minutes and (b) I had still not posted my parcels it was time to go. In my defence, there was no queue when I arrived at the post office counter, and I apologised profusely to the four person queue when I left (they were very nice about it – it’s a lovely little town really).
Keith’s snoring has taken over from the whistling fox
By the time of Raymond and Anne’s soirée I was, just, washed and polished and the Christmas gift bag was populated. Unfortunately, I sat smugly to wait for Keith at the bit of the table where Mum later advised Keith had been polishing his shoes. I went off to change jumpers…..
It was a lovely break that evening. Having been hauling boxes covered in dust all day, missing lunch, I was both thirsty and hungry – which is not a polite way to approach drinks and nibbles, but I certainly gave them my full attention, in the manner of a plague of locusts. Everyone was on fine form and we discovered that Raymond, ever the dark horse (he definitely has a strain of Mr Darcy…), had known both Ludovic Kennedy and Moira Shearer – relevant because the ballet we are off to see shortly is the Red Shoes, based on the film which originally starred Moira Shearer.
This morning we got up at sparrowfart, waved goodby to the (utterly unconcerned) dog and my mum and set off for a couple of days respite in the city. I am enjoying it hugely. I hope mum is on the sofa with the dog, a gin and a box of chocolates (I suspect she is too well behaved for the gin, but the dog and the chocolate are distinct possibilities).
Well, the ballet beckons. Keith is making the Kraken awakes noises. Tragically, I shall have to force down another glass of wine during the interval… Normal service will be resumed on Saturday. (I have a second train book lined up for tomorrow).
Today’s quiz question: Who were the captains of the teams in this year’s Ryder Cup
Yesterday’s Answer: Second, being pipped by Oscar Piastri Charles LeClerc was third
