OK, I know, I'
ve been a poor correspondent of late but I've been away again, in Brighton helping to facilitate Daughter Number 3's move from Hanover student house to young professional's single flat in Kemptown. And very nice it is too, small but perfectly formed with excellent and uplifting sea views from the front windows. In fact, if you ignore the cars, estate agents boards, scaffolding and a gas pipe repair, it is not impossible to imagine that the view down this charming Regency backwater has not changed so very much in the last 200 years and I'm seriously thinking of co-opting it as my South Coast pied a terre whenever the tenant is out of town. The move went surprisingly well thanks to a very efficient man with a van and also to Brian who dismantled and reassembled like a Good 'Un. He departed early for Middletown, truck laden with student cast offs (a very nice cream metal bed frame,[for the grandchild we don't yet have]a wicker coffee table[for the conservatory we have yet to acquire] and a wooden kitchen chair which we bought in the first place. I stayed on and scrubbed and polished, washed and ironed, shopped and cooked, at the end of which Daughter Number 3 regarded me thoughtfully and announced, "Don't take this the wrong way, but Gillian (teaching mentor) told me that when her Mother died, she experienced a huge sense of liberation." After I'd finished laughing like a drain, I managed to riposte that she'd better hope someone comes up with a mobile network which reaches beyond the current terrestrial bounds or she'd be up the creek without Mum to find the paddle.
Back in Middletown, the news of Sir William is not good. His indisposition has gone on for almost 4 weeks now and he is not getting any better. Five visits to the vets, several injections, faeces and blood samples and £200+ later, we are no nearer finding out what's wrong. Always the most fastidious of all my very clean male cats (drawing a veil, or more often,
a pile of kitchen towels over the less delightful habits of Ms Georgiana Paw) he has not been able to avoid the odd accident and is obviously mortified, spending most of his time either outside or under the spare room bed. Brian and I are united in our concern; the house has a melancholy air and there is a sad gap on the sofa of an evening. Yes, GF has finally returned to Canada and we are all bereft ( but especially me). Today it is pouring down from dawn till dusk. A property company I had engaged to manage a small rental property for me has gone out of business owing me money. After considerable persistence, I have finally coerced them into reimbursing me only to find that they have deducted a management fee for their inconvenience. Ye Gods!! If it wasn't for the unexpected but nonetheless gratifying discovery that, despite the indulgence of a toasted mozzarella and tomato ciabatta with wild rocket and peach chutney whilst slaving away in Brighton, I seem to have lost no less than 3lbs in one week, it would be, in most respects, a pretty s****y day.
So, Nicole Kidman has called her baby girl Sunday despite the irrefutable fact that she was born on a Monday and Gordon Brown wants to be compared to Heathcliff. Beam me up, Scotty, and lose the damn phone!!
ve been a poor correspondent of late but I've been away again, in Brighton helping to facilitate Daughter Number 3's move from Hanover student house to young professional's single flat in Kemptown. And very nice it is too, small but perfectly formed with excellent and uplifting sea views from the front windows. In fact, if you ignore the cars, estate agents boards, scaffolding and a gas pipe repair, it is not impossible to imagine that the view down this charming Regency backwater has not changed so very much in the last 200 years and I'm seriously thinking of co-opting it as my South Coast pied a terre whenever the tenant is out of town. The move went surprisingly well thanks to a very efficient man with a van and also to Brian who dismantled and reassembled like a Good 'Un. He departed early for Middletown, truck laden with student cast offs (a very nice cream metal bed frame,[for the grandchild we don't yet have]a wicker coffee table[for the conservatory we have yet to acquire] and a wooden kitchen chair which we bought in the first place. I stayed on and scrubbed and polished, washed and ironed, shopped and cooked, at the end of which Daughter Number 3 regarded me thoughtfully and announced, "Don't take this the wrong way, but Gillian (teaching mentor) told me that when her Mother died, she experienced a huge sense of liberation." After I'd finished laughing like a drain, I managed to riposte that she'd better hope someone comes up with a mobile network which reaches beyond the current terrestrial bounds or she'd be up the creek without Mum to find the paddle.Back in Middletown, the news of Sir William is not good. His indisposition has gone on for almost 4 weeks now and he is not getting any better. Five visits to the vets, several injections, faeces and blood samples and £200+ later, we are no nearer finding out what's wrong. Always the most fastidious of all my very clean male cats (drawing a veil, or more often,
a pile of kitchen towels over the less delightful habits of Ms Georgiana Paw) he has not been able to avoid the odd accident and is obviously mortified, spending most of his time either outside or under the spare room bed. Brian and I are united in our concern; the house has a melancholy air and there is a sad gap on the sofa of an evening. Yes, GF has finally returned to Canada and we are all bereft ( but especially me). Today it is pouring down from dawn till dusk. A property company I had engaged to manage a small rental property for me has gone out of business owing me money. After considerable persistence, I have finally coerced them into reimbursing me only to find that they have deducted a management fee for their inconvenience. Ye Gods!! If it wasn't for the unexpected but nonetheless gratifying discovery that, despite the indulgence of a toasted mozzarella and tomato ciabatta with wild rocket and peach chutney whilst slaving away in Brighton, I seem to have lost no less than 3lbs in one week, it would be, in most respects, a pretty s****y day.So, Nicole Kidman has called her baby girl Sunday despite the irrefutable fact that she was born on a Monday and Gordon Brown wants to be compared to Heathcliff. Beam me up, Scotty, and lose the damn phone!!
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