We’re going to Loch Fyne.
Rachel rang up in Fierce mode yesterday. She said that Alexander is afraid that if my husband gets a chest infection, we will all blame him, so we have promised to sign a disclaimer. He says that there's lots of this unnamed lurgy in the neighbourhood – so, Rachel said, her father should stay away from church and pub. That can be done. In fact, he is probably in much more danger from having lived with my cold all this week. So off we go.
She had alternative plans if that appeal had failed – for us all, except for Alexander, to meet at a splendid Chinese restaurant in
and spend tomorrow afternoon at a big round table dim
sum’ing. It would have been delightful, but a bit dark and indoors, and
strenuous for everybody to get there. Or, at the worst, she and Ed would have
stopped here for Hot Cross Buns on their way north today. Glasgow
I didn’t mention these possibilities to my husband for fear he would have preferred them.
Apart from any other consideration, Alexander has got four baby ducks living in his kitchen. Their future role in life will be to walk about and swim in Loch Fyne on pleasant days and lay eggs. They are a rare breed of some sort. He drove all the way to
Lancashire to get them the other
day. Pics and further details next week, insh’Allah.
Visits to Alexander have been marked over the years by a fairly high level of disaster – the norovirus at Christmas, the house struck by lightening – was that Easter last year? --, my husband developing an abscessed tooth on another occasion, the closing of the Rest and Be Thankful – two years ago, perhaps? – necessitating a 50-mile detour. We’ll be fine today.
So, the last pound coins representing undrunk cider have been deposited in my little collection box. I weigh 10 pounds less than I did on Ash Wednesday (and only two pounds more than on Good Friday last year). There is a lesson for us here, my sister said in a recent telephone conversation. She has lost a similar amount despite carrying a lesser load to begin with.
The Relax is finished, except for finishing. I’ll give it a pass with the steam iron this morning. You can look forward to pics of Lizzie trying it on, and of Ed in the Gardening Sweater, as well as those baby ducks.
And my pages of sock notes are lodged with Evernote, and the Hot Cross Bun order has been reinstated. Happy Springtime, everybody.