At dinner, Nigel and I are discussing our plans for the weekend.
“We have to get to the garden centre at some point – we need ericaceous compost for the camellia.”
“And Saturday, we’re meeting Dawn and Steve at that National Trust place, Baddesley Whatnot.”
Perran and Carenza are watching us as they toy with the leathery omelettes I have prepared for them.
“Did you happen to notice from the website whether it has a good tea-room or not?”
“It does look like the kind of establishment where one might procure a decent slice of carrot cake, yes.”
Perran and Carenza exchange a glance.
“Are we doing anything on Sunday?”
Perran puts down his fork, leans across the table and says,
“Mum, Dad, do you ever feel that you might have slipped from middle age straight into old age?”