All three offspring are abroad. Nigel and I nearly went away for the weekend, but there were things that needed doing, so we had a “weekend away” at home.
We went for walks in the cool of the evening, and I prepared what seemed like microscopic amounts of salad and ratatouille, but it was still too much for us to eat. There was time to read both my Ovid and the new Gill Hornby.
We had a day out at Knole, stately home of the Sackville-Wests, went to church, had lunch with friends (thanks Kathy, Bill, Sarah) watched the amazing Murray match and still there was time – I cleared the washing, learnt to use my new camera, made six Latin translations and started to make arty plaster casts of grass-heads.
So this is the shape of things to come – the children off our hands, we may resume the civilised existence that I vaguely remember from over twenty years ago.
But as we are returning from our stroll on Sunday evening we reach the corner where I am wont to anticipate who will be at home, how much water will I put in the kettle for our cup of tea. Only two cups full again today.
And I start to long for a full kettle again, and a nice noisy row over ate all the biscuits.
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