I got up late today. When I came downstairs the Sage was in the kitchen grinning. "You couldn't bear to get out of bed, could you?" It was true. I was very comfortable.
Tonight, we're going out the local Classic Car Club Christmas dinner. It's late rather than early; that is, the Christmas in question was last year's. Everyone is very charming but I don't know anyone very well, although the Sage does, so I have to put on my best face and be prepared to make a big effort to entertain and be charmed.
The Sage only remembered last night that he'd put our names down and rang to find out which evening it would be on. "Tomorrow night, oh right, that's fine. "Z, you're free tomorrow night aren't you?"
I told Ro and he said that'd be fine, he'd find himself something to eat. "As long as there are eggs or something." I got in plenty of fruit and veg and left it at that, but the Sage went out too. "I've got you a nice gammon steak," he told his son. "I thought you'd want something a bit more substantial." I don't think he's quite caught on yet that Ro isn't still a permanently-hungry teenager.
I put chicken bones and veggies in a pan with water to make stock this afternoon and then went out for tea with a friend, leaving it for the Sage to remove from the bottom oven at a given time. "Doesn't matter if you're a few minutes late," I said helpfully. Just now, I asked "did you take that pan of stock out of the oven?" Of course, he'd forgotten. "Will you take that pan of stock out of the oven?" I asked pointedly. It's only three hours late.
My friend has been looking after her m-i-l since she fell downstairs three months ago. M-i-l has finally come to the conclusion that she won't be able to look after herself in her two-storeyed home 300 miles away and must sell it and move this way. It's a brave decision to make, and certainly the right one, but it's all going to take some time to sort out. Looks as if my friend won't be able to take her governor reins again for a while. I spent some time giving her a lot of encouragement and sympathy - she loves the old lady and doesn't begrudge the time taken in looking after her, but it's a strain and she mustn't feel guilty about acknowledging that. At least M-i-l has reached the necessary decision herself and hasn't had to be told it, which takes independence away from her in a way that voluntarily moving into sheltered accommodation doesn't.
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Classic Car Club? This must mean you have a classic car. It's not a Bugatti, is it? or a Morgan Aeromax?
Sorry! I mean "a morgan areomax?"
We have several old cars. The oldest had its 80th birthday last August. I'm still on the look-out for a 1953 Morris Minor though.
Oh, a 20s Rover, a 30s Rover, two 50s Morris Minors and an early Mini.
I want a vintage Bentley. One with big bulbous headlights and a running board. I'd wear a flying cap and goggles and be the complete cad!!!!
You already pull all the birds, Preach, you don't need a Bentley. Our 1928 Rover has a running board. It's lovely to drive (double declutching, yay!), but it the water pump is shot at present, so it's not on the road.
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