Sad to say, having missed the Sage so much for the two nights he was away, he kept changing position in bed last night and woke me up after only a few minutes' sleep. I wasn't at all happy about it. I asked him quite politely if he was all right. He assured me he was - "because you're wriggling about a bit," "Yes I am," he said, quite happily. Hm.
Anyway, I had a meeting with the school Head this afternoon and I can't quite remember the context, but he remarked that I have a Look, at which he knows someone is in for it, usually him. I should think so, it's taken years of work to get that Look perfected and none of my family takes any notice. During half term, a party of school staff are going on a day trip to France, to the WW1 battlefields. Well, one of them, I suppose, there's not time for more in a day. I said something about a busman's holiday and he agreed, saying he's driving the bus - literally.
Oh, how we laughed.
My cold is in retreat and I feel much better now. Tomorrow, if weather permits, we'll bricklay. I'm going out at 11 o'clock, so will just work for an hour and then leave Dave and the Sage to it. I'm going out to lunch. You may not be surprised to learn that I belong to a ladies' luncheon club (not just any ladies, one has to have executive status - shuddup, no really, get off the floor where you fell in your mirthful paroxysm) and that is where I am going. I am afraid that I lower the tone rather.
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I wonder whether the Sage will remember to offer me stale bread and cheese, or just merrily wave me goodbye, as he did the last time you weren't around at lunchtime.
Stale bread? Darling, I'm sure the Sage will not mistake you for a chicken. I've told him there's a pizza in the freezer and explained how to cook it, so fingers crossed.
I'm not sure he wouldn't mistake you for a chicken - he certainly shooed me off yesterday with hand gestures one might make to a fowl.
For 'you' read 'me'. I'm sure he wouldn't mistake you.
If he tucks you under his arm while affectionately feeding you bits of cheese, don't take it amiss, then.
A little reminder at your luncheon of Rog's dictaphone joke (remember?) should both lower the tone and maintain the sophistication.
Enjoy your lunch my dear. Come back with shocking tales.
Remember? It's seared in my mind. Next time I see Rog, I'll certainly remember to ask "are you using your dictaphone in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?"
They were very sweet and said they miss me leaping on the Maddermarket stage every month for the vote of thanks. I don't mind in the least if they mean because I used to look such an idiot.
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