Like a No 9 Bus…
…you wait two hours then two come along at once; thus after Kim and Rogan along came my French son and DIL – sans les enfants cette fois.
My French is elementary, you may have noticed – the book I am reading – ‘Failing Paris’ by Samantha Dunn uses more interesting French phrases and then drops in the translation without spoiling the flow.
You may think it daunting to cook for the French, especially as my DIL’s mother is a superb cook – but as long as there is plenty of HP sauce, Marmite, Cornish Pasties and - most importantly - plenty of Aga baked potatoes with cottage cheese they are happy bunnies. Also they muck in.
M and I had an appointment with the solicitor to sign papers and then were taken over the road to another solicitor to swear an oath. I was first and had to repeat after him.
Then it was Ms turn and there was silence. We all looked enquiringly at the silent solicitor and he sheepishly told us he had forgotten the words, which lightend the atmosphere considerably. As we were leaving he said he now he knew what it felt like when an actor dried.“I’m sure it will go better next house,” I comforted him.
Another beautiful day and off we went to
M reminded me of when we pushed my father along in his wheelchair – nervous that I was going to push him over the edge - accidentally of course.
This time I miscalculated and we came up too early - missing quite a scramble but seeing
We’ve lost our butcher and our baker – please help to save the candle- stick maker.
We spent a happy time sniffing all the fragrances and of course bought some. He told us he had been working since 4 am as they had a lot of orders to finish and the police called to see what was going on.He said no-one had ever asked to take his photo before and as you can see below he was happy to oblige.
The next day – whilst M and I continued with getting rid of paper work dating back to the seventies – in triplicate – my DIL nobly tackled the garage and made an enormous pile of out of date tins and bottles. I didn’t know beer could get out of date.
We were going out to dinner later and M had the exciting idea of a small bonfire. We chose an old copper coal scuttle and based it on a narrow path wedged between the side of the garage and the hedge. The matches we found were old and took some time to ignite – as did the cardboard and paper. Eventually thick smoke burgeoned forth and we had difficulty dodging it on the narrow path and all the local dogs started barking.
Soon it was time to leave for dinner but first we had a bottle of champagne for DIL’s birthday then - red of streaming eye and reeking of bonfire M persuaded me it was safe to leave the smouldering cauldron. All was well when we returned but I felt it was definitely dousing time and had the pleasure of pouring bucket after bucket before we retired.
In the light of day and stone cold sober we realised there was a great deal of black ash and a large sodden mass of half burnt paper. Like the rock he is M decided he would clear it all up and many black plastic bags later that is what he did.
Not surprisingly I felt a little emotional waving goodbye but then there was a friend from the bereavement group coming to tea and on Tuesday we have an ‘outing ‘on the steam train!
See photos below.