It’s nearly a year and a half since Ro moved out and the Sage and I have been living by ourselves. You might say that it was about time and you wouldn’t be wrong – of course, we had been alone before while he was at university, but that didn’t seem to count.  This isn’t a large house, though it does sprawl rather – it’s a rambling cottage really, but it does seem rather big for the two of us.  I mentioned the room I never go in – actually, there are several that I don’t go in much, particularly in the winter.

A few weeks ago, when the family came to stay, the whole place was in use again, of course.  I can’t see us ever downsizing – for a start, Al and family live here too, in the annexe.  And one of the reasons I ever suggested moving here was that I couldn’t see the Sage clearing out the outbuildings.  Well, since then, he’s built more and filled them too, and an extension to the house.

I sometimes wonder, if I started again, what I’d have for my own choice.  I don’t believe that I’m that bothered about having stuff, but I could be deluding myself.  Certainly, I’m rarely tempted to buy anything. The last item of furniture I bought, a couple of years ago, was a cabinet for the Sage to keep one of his collections in.  That was an old one, bought from eBay.  We’ve hardly got any new items of furniture.  The bed was bought new of course.  We had the dining table made and the Sage made the kitchen table.  Otherwise, apart from armchairs and the sofa, it’s all recycled.

If it were up to us, a lot of shops would go out of business.  Oh dear.  Could we be responsible for the recession?

Very uninterestingly, today’s journey to London went smoothly.  The train wasn’t very busy so no one sat next to me, any audible chat was not intrusive, the trains were on time and I arrived at my destination, at both ends of the underground journey, unexpectedly promptly.  The meeting was fine and I put in a fair contribution of my own ideas and gained benefit from that of others and, although it rained, it didn’t while I was outside.  The most notable event of the whole day was when I was standing on the Tube, a seat became empty and a young woman offered it to me rather than sitting down herself.  Which was vastly kind, if a bit lowering, that I bring out the lovely in people, meaning I evidently look old and/or infirm.  Anyway, I smiled and thanked her and sat down.

Dave, this morning, said in his post that he empathises with fictional characters on film or in books to the extent that he identifies with them, even imagining himself as them, whether they are heroic or even deeply unpleasant.  I don’t suppose he identifies with all of them, but it made me question my own reaction to people in books – and I don’t think I ever have done that.  I might be very engaged with a story, deeply moved or interested by a character or situation, but it’s as an onlooker, not as a participant.

In fact, thinking about it, I seem to be becoming more dispassionate if anything.  I judge a book more rapidly than I used to – it doesn’t have to be badly written now, as once it did, for me to decide that I don’t care enough to finish it.  I still don’t know why this is, maybe I’ve just read most of my lifetime quota of books and very few excite me any more.  I seem to notice the writing more than I used to – for example, in any book set in the late 19th century which involves a family, I look for the baby boy born for the sole purpose of being poignantly killed off in the first world war.  Even very good writers do it – they’re manipulating my feelings, so I won’t play along.  A book has to be either light enough for me not to mind or good enough for me to either overlook the devices or else become so genuinely engaged that I don’t notice them.  Like in an action film where you know that several characters are going to be killed off and you entertain yourself by deciding the most likely ones.  Indeed, with a lot of more ‘serious’ actors, I often observe their acting more than the characters they portray.

I’m sorry about this, I don’t know what it says about me or the fiction concerned and I’m not drawing any conclusions.  It’s just how it is.

The Sage has been looking after me very well, starting with tea in bed and going on to cooking my lunch for me, having lit the fire and all.  We had the children in the afternoon, as Dilly and Al had an appointment in Norwich.  At seven o’clock, I took them back home to get ready for bed, only to find that the key didn’t work – Al lost his door key a couple of months ago, changed the lock and then found it (it had fallen from his keyring, but turned up in his van) and thought he’d given us a new key.  Anyway, I read to them their bedtime stories until their parents arrived home.

I’ll do final Wall posts as soon as I can – if you read Dave’s blog then you’ll have seen them there already.  He sent me one photo of the finished structure, but it’s late now and I have to get going early tomorrow again.  The Sage’s business email has been down this evening, which is a pain as I’ve a quite urgent letter to get off, and I haven’t got the chap’s address except in the Sage’s account.  I’ll try again first thing tomorrow, but I’ve got to leave here by 7.30.  It was nearly 5 o’clock when I finally got home yesterday, having reached Liverpool Street at 12.00.  I should have been back here two hours later, or three allowing for the notified Sunday service.  This is a scheduled programme of work on the line, it’s quite remarkable that the alternative arrangements always come over as so scrappily put together.

Anyway, having been unexpectedly busy with children when I’d expected to work, and then had a long chat to Ro this evening, and not having got very much going at all this morning, I’ve not got a lot of work done.  I haven’t worked out my route for tomorrow yet, I’ll have to look up buses on the phone when I’m on the train.

Horrible weather, at least I didn’t have rain to cope with yesterday.

Okay, let’s start with a couple of good points. There are very helpful staff to give information and they are being unfailingly patient and polite which can’t be easy when you’re being asked the same questions over and again. And I remembered a two-bar Kitkat I’d got in my bag, so I have had some lunch.

Otherwise, there is nothing good to report about British public transport.

I didn’t sleep last night, a brief nap around midnight and then I lay there waiting for 5 o’clock. We arrived at Gatwick at 10.30 and were on the train platform within half an hour. So far so good. I noticed that the expensive Gatwick Express is less than 5 minutes quicker than the regular train, don’t waste your money.

I knew I’d have to take a bus for part of my route, because that’s always the way on this line on Sundays (remember, the Bod didn’t consult me before he booked the holiday, I’d not have chosen to travel today). But I expected the bus either to start at Liverpool Street Station or to take a train some way and then be bussed. So I got off the Tube train, carried my suitcase up the steps (there are very few stations that are entirely served by escalators) and looked for the platform. No trains to Norwich. I found a notice board that said I’d have to get on the tube again, but it wasn’t clear and I had to ask. So I ended up on the same platform I’d left ten minutes previously and got the next tube train.

I arrived at Newbury Park and lots of us hung around for a bus. It’s about 12 or 15 miles to Ingatestone, but the traffic was heavy. I arrived find I had Neely an hour to wait. Helpfully, it was suggested that I take the train in half an hour (five minutes from now) to Ipswich, where at least there’s a coffee shop and I can pick up the train to Norwich half an hour after that.

I’ll let you know when I get home. Sorry for mistakes, you can’t see what you’re writing when it’s a long post from the phone.

I was awake early this morning, too early for Wink, so caught up with some blog-reading, and found that Boy On Top had updated after two years of silence. I meant to write a post a couple of weeks ago on those whose blogs I used to read and who don’t update any longer (and then something more topical came up to write about) and he was one of my favourites, so I was glad to hear from him again.
We had a splendid last day, with a thoroughly touristy boat trip round the harbours and then we went off to Naxxar to the palazzo there and had lunch. Afterwards, feeling cheerful, I looked around and bought myself a necklace – I’m afraid I can’t load a photo from my phone (or at least, I don’t know how) but you may have seen it on Facebook. To put things into perspective, it cost less than three of their cakes of soap. But I did just spend €82 on myself on a whim. Still.

I hear that Dave was persuaded to stay for fireworks and supper this evening, which is jolly good. Any party would be enhanced by Dave’s company. Zerlina has gone to bed in a full-sized single bed and is very pleased with herself.

I have set my alarm for 5 o’clock tomorrow morning. Our flight is at 8.30.

Saturday is our last day here. We’re leaving the hotel early on Sunday morning, as our flight is about 8.30. I’ve been phoning the Sage every evening, and things seem to be fine at home. He and Dave have nearly finished the wall, there are pictures at Dave’s place today and it looks wonderful. They’re planning another session tomorrow, weather permitting.

Bod’s mum is getting on well, although progress is slow. She is 89, in good health until she fell and broke bones a month ago, which is the reason the Bod isn’t with us. There’s no actual reason why she can’t be left, as he will be needed much more when she leaves hospital, but she asked him not to go and so of course he didn’t.

We have very much enjoyed our week here. It’s good to spend time together, of course, for one thing and this is a lovely place. We have got about on foot or by bus and I’ve thought many times how lucky I am to have my new hip working so well. A lady in her seventies struggled to get on the bus today, it was an old one with a high step. A kind young man supported her and helped her up. I realised that, a year ago, I could not have managed that step. There would have been no point in even trying.

We’ve been in Valletta today doing the history thing. The war museum is very good actually, with a well-written narrative on the 20th century history of Malta and particular focus on the last war. It was very moving in fact, particularly a video of street scenes taken by a gunner, whose name was Stan Fraser I think (should have written it down)which showed the devastation caused by the bombing and the fortitude of the Maltese more eloquently than any words. The George Cross given to all the islanders in 1942 is on display there.

We walked round the Grand Harbour – the Sage has a painting of a storm scene in Valletta Harbour, painted by Beechey in 1865 or thereabouts and he wanted me to identify where it was painted. Not very easy, especially as I haven’t looked at the painting for several years. It’s too large to hang in any of our rooms, used to be on the stairs but when it was taken down for some reason we couldn’t hang it again without help. It’s been in the room I never go in ever since. I’d like to go in there, but the Sage has filled it. It’s unusable. It was last used more than five years ago.

Anyway, I found the most likely place and took photos, but it could be the harbour the other side of Valletta. I’ll have a look there on Saturday.

Tomorrow, we’re planning to head south and see if we can find the restaurant recommended by Sarah.

Today we went to Mdina, which was absolutely delightful. I can imagine living there. Actually, now I come to think of it, I like walled towns. I’m trying to think of one in Spain that I liked very much – one of you will tell me, I visited it on the same day I went to Segovia … which I also loved, I’d have liked to spend more time there.

Gratifyingly, the Sage says he’s missing me. He even used the L word yesterday. So I should think.

Last night I slept well, at last, after three nights of very little sleep at all. Thank goodness for that – I was starting to think that I’d arrive home more tired that I left and in need of another holiday.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll have a little mid-afternoon nap. Don’t work too hard, will you, darlings. It would be such a pity if you started to make me feel guilty.

Excuse me being less than reliable about replying to comments. It’s all just a bit more fiddly on this little screen. I’m reading them of course, and thank you.

Having a lovely time, wish you were here…

I’ve been to the Armoury, Mike and Ann. And I’ve written you a postcard, Dave. Haven’t actually posted it but the thought was there.

Hope you’re all being very good without me to keep an eye on you.