I’m likely to be coming to London next weekend. My tenant is leaving, so I want to read the meters, check the flat and do a few little jobs – the oven hadn’t been thoroughly cleaned (it was okay but not perfect) before he moved in so I will do that, and I’ve got to repaint the kitchen ceiling and a wall where he leaned his sofabed – he told me about it and I said it was acceptable as wear and tear – I was being kind really because it was immaculate when he moved in only a few months earlier, but it won’t take long to do and I don’t mind.
Anyway, I’d asked Dilly if she wanted to have a weekend in London with the children and we could do a few things together and then, either in between times or after they left, I’d do the work. However, she and Al have evidently decided I shouldn’t go up ladders on my own any more. It was all right last September, but apparently it isn’t now. So now they both want to come, leaving the children with Dilly’s parents.
It’s lovely being cared about and cared for, but it’s really hard to drop the proud independence thing. Mind you, it was lovely when Dandelion came and helped me in September, but that hadn’t been arranged before and she was being enormously kind rather than looking after me. But (apart from the fact that I rarely engage in arguments I am doomed to lose) it’s sometimes better to meekly give in and be grateful than be proud and determined and reject an expression of love.
I’m hoping they’ll let me take them somewhere nice for dinner on Saturday though.