The squirrel’s daughter

There seems to be a spate of partygiving at present.  We’ve just had an invitation for another one.  That’s three coming up, not including our own.  Very jolly.  This one will be a barn dance.

It occurs to me that I have rather a lot of shopping to do on Saturday.  And cooking on Sunday.  I suppose I’d better start thinking about food.  I wonder if everyone will introduce themselves by their real names or blog names – if they are different, of course.

I’ve been going through old handbags.  So far, I’ve found about £8 and my driving licence.  That’s good – the driving licence in particular.  I hadn’t seen it for ages, although I knew what room it was in (this gives you some idea of how much stuff there is in this house).  I’ve been used to it all my life, mind you.  When I was a child, my mother’s eyes grew wistful whenever there was a report of the police searching someone’s house.  She thought it would be rather splendid for a policeman to come along with a search warrant.  She could follow him about, exclaiming with glee every time he came across something she’d “put in a safe place” months earlier and never seen again.  Here, I think it would take a team of people several months.  I trust they’d tidy up before they left.

5 comments on “The squirrel’s daughter

  1. Z

    Things are very good, HDWK, thank you. Once the party is over, I’ll email you – I’m completely out of touch with all my friends except via here.

    Dave, too much enjoyment makes you short-sighted. wise move.

    A profound observation, RMS. Sort of physician heal thyself. I’d be useless in the police as I never notice anything.

    You make it sound like a psychological condition, Ad. Wish you were coming, I’d love to meet you.


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