Today was a terribly important day, because I was to meet a VVIP. Yes, darlings, I am here to say that Dave really does have an actual, factual mother, and I have met her.
He mentioned in passing the other day that she was mistaken for his wife and I can understand – not that she looks as young as he, of course – that she was assumed to be way younger than she is. She is youthful and pretty and looks way younger than her years – as does Dave, of course. Pretty in a rugged and manly way, in his case, natch.
I was quite nervous. I got out cups and saucers and polished the teaspoons and the milk jug. She dealt with the chickens with aplomb. She was probably horrified. She did give her views on the wall, which were that the half-way stage is good for leaning your elbow upon. Indeed, I don’t think a rabbit could jump that high, so it’s probably adequate for its purpose.
I remembered to call Dave David, throughout, by the way. I did blot the old copybook, by having forgotten to pick up Dave’s photos, so rang to check their custodians were in and then whizzed over – turned out that Robert had misheard my hame as “Kelly” so he was quite surprised to see me, not that he knows anyone called Kelly. I’d wondered why he was quite formal on the phone and didn’t even call me darling. Anyway, I fetched the photos and gave them back. I promised to get his folder back too, but I forgot at the meeting tonight. I’ll ask. It’ll be there.
Anyway, I don’t know if I’ll merit a mention on her blog – doubt it, she’s very busy – but I have met Dave’s mama, and she’s charming.