I always regret it when I take time off, but that doesn’t mean it’s the wrong thing to do.  I’ve studiously ignored all work today – well, paperwork, I’ve done more housework than I had since I arrived home from holiday – though I had cleaners in two days after that, it’s not as bad as it sounds.

Dilly and the boys came over while Squiffany was at gymnastics, which was fun, and then she went back later for a meeting after the lesson.  I suggested the boys stay and Pugsley was pleased because he hadn’t looked forward to joining the girls after their lesson while they waited.  I offered to cook lunch too, so we had a good time.  Unprepared, I luckily had a cauliflower, so made cauliflower/macaroni cheese and trifle.  A bit dairy-heavy, admittedly.

This evening, I’ve been watching the tribute programmes to David Frost and I was reminded of listening jealously while my parents and older sister laughed at the first episode of That Was The Week That Was in 1962.  It was on after my bedtime and I sat on the stairs, unable to hear or see anything of the programme, just feeling resentful.  I didn’t care for my position as the much younger sister and expected to get all the privileges that Wink had.  Horrid child, no doubt.  Anyway, I don’t suppose it was because I protested the next week so much as my father feeling it was such a groundbreaking programme that I shouldn’t miss it, but I stayed up to watch it too after that.  I was only nine, some of it must have gone way over my head but I thought it was brilliant – as it was, of course.

One of the things that’s fallen by the wayside over the past month or so has been keeping up with blogs and I’m sorry for my neglect.  I’ve finally caught up, albeit at the expense of commenting on many of them, and I hope I won’t let it slip too much again.  I’ve missed you.