Z gets it wrong

I thought that Wink was coming back with us today, but I was wrong.  She’s coming along tomorrow, having spent two nights with Weeza & co.  It doesn’t matter, except that we have to remember to put her crab in the freezer (and I’ll make crab cakes next week).  Eloise cat was very pleased that we were having crab for dinner, it’s one of her favourites.  She had her own plate on the floor.

We arrived at the venue, a pub in the middle of Norwich, at 11.55.  Just checked indoors to make sure no one else had yet arrived, went out again and there was Ro, just walking up.  As we greeted him, along came Wink and Weeza and, moments later, Dora and Rufus arrived.  We were punctual in the knowledge that Ro just had an hour free for lunch, as he had a meeting scheduled, but it was pleasing that we all arrived within three minutes of each other.  It appeals to the tidy part of my mind – my mind is the tidiest thing about me, I might as well say.

I said “gets it wrong.” In this neck of the woods, “gets wrong” means something else altogether. “I got wrong” means that I got into trouble with someone, and it needs to be said with a richly Norfolk accent.  I never came across the phrase when I lived in L’stoft, fifteen miles away.

When we arrived home from our early visit to the local plant nursery, and much to our indignation, there was a car parked across the entrance to the drive.  I asked the man working on the house opposite if he knew anything about it, but he didn’t.  I stayed there, ready to accost and terrify a returning miscreant, whilst LT went back to the house to see if there was anyone there.  There was.  It was Rose’s other half, Lawrence and it was his car, which neither of us had recognised.  We might as well be one person, faults as well as everything else.  And, not only did he have an explanation but he’d been extremely helpful too.  He was just leaving when he saw one of the bullocks that lives on the fields being encouraged along the road by two helpful people.  He went back with them down the drive and they managed to steer him (geddit? Steer?) back into the field.  Lawrence couldn’t find how the bullock had got out and neither could I, so I hope it won’t happen again.  They were all relaxed and munching grass, not trying to test the defences, so I’m not going to worry unduly yet.  Not yet.  If it happens again, then yeah.

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