My children are lovely, as I’m sure you’ve gathered. Since Weeza moved this way from London, we’ve seen each other pretty well every week and she and I have become very close – not that we weren’t, but increasingly. Ro, this evening, unexpectedly hugged me again, which is not that frequent an event. The firm he works for is likely to be moving offices (more people work there and more parking is needed) and if it’s to the other side of Norwich, he’ll be looking to move that way. I’m supportive of course, and he knows it’s genuine, while acknowledging I’ll miss him. Maybe he’ll miss us a bit too (not to mention the hot dinners that await him every evening, hem hem). And then there’s Al, who came over all protective today when a good friend asked him for my address and he wouldn’t let it out without my say-so – the point being that the arrival of the post was meant to be a surprise. Over-protective, but better than under-, so what can I say? (well, I’ve gently pointed out the lack of necessity, but can hardly be cross.) And then there’s the Sage, who hasn’t made any comment about my limp, my cycling, my weight loss or my occasional ‘ouch’ (or the fact that my hips aren’t quite as flexible as they used to be – veil drawn and all that) but, I have discovered, had been on the phone anxiously to our offspring about me. As they are to each other, which I didn’t know at the time.
Of course, the Sage never said a word when I put on weight, so there’s no reason for him to remark when it goes again. Even a comment might indicate some sort of judgment, so he doesn’t make it. Awfully polite, we are. Well, he is. No, we are. Yes, me too.