I woke early, remembered it was Saturday and stayed in bed reading for some time. It was half past eight by the time I ambled into the study to check emails … oh, okay, I admit it, to see if there were any comments here, for who would have emailed in the last eight hours?
Margaret had. There was a slightly startled message to say that we had been offered more places on the Highgrove* visit and what did I think?
I wrote about this some weeks ago, and was thoroughly reprimanded by Dave. We were only offered 25 places and there were over 40 applicants: I said that we were having a draw to see who would get a place and he pointed out that I was cheating by putting myself at the top of the list. I had to agree.
We also had to send in names and addresses a fortnight in advance, to make sure we don’t belong to terrorist organisations or have been caught buying weedkiller or eating non-organically-fed chicken. The visit will be next Thursday, so evidently they are prepared to waive that rule and do the checks in a couple of days.
I rang Margaret and we decided to go ahead. There are only 8 spare seats on the coach and, because of cancellations, I have 10 people left on the waiting list, so there’s a reasonable chance I can fill them. It wasn’t the way I expected to spend Saturday morning, but there we go. I’ll just stick in my contact lenses and get dialling.
*The Prince of Wales’ house. He offers tours of the garden to respectable groups of nice people. Though a few slightly louche ones can get in, as long as they pass the police check.
Update – I was planning to do something else this bloody afternoon too. Other people, it appears, have a life at the weekend. They go out. They do not answer their phones. I have filled five places and sent off confirming letters (letters of confirmation, Dave, unlike you I am not qualified to administer sacraments), have left two answerphone messages and have one woman who doesn’t use a messaging service to remember to ring this evening.
None of this actually took a vast amount of time, of course, but I’ve sort of been hanging around not doing much in the meantime. Except, I had a phone call from Al. His deliverer, who has a shop key had, unaccountably, left all his delivery on the pavement outside the shop. A 40 pound (weight) box of bananas was missing, and a sack of carrots of about the same weight. We are looking for a strong monkey riding a donkey.
Anyway, he had received more bananas from his other supplier and could manage for most of the day, but he wanted me to go into the Co-op and buy a few kilos of carrots. Fortunately, they were English and about the same price as he sells them for, so at least he won’t lose anything – he certainly won’t pay for the missing stuff. He’s probably run out by now, but you can’t not have a staple veg on a Saturday morning. It’s the way to lose customers.
“louche” – gosh, what a great word. I’d forgotten all about “louche”!
I used to aspire to be “louche”.
Darling Steg, you are certainly louche at heart. One day you will get back in touch with your inner loucheness.
A trip to Charles’ house. What a great birthday gift to offer someone! If one you knew a louche person who had a birthday at this time.
Dave, you are outrageous. Bear in mind that I have been known to call bluffs.
This tickles a memory of a conversation I had, not so very long ago, with someone who went one of these Nice People’s Days Out to Highgrove. I can’t for the life of me remember who it was, though. It might have been my mother, but I also remember quite a lot of gushing, and my mother doesn’t gush.
Amd apropos of nothing in particular: my iPod chucked up three songs from the Mountain Goats “Get Lonely” album while I was at work yesterday. Hadn’t heard anything from that album for many months, and I have to say that all three songs stopped me in my tracks. So you can have that apology now! 😉
I hope it’ll be worth it Mike – I’m going to have to leave here before 5.30 am as I have to unlock the car park gate in Norwich.
The Mountain Goats grow on you, don’t they? I think The Sunset Tree is even better.
A challenge – see if you can make Princey’s staff let you go round at your own pace and not theirs!
Apparently they work to a diferent time and walking speed schedule to most Nice Ladies, and people I know who’ve been complained about being far too rushed, and not being allowed to take photos.