Keeping on keeping on

Wink went to London yesterday, to watch the tennis at Queen’s Club. She had bought her ticket two years ago and had hung on to it ever since – the friends she’d been going to go with had cashed theirs in, but Wink is persistent. She was also lucky in the Wimbledon draw and has got two tickets for the second Monday, so we’re going together – first time for me. She’s booked into a guest house the night before, with car parking so pfft to rail strikes.

I announced we were going out to lunch, so we did. With my vague bump of direction, it’s always wise to put on the satnav, but it took us a different way from last time and it’s one of those villages where a post code gives a wide area. So we were slightly lost, a couple of hundred yards from our destination. I really should let them know that clicking on the route on their website takes one to a similarly-named place in Kent., more than three hours drive away instead of twenty minutes.

I picked up my phone every time a message came in, but it was nothing important. Inevitably, I was away from the phone for an hour or so when the email I was waiting for came in. But as soon as I saw it, I printed it and phoned my neighbours at the Rectory, to ask for a witness to my signature.

So, I’ve signed the contract and posted it. I’ve done my part. Still quite a lot to do, in fact, but not in relation to the sale of the house. It’s up to the purchasers and the solicitors now.

It’s the 86th anniversary of Russell’s birth as well. So the bottle of local Earsham Charmat Rosé that we drank was in honour of him as well as Tim. No wonder I feel confused. Wink and I both had fish and salad planned for dinner, so combined our menus and ate outside on the lawn, it being a mild and warm evening.

Tomorrow, Squiffany is coming to help with more turning out. On Sunday, I’m meeting Tim’s sister, niece and great-niece in Norwich and we’re going to the cinema. Then I’m going to look after Perdita on Monday. I don’t stop running. Occupet extremum scabies, as Horace put it (that more or less means, devil take the hindmost; last one is a rotten egg).

Eh.

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