The internet is even slower than usual today. Emails are so slow to load that the page keeps getting timed out and I have to start again. Just a bit frustrating. However, I’m nearly there and will soon be able to think about packing. I have made a start, this morning I put stuff on the spare room bed and removed the shop labels from the nightdresses and things, and it won’t take long to do.
Last night, I was talking to a High Powered friend, and he said that his daughter and family had spent a long weekend at Center Parcs. He’d gone for one night and, among other things, had played badminton with his grandson, who’s three and a half. He was quite impressed, the lad has a good eye and was able to hit the shuttlecock most times. “The stuttlecock,” he said – the lad hadn’t been able to get his tongue round the word and in the end they’d decided to adopt his version. “You can’t say words properly yourself,” the boy pointed out. “You can’t even say ‘path.'” It’s true. He says ‘path’ with a short a, but we’re all effete southerners around here and say ‘pahth’. I cracked up. He commands such respect, normally.
Because I had an evening meeting, I hadn’t had my meagre allocation of wine, and was saving it for when I arrived home. However, I got on with some sorting out of papers and it wasn’t until I decided to have an earlyish night that I realised that I was thirsty, and then that I hadn’t had anything to drink all evening. I made a cup of tea instead and drank it in the bath. Bahth, that is, with a long drawling a.
I’ve got three letters of appreciation to write to teachers – well, emails – and one about a meeting to a committee, and then a couple of personal ones. Then, you know, I think I’m going to switch the computer off for a few days.
‘Course, there’s the iPhone. Heh.
Oh, I nearly forgot – I expended £2 on 4 oysters and successfully opened them without severing a knife or my finger. And I’ve eaten a few brazil nuts. I’m just so obedient.