Well, we are almost there.
We are not as nearly there as I would like to be. That moment will happen when we are pulling in to the parking space at the bottom of the beautiful marble steps at the Midland front door. That is the sort of nearly there I think I might like.
What I mean is that we have almost finished packing, which we jolly well should have because we have been rushing around all day and it is not almost two o’clock in the morning. The children said that they could see things were not going well when we finally got round to making breakfast at quarter to five this afternoon.
It was scrambled eggs. We were too tired even for the whisky.
Tonka departed this afternoon. Ritalin Boy’s Other Grandma very kindly offered to come and collect him, and I was so grateful that I could have wept at her feet. Better still, she stayed for a cup of tea, and we collapsed, with relief, into chairs to have one with her.
Roger Poopy was glad to see Tonka go. He likes him very much when they are charging around the park and barking, but not at all when it comes to sharing his walnuts and his stolen Christmas tree chocolate, and worst of all, his place in Lucy’s bed. He bounded back inside with great joy when we had waved them off, and immediately stuck his nose in the bowl of walnuts so he could eat one without having to growl warnings at anybody.
We have not had a cup of tea since then. We have been very occupied.
We have finished the Christmas cards and even posted them all. This does not sound too difficult but I can jolly well promise you that it is. There is a lot of thinking and glue goes into a Christmas card. By the time we had finished everything, and I do mean everything, was completely festooned in glitter. I have not yet hoovered, and even though I have had a shower I am still covered in it. It is decorating the house, along with the empty chocolate wrappers that the dogs have pinched from the Christmas tree.
Obviously they were not empty when they pinched them.
Somebody who loves me, and actually I mean me, had done lots of very helpful preparations for the packing. The sponge bag was neatly filled with everything we might possibly need, in little labelled plastic bottles, and all of our clothes had been ironed and thoughtfully hung on hangers in matching sets, so all that I needed to do was to lift them down and lay them in a suitcase. I was grateful to my past self for these little considerations, like being given an early Christmas present.
I have packed pearls and cufflinks, hats and books and knitting. I have packed tights and our respectable shoes. We are almost ready to go.
I have packed the dogs’ food and their vaccination certificates. It is so long since we have used their leads that I have got no idea where they might be, and they did not turn up in a hasty hunt, so they will have to do without. I do not like leads anyway, they mean that you can ignore your dog.
The dogs are going for their kennels holiday tomorrow. I expect they will hate it but they will survive. The advertisement shows dogs rushing about having a lovely time, but I expect ours will sulk and feel very sorry for themselves until we get back.
It is long past my bedtime, and I am going to give up on this.
Next time I talk to you we will be in Manchester.
It is very exciting.
