It was cooler last night, which meant that we all slept better, apart from at half past five this morning, when Derek, who was too busy tarting about in the dark to come home last night, decided to have a massive fight with next door’s cat. That woke Jason and Tilly up. Well, the cat woke Tilly up, and Tilly woke Jason up as she shot downstairs and out into the dawn light to chase the cats round and round the garden.
I expect the neighbour got a good view of it all, from his newly denuded garden.
Now he has seen how we spend our mornings, perhaps he will be adding bits back to the trees and hedge, rather than cutting them down.
When I got up at half eight, Tilly was looking rather exhausted. Early morning exercise is not the thing for her, it seems.
Jason has fixed the washing machine, praise be.
In other good news, when the girls went out for the day with their dad, Jason took Oscar and I for a little trip to the Emma Bridgewater factory in Stoke on Trent. Those long suffering blog readers who are still hanging in there, will know of my obsession with ceramics, and Bridgewater in particular.
I am here to tell you that it is definitely on the wane. Don’t get me wrong. I still love a good bit of pottery, but these days I am slightly more excited by wool. I bought one mug at Bridgewater. Just one, and although there were lots and lots of lovely things, I did not get that overwhelming urge to fill the boot with pots and head off into the hills. This is a good thing. Although possibly not for Bridgewater shareholders. Profits may dip in the next twelve months. What can I say? I am sorry.
Although wool prices will start to rise if you’re a gambling sort of blog reader.
Despite only buying one mug, it is still a lovely place to visit. We prodded the garden, waved at the chickens, one of which has an excellent hair do, ate cake and generally lolled about, soaking up the atmosphere.
On the way home we decided we really couldn’t be bothered to go home and make lunch so we stopped at our local, The Cradock Arms in Knighton (my pub quiz haunt), and tested out their Sunday lunch with the help of our adopted son, Lee.
It was delicious, far too delicious for a pub that I can walk to in under ten minutes. I feel that we may well have to have commemorative plaques made for the chairs which will undoubtedly become well acquainted with the collective bottoms of the family Boo. I might have to have a Stannah stair lift fitted to the side of the road at some point if things get really out of hand.
The rest of the afternoon has been spent listening to Tallulah learn to play Happy Birthday on the keyboard her dad bought her for her birthday, and listening to Oscar explain to me about his new online game, which is called something like Extreme Unicorns with Lasers, 7, or something. He is very excited that he has managed to skill up to transform into an iron pegasus with a laser horn. As anyone would be.
Because of this listening, which was very hard, and quite confusing, what with unicorns, and lasers, and musical appreciation, and the odd interjection from Tilly, who is trying to win a place at some ball or other to do with Skulduggery Pleasant, I have had quite a time of it trying to teach myself moss stitch, which was the thing they learned last week in my knitting class while I was gadding about Kent with sand in my under crackers. I can do it perfectly as long as there are no interruptions, so that I can remember what stitch I am meant to be doing, and what row I am meant to be knitting. But the minute someone asks me about whether I think unicorns can shoot rainbow beams out of their hooves, or if that is a middle C, I go completely to pieces, and I am not skilled enough to be able to see where I am going wrong because it all looks like knitting to me.
I bet Kaffe Fasset never had to operate under this kind of pressure.