Due to Confusing But Boring Domestic Circumstances, OH and I ended up having a quintessentially British lunchtime picnic in the rain today. We had cold sausages and roast potatoes and tomatoes and a cup of tea each, sat in the car as the windows misted up.
We’re at the Children’s Hospice this week – as some of you know, our child is life-limited, with an undiagnosed, but progressive, neuro-muscular disease. So…
My aunt is dying. She’s my mother’s cousin and has no family other than her brother’s children and us. She’s a long way away, the other side of the country. She’s ninety-five and has been in and out of hospital, getting more and more frail, since her closest friend died in the autumn.
I had planned to spend today being all authorly and actually doing some writing. Instead I have spent most of my time finding my poor husband’s missing thirty five thousand Scrivener words that disappeared when our passive-aggressive house rabbit jumped on his keyboard. There’s a lesson there that all of us can all learn from, I think, including the rabbit. The rabbit is now sitting on the rug in front of the fire, glaring at OH, who is deliberately ignoring him, focusing very hard on his laptop and not lighting the fire.
