Saturday, 20 May 2017

Singin' in the rain...

So another working week stutters to an end, and the weekend is finally here.  

It's a funny old weekend for me this week, as there is quite a lot going on.  Tonight, Miss R is taking the husband and me to Tom Kerridge's Pub in the Park, where we will eat delicious food, drink cocktails, and watch James Morrison singing his heart out.  If the weather is anything to go by, then we will be doing all of this wearing wellies and macs.  

This is the joy of doing anything in 'The Great Outdoors' in this country. There is no chance of planning anything based on the weather, because be it February, July or October, the weather could be sub-zero with something wet dropping from the sky. The only thing differentiating one month from the other is what you wear under your rain mac I suppose. As it's still May (no clouts cast as yet) I will probably go down the tried and tested black trousers route. Mind you, tuck these in my wellies, and I'll resemble a blonde Cossack. Leave them over the wellies (pink, naturally) and I run the risk of being of being ushered into a tent while a kind lady makes an announcement over the tannoy asking whether anyone has mislaid an elderly relative.  

Along with all of this excitement, daughter number two has come home for the weekend.I had to buy her a new duvet, as daughter number one nicked hers a couple of weeks ago. I'm not too sure what my logic was in buying an expensive duvet for her, when she only heads back here every now and again.  Mind you, the dogs are thrilled with it, and have had a lovely couple of nights snuggled up on their new soft bed.  Let's face it.  The bed is really theirs anyway, so daughter number two is lucky not to have come home to find a rectangular dog bed embroidered with bones perched on her mattress.  Space could have been going at a premium if that had been the case, with the last one upstairs sleeping on the floor.

In preparation of an extra one or two this weekend, I ordered my Tesco shop which was delivered yesterday evening. Son number two, who can sniff out new food a mile away started to salivate when he saw the truck reverse into the drive.

'Can I help unpack?' he asked, his eyes glazing over as he imagined all the full carrier bags which were heading our way.

History has taught me that if either of the boys help unpack, then certain items will not reach their final destination, having taken a detour to either boy's bedroom.  I put him in charge of unpacking the vegetables while I did the Wagon Wheels and crisps.

No chance of any of the green stuff going AWOL...


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