The company that owns Daughter’s student flat has gone into liquidation. So we’re sending up a collection of cardboard boxes just in case she needs somewhere to live. I’m sure she’ll be fine.
Meanwhile MD is still wandering round looking like a lost soul, suffering, we think, from empty nest syndrome. Personally, I'm loving it. So too I think is L, although she’s been getting loads of advice on how to ease the anguish, whether she wants it or not. The easiest way would be to get someone in to ransack the kitchen and to drop wet towels everywhere, except in the bathroom but the advice is usually one thing. Get a puppy. Good advice. I’ll get tonight’s paper and have a look in the classifieds.
L’s less keen. Well actually vehemently opposed. I think ‘Absolutely not. Never again’ were her words.
All that chewed furniture? All that digging? Going through obedience classes again? Walking three dogs? Three dogs in a tent? No more cottages or hotels... She has a point, well several actually.
So having established that two dogs is enough, I buy her a different sort of pet. A pet ipad, which she seems to immediately fall in love with. Which is inconvenient, when you want to check your Fantasy Football scores at midnight without turning the PC on. Not that we can, as our PC's in Sheffield. Actually the new one arrived today. Well when I say new, I mean £30 off ebay but it’ll do for us.
L had already treated herself to something to ease the pain, new shoes. She so takes after her Daughter. The shoes are called ‘Coniston Fells’. So I was expecting a pair of boots but you wouldn’t get very far on Coniston Fell wearing them. Most inappropriate name of the year.
Squash is ‘relaunched’ today with possibly the longest game ever, 21-19. Which I actually win. 21-19 is partly a result of us playing first to 15, not 11 as the professional do. I’ve no idea why we play to 15 but it’s so engrained in us, we’ll probably never change it.
My opponent is also 15 minutes late as he claims he’s still hardwired to the 7pm tennis start time and not the 6.45pm squash start time. Then again he was nearly always 15 minutes late for tennis as well. I think it's just a tactic of his to wear me out through excessive warming up. Which wasn’t really necessary, having already cycled to and from work today.
Afterwards, in the pub, there’s a 5% porter and 6% Batemans victory on the bar but I'm drinking neither. I'm driving and then meeting L back at the 'tennis' pub for the £5 curry. To which she arrives looking frazzled having walked the boys up.
(Thursday 22nd September)