It's interesting to think of all this happening less than 40 miles from me.

Fangirl Three wrote:

It's interesting to think of all this happening less than 40 miles from me.

It’s a nice part of the world. They went out on a trawler this morning*, and are now off on bikes to explore - it’s almost quite Famous Five I think. I was going to go on the bike part of the day, but who wants their mother tagging along.

Tonight, one of them has a cousin at St Andrews so they’re going there, there’s a night out plus house party thing. I thought I’d take them for a late pub lunch tomorrow, and then they can amuse themselves until it’s time to leave.

*Not, you know, actually trawling for fish, just out for a few hours with the captain and a couple of crew who were testing their engines, whatever and all that stuff for a longer ocean expedition. It seems to have been of interest to them.

It’ll have to be a very late pub lunch - they’re all still asleep having stumbled out of a taxi at 5am and then crashed around the kitchen for almost an hour. I did have to shout to them to turn the music off - so I do think that was ok. Many parents would’ve objected to all of it, I only said no to the music blaring at 5am part.

I can't imagine that happening to the Famous Five.

The council still haven't given me back that money they owe me.

£1,250+ much.

I’ve had him on the phone this morning, because my mother’s been shouting. Apparently he laughed at Aunt Evelyn’s paintings - my mother keeps two on display her kitchen - so he’s shown disloyalty to the memory of her favourite aunt*.

Everybody has got some. Basically how many birthdays you had until she died is about half the number you were gifted over the years. I have a stock of them in a drawer somewhere myself. Whenever she came to town I’d stick a couple of them in frames in case she popped round.

She was a very nice woman, but mistakenly thought of herself as latter day Constable, but of Sussex. Everyone has their own collection of pastoral landscapes and proportionally disturbed cottages.

*My fave was the other sister, the sable draped bitch, who was the only one who openly flung these offerings in the bin - at the family lunch for her 90th she actually just very openly handed the latest framed present (titled ‘Arundel in April’ or something similar) to the waiter with a raised eyebrow, and asked him to put it in the recycling, which only I found funny. I suppose it was wicked - the painter did look crestfallen in front of everyone.

It seems my son shares my sense of humour.

Fangirl Three wrote:

I can't imagine that happening to the Famous Five.

No. While I was pottering about listening to the radio, I’m Having The Time Of My Life came on, well after 1pm, so being in the mood to annoy because I was otherwise just hanging about on my own with nothing to do, I turned it right up and sang along - so that’s when they woke up. I don’t think Fanny and Quentin ever did that to their hungover charges.

I went to Arundel in April once. In 1981, on a school trip.

It’s a lovely place.

I thought I might go to Melbourne towards the end of this month, for a visit. Streetview is all very well but I’m still at a loss as to whether I could live there.

Also, if I do, I thought I could finally stop off in Indonesia or Malaysia for a few days to visit the orangutans in their own home. I’m awake researching it all.

I wonder if I’ve overreacted. I bought my mother a beautiful set of antique Liberty curtains, and I’ve been following their progress across sorting offices around the country with excitement. I know they arrived today. Heard nothing. Rang this evening, and she said ‘oh yeah, I put them in the cupboard, they’re a bit colourful’.

So I’ve sent an email as follows.

‘Where there is colour may we bring grey, where there is pleasure may we bring trial, where there is fun may we bring objection, and where there is something new may we bring a sh*tty old sheet to cover it up’.

Now I feel a bit cruel. A rewrite of Francis of Assisi’s words might be too much just because someone isn’t sure about curtains.

Although tbf she could’ve just said thanks.

I said this to my brother, who is staying at my flat - he has reportedly gone round, found that she’s  out, and has hung the new ones. He took some photos and they look great.

She’ll probably react as if she has just walked in to find the place has been decorated with blood and spray painted with sh*t. We now prepare ourselves for whatever comes next.

Yes, well there is that aspect.

Anyway, she’s been on, to say thank you and she loves them now they’re up.

I also sent my son a new headboard, and I’m almost pleased to hear he has my patience when it comes to screws and instructions. In this case the instructions were missing and the screws didn’t make sense - too narrow for the ready made slots, so he’s kept the bare minimum and given up on the rest. With I believe some ingenuity, he’s ordered some cement and intends to just use that to hold the screws in their too large placings, rather than finding out exactly what’s what.

One thing I could’ve lived without knowing. I gave my mother an 18th century walnut cabinet, George II, just a little thing, smaller than a bedside table. I’ve now had reports from two trusted sources that it’s in the communal cellar of her building, being used to store bike chain oil, spare bike chains, and other such things her charming boyfriend finds essential. My brother told me last night that the walnut is basically corroded and one of the legs is giving way. It might as well be a Robin Reliant.

I’m not going to ask because it’ll end up in a terrible fight no matter who did it, but I bet it was him and she just let him. He is the product of a minor and evidently very provincial public school, (and the child of two reputedly fervent Protestants from some insular community, and therefore was raised with absolutely no taste for comfort or appreciation of beauty), obsessed with rugby and reading rugby books. He wouldn’t know or care about the difference between it and something from IKEA.

She should know better - I gave it to her to cheer up a corner of her hall.

And boating. He’s got a yacht. So boating is, so my son tells me, a productive area of chat.

I’ve tried with the man, and we don’t get on. I’ve tried talking about rugby with him - has he seen Sean Lamonts naked pics, does he think Diana actually did have Will Carling, and all that, and it’s just a blank.

All her friends agree with me - he’s terrible, and you’re lucky to get a grunt. If you’re unlucky he’ll give you a rundown of his always inelegant medical problems.

I’m now searching for flights home. I’ve told my son to go straight to the flat from school rather than to his grandmothers. I’m going to have to arrange for someone else pick up his things from there.

She said to me this morning ‘I really like Laurence Fox’. I said ‘you do what?’ and she repeated it as if it was normal. I put the phone down. Hanging out with this love banana has done her no favours at all.

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