Alone at last . . .

Jeremy has taken the children to visit his parents for three days. Since the plan was mooted a couple of weeks ago, not a day has gone by without at least one of them asking, 'Are we going today?' (Mostly the little ones. Kit's grasp of the passage of time is rather more finely honed than theirs.)


It's been a busy day. Church needed an earlier than usual start. Because it is Palm Sunday, the congregation congregated in the Surgery car park, and was handed palm fronds and hymn sheets. Off we went, Choir Mistress, Band, Choir, Priests, then Uncle Tom Cobbley and All. Up the hill, down the dale, over the road, past the duckpond, across the green and into the church, all singing like mad things. Because no-one could hear anything, the last of the procession was anywhere between three bars and an entire verse behind the front. But hey ho, Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam and all that. The children turned their palm crosses around, holding them like swords, and started a fight in the church. Argh.


We lunched at Ma's, where the children were hopelessly distractd by Impromptu Massimo. (This turns out to be Orlando's proper name. He's not just any old tat, y'know.) Isn't he beautiful!



Then we came back, raced through a plate of supper, and they went.







*sniff*



I'm already anxious for their safe return.