This working early and not being home on my own during the day is doing my head in. Back to normal transmission next week.
R's sister rings occasionally from the north of the UK. The call usual comes after a social occasion after she has a a drink or ten. She always gets the time wrong, so fortunately we are usually at work and she has to leave a message and then R calls her back one evening and it is then morning in the UK. This works quite well. I never forget when she rang the marriage celebrant in Sydney at 2.30 in the morning.
The time before when she rang, R motioned to me that should he mention we may go to UK next year. I firmly indicated no.
But this time I did not stop him. The finer details are yet to be worked out, like how I will pay for it, Master Card, Visa, reverse mortgage or prostitution. But I have committed.
We will stay in their caravan in a park in Hexham just out of Newcastle. Certainly I, and R too I think, prefer to be on our own rather than be house guests, so that works out well. I noticed there is a train goes past, but R is talking about car hire.
R's sister then mentioned about their friend's villa in Spain. We could all go and stay there. Then R mentioned that he wants to see London again. I know all I need to know about London. I have read and observed for years. It would be a disappointment. Besides, I have a blog mate or two who I could ask about London.
All I want to see is a picuturesque Cornish fishing village on a steep hill leading down to the sea. Whitby, R said. You can see that there.
My dreams of Spanish tapas and sangria under a grape vine in the courtyard of a local restaurant that we discovered has turned into villa balcony fish and chips a la Costa del Sol.
Ok, I give in. I will go and be obliging. Left to me, we would be going for a holiday to Nagambie, less than two hours drive away, although I would get the train if I had the choice.
Fortunately I am now mature and I will keep my hands off the Spanish waiters, apartment cleaners and tour guides, I think.