Since returning from Kent, I’ve been keeping my head down.
Mrs C’s sister, Doris, regards herself as an amateur psychic and informed me, during my stay, that I was in for a turbulent time. To be frank, any visit to Doris and her family is guaranteed to be turbulent. Being psychic doesn’t come into it.
Her husband – Malcolm – is a devout Anglican, who spends much of his time praying for my soul. They have a dog – ‘Moses’ – who long ago took a liking to my left leg and all but mates with it on those rare occasions I visit. Malcolm says I encourage the dog, which I most certainly don’t. The only thing I wish to encourage their fiendish hound to do is to run into the street and play ‘chicken’ with a passing lorry. Hopefully, without success.
Unfortunately, in a moment of weakness (and on a second glass of wine), I told the happy couple this, after which things got a bit frosty.
The rest of my stay was passed in an uncomfortable silence.
I’m home now, and, so far, nothing untoward has happened despite predictions to the contrary.
Dave has been hard at work, doing what he calls ‘prepping’. This appears to consist of tearing out what remains of the existing pipework, and nailing yet more planks of plasterboard into place.
Occasionally, he looks distressed and says things like, ‘I haven’t thought this through’.
Which doesn’t inspire confidence.
Mrs C has been on the phone to her sister who says that she had a vision in the park, while walking Moses on a long lead, and that things will only get worse.
I don’t need to be a psychic to fear the worst where Dave is concerned.
If anything of note happens, I’ll keep you posted. If it doesn’t, I won’t.
Thought for the Day
‘A bird in the hand … is worth seven yen in Tokyo.’
Dr Samuel Johnson (1709-1784)