So, now my parents are finally ensconced in Vancouver, and the evil cat is well and truly out of the bag, I can now blog artfully about this week of peace and blessed quiet ahead of me without fear of revealing the prestige. So hazah to all those who managed to keep the secret, and thus surprise my brother, and hazah to me, who managed to blag a bundle of books from him mere hours before the secret was revealed, allowing his generosity to flow before my failure to warn him placed me well and truly on his shitlist.
And yes, I’m now in a lovely house, with two lovely dogs, acres of food, and a plethora of post-it notes, reminding me that dogs like to drink as well as eat, and that the alarm code hasn’t changed in 14 years. Thanks, Mum. My darling sister has buggered off to hobnob with some Estonians, who are the least religious members of the European Union (although there is a thriving neopagan community), and are brave enough to call their currency the kroon. Merci, wikipedia. Also, I shouted at my nephew quite brusqely on Saturday morning [it was the morning – what did he expect?], so there’s a fair chance I won’t be seeing him much either.
When I was younger I quite fancied being a hermit. There are stretches now when I still do. I like the idea of letting my mind off the social hook for a while, and seeing where it chooses to bugger off to. Timbuktu, maybe. So I might go a bit squiffy this week, just to warn you, although I have plenty of books and films to keep me entertained, as well as work to do on a top-secret project that may or may not involve ostriches.
p.s. The title of this post came from this gorgeous poem, which I heartily recommend to all and sundry.