Number two son is home. I know this because we spent most of Saturday driving to Durham to collect him, because the house is full of laundry, and because one cannot move freely on the landing.
On the laundry front, the clean now seems to outnumber the dirty, but only after a long and gallant struggle by the combined forces and talents of Mother and the washing machine. The pile of ironing now grows like a spoil heap at a mine. Let us hope that the forces of Clean can overcome.
Number two son has destroyed his tidy bedroom, and it is now a wreck. He allegedly helped number three son tidy his bedroom yesterday, but other than the bookcase, there seems no great improvement. Pressure will be applied. It is time to get ruthless.
Number one son seems to have vanished from the face of the earth. No update to his blog, No texts or calls, nothing. Obviously having too good a time dirtying all his clothes in time for next weekend when he comes home and the whole process starts again.
As for me, I'm organising a walk tomorrow, and when I went for a look at the route yesterday, I discovered that a critical section is flooded. There is no detour for the flooded bit, so I'm now desperately trying to think of a way to salvage at least a short walk. Just to help this thinking process, today it is forecast to be the wettest day of the year. We shall just have to spend more time in the pub at lunch to compensate.
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