The 14th of July.
Well, this morning was ghastly, but the afternoon was a joy.
We drove down to Ashford so I could visit Robyn, Stuart, Herbie and Ned, while Mommy and Daddy found a way to entertain themselves. The morning was so terrible because despite setting off before we even planned to, we arrived an hour and a half late. There was an accident on the M25, then the sat nav lady took us off to god knows where and we ended up going into and out of London. By the time we got there, I had gone through the full gamut of emotions. Importantly, the murderous rage had passed.
I love them. I got to distribute all my crocheted gifts, and they are going to try their best to stop the blanket from getting dribbled on. It actually goes very well with some of their furniture. I got to squidge Ned, and Herbie gave me some hugs when he wasn’t being a puppy or hiding in the cat house. We had lunch, then settled down to watch Despicable Me 3 (Herbie’s choice) which gave us a chance to talk because Herbie was transfixed. I asked the questions I had prepared for the podcast recording that got scuppered, so look out for that quality content on The Naughty Step.
I was forced to leave about half six, but next time they are going to come up to Birmingham instead. And it won’t be another two years!
The 15th of July.
Too warm to do much of anything today. It was just nice to be able to take the sleeve off last night, although because of the lack of sensation, it feels weirdly tickly whenever the sheet touches it. So I spent my morning writing about yesterday, not watching Sunday Brunch because Pixie Lott is, quite frankly, unbearable.
After lunch, I went upstairs to stick my feet up against the wall again (my feet got puffy during all of the driving yesterday) for a bit before the tennis started. Firmly on the side of Djokovic today – if I can’t have a storybook ending for Serena, I want it for him. Anderson has a weird dog that I don’t like.
While I watched, I typed up a late blog post, then Shaki arrived during the second set to pick up some of the donations from the cattery that we’ve been playing host to. Inevitably, she ended up staying for about an hour, seeing if Dolly might emerge but she refused. She did say that apparently there is someone who has registered interest in her so I’ll talk to them and hope to sweet baby Jesus that they are reasonable.
Djokovic won, then I found myself watching the World Cup final. Here, I wanted France to win, because when Croatia beat us they behaved like bastards. Very pleased, and now I will return to my usual state if feeling ambivalent about the majority of sport.