Turkey will be a doddle: Well, we’re off. First stop Loulie’s in London which gives us a day to Gatwick to catch the plane from Yorkshire. Always better to be sensible about time. Fleur squeaks loudly that we dont need 5 hours to get to Gatwick from London. But we do! Two granddaughters are here, Polly and Phoebe. As for my companion, depression, for the last few weeks, it’s determined to rear its ugly head, so I sloughed off early to lie in the dark and listen to the goings on. How I love my family!
Both my gorgeous older granddaughters have dropped any pretence at being nicely brought up upper middle class girls. Polly has just turned up in a shapeless black jersey with two very large holes where the elbows should be. Her hair is a mish mash of dreadlocks, straggly straight congealed locks and miscellaneous pieces of unwashed hair, she goes to New Zealand on Monday, will she wash it before she goes – and will it make any difference. But neither hair nor jersey can hide a warm caring personality, a lovely person well worth knowing. Then there is Phoebe, another lass with bright strawberry blonde hair who is also inclined to work with those the rest of us avoid and gasp at their ghastly behaviour. As I write they discuss defecating young boys – in the classroom or the road and watching the cars squish the results, I’ve eaten my raw carrot, cinnamon, nuts and god knows what rubbish but I can handle it! Daisy sensibly watches telly and ignores us