Travelling in comfort

Instead of suffering the way we did on our last flight (post here), my two  youngest grandsons travelled last week in comfort, and could even catch up on a bit of work on the way.

Some people have all the luck.

My week-end

I've just returned from three days of helping with grandchildren while my lovely daughter-in-law was away. These are three wonderful and very naughty boys, including the disappearing 3-year-old George mentioned in a previous post (he did disappear. About fifteen times).

Highlights:

1. Finding the right children coming out of school. The school is huge, and the children stream out all looking much the same, and it's a bit like trying to collect your luggage off an airport carousel. You know it's there - it's got to be there - but on the other hand, it could be in Dubai. I nearly panicked, as one of them was the very last to emerge. Not in Dubai, then. Phew.

2. Seeing Joshua the guinea pig eating toast and marmalade and drinking tea (yes really. He takes one sugar) at breakfast.

3. Finding Goerge (about fifteen times).

4. Discovering that Freddy hadn't broken his arm (falling off the slide) after all.

5. Spending time with son when they were in bed.

Low points:

1. Losing George.

2. George managing to wipe William's homework from the computer.

3. Mealtimes (enough said).

4. Having to leave them, because they are funny and bright and excellent company, and I love them dearly.

I'm now going to lie down in a darkened room. I may be gone for some time.

Moving house...?

I hate moving house. I hate everything about it. The planning, the upheaval, the throwing things out and cleaning things up, the packing, the saying good-bye - everything. My mother loved it. She said she preferred it to spring cleaning (I don't do that, either, and I don't think she did) and my parents were the only people I've ever come across who actually lost money on every house they bought.

When we last moved, we swore we'd never move again. We've been here eleven years and we love this house. It's a tall terraced Georgian town house (that sounds posh, but it isn't at all) with lots of stairs (it's a 72-stair up-and-down trip if you're at the top of the house and you've got to go and fetch something from the bottom) and no storage space and only a tiny courtyard (I love gardening, but have got very used indeed to not having to mow a lawn).

But it looks as though we may be moving on after all. We miss our children and grandchildren, and want to be a bit closer. I want to be able to go to nativity plays and sports days, and have them for a day as and when I (and they) want. But they all live in commuterland, and can we afford commuterland? Probably not. We're having the house valued tomororow, and fingers crossed that it's worth a lot more than I think it is. Otherwise we'll be moving into something very small indeed.

Now more than ever I need to produce that bestselling novel. And soon.