Moving is about a procession of porters bearing numerous boxes and furniture items down flights of stairs, out of the house, down the front steps leaving a trail of empty rooms. All day the removal has been conducted to a soundtrack of laddish banter, whatever station they could find on my very old tranny and the unmistakeable ripping sound of brown parcel tape. Meanwhile I work down my list which includes emptying grates, cleaning appliances to come to Dorset, a trip or two to the tip. I have ducked out of the tea-lady role, preferring to leave a tray of mugs and all requisities available next to the kettle.
Meanwhile in France Dan’s family holiday is drawing to a close after a week of good summer weather. There’s a mixed bag gallery of activities which have included beach-time, fishing, cockling, pool and the occasional meal at Le Debarcadere where the adults (Marian, David, Emma, Dan and I) were entertained by the children who had gone outside to run off steam (Grandpa, Lola, Ruby).