When I first met the word discombobulation it was with mocking disbelief that such a motley and improbable collection of syllables could amount to a real word. It means a confusion which is perhaps stretching a point as my life is rather more of a disarticulation but that don’t sound half so quirky.
We moved into Winterborne K on 10th September since when (it now being the 29th) I have slept 8 nights in our new home. I’ve been see-sawing between the old homestead, France and the old homestead and with luck I will tip up in Dorset on Sunday and bed down for a few weeks during which I expect to cross the final frontier and unpack all that is necessary to commission my Shell – this being the work-room which is a separate annexe and to which all items conchological will be banished.
After my first spell back at 88, culminating in a Golden Wedding Anniversary celebration in Oxford we spent 4 days in France with Maddy and Andrew. Long-planned, this trip took place and the house was still in good order, the dry rot treatment works as yet unstarted. We managed a musical soiree with our neighbours for which Andrew had brought his squeezebox (accordion), a day visiting some of the D-Day Landing sites and dinner on the last evening at Hotel Fuchsias where the ‘plats’ were as beautiful and toothsome as ever.
Guests like Maddy and Andrew make you feel you have been on holiday and early on Friday morning Nick drove them to the west Cotentin whence they took a ferry to Sark, where their daughter is working. We had had a fiasco with a mislaid pet passport which turned up before Nick got back, but too late to reinstate Plan A, so Rooney stayed in France where he will continue to be fattened up by our very caring neighbour 😦
On Saturday we are Dorset-bound to whisk the house into order before the Hackneys arrive after the journey from hell. As Dan ruefully commented on Facebook that day, “London is broken.” Katie and the boys came out on Sunday morning then after a very early lunch we drove out to Canford School to watch a rugby match played in memory of my nephew Max.
On Sunday evening the Hackneys had another protracted journey home and have resolved that future trips to Winterborne K and home again should take place very early in the morning. I drove to Heathrow to pick up the new owners of 88, fresh from a week of sun and fun, and am staying with them now, till the weekend when I might just be able to escape to Winterborne K. Not before time my spouse would say.