I have spent my first proper day in our new home. I call it proper because I have properly unpacked my overnights’ bag and have not left a holding assemblage of versatile clobber and a skeleton set of toiletries ready to be thrown into the car.
Today has seen the arrival of the water bed about which there hangs a tale too tedious to recount. I hope it will be in service by the time we have guests over half term. Being rather less methodical than Nick, I have unpacked boxes with contents for various rooms and the end of the day sees most of those items in their rightful place to a first approximation.
Over lunch I read the parish magazine, a proper villagey thing to do, and in it discovered a Winterborne Reading Group notice. Turns out it is organised by the neighbour of ‘Old Wisterias’, which house we viewed the same day as we looked at The Old Workshop. Phonecalls later I have arranged to go to the next meeting, a few doors down the road, and have accepted an invitation to join the Winterborne Walkers on Saturday next when we will start at Thomas Hardy’s cottage and hike for 4.5 miles before tipping up for a pub lunch.
When my travellers return from France, Nick brings inter alia 10 packs of ground coffee and 10 slabs of Brittany butter for the Palmers and 6 pots of grainy mustard for my sister, not to mention a good supply of our house Muscadet, our main preoccupation is to see how the feline takes to his new abode. He takes it all in his weighty stride and it is with a small puff of satisfaction that I see him eventually settle into the new, strategically placed, basket with sheepskin liner. He knows his place then.