Time To Go Home
Today’s title WAS going to be “home again, home again, jiggity jig” but smart alec has used it already. Last day of the holiday so, after a quick check of the law with regards to squatters rights and holiday cottages, we decided it was best to pack up and leave.
Despite my fears, we didn’t quite need to use a shoe-horn to get everything in, but I think a periscope might have been a useful addition to the car. We made it back over the Pennines in time for lunch (near enough) and were happy to find that neither of our houses had burnt to the ground. Once we’d checked on the cats (neither of whom seemed particularly bothered that I’d been away, even less so after I’d refilled the food dishes), we spent the rest of the afternoon lazing. Frou-frou sensibly crashed out for a nap, with a somewhat optimistic plan about getting up later to go into town. I zoned out in front of rubbish telly and flicked through websites, occasionally nodding off a bit myself.
Once we’d both sort of regained consciousness (it’s often hard to tell) we carried on the rubbish telly. I’ve spent about two hours watching soaps tonight, which would have been more interesting if I’d had any idea who anyone was or what the stories were or what the hell was going on. Still, they all seemed to revolve round buxom 20-somethings in tight tops so not a total waste of an evening.
As I’ve been reading a book about the filming of “Blade Runner” and herself hasnt seen it all the way through, we’re about to finish the day with a sci-fi classic on DVD during which one of us (clue: the one who isn’t me) will see why I could have made better use of the “jiggity jig” title. Not that I’m bitter …