Finally in Brighton with two angry cats.
What a 24 hours! Discovered late yesterday that Mrs Nick is VERY ill in hospital, where she has been for a week, and is expected to be in for at least two more weeks. No one told me. NO answer from the Boy on landline or mobile. Finally tracked him down to a new phone number via his school (he had broken another phone AND lost old SIM card so got himself some cheapo SIM from Tesco.)
Had someone told me about this I would have gone over there to look after him, not least as his A levels start in three weeks and this sort of upheaval is not good. Instead he is staying at Mrs Nick’s horrid brother’s place nearby. He and his Mrs are “devout” Catholics of a dangerous turn of mind.
Made some alterations to Brighton arrangements (was due here at 10 a.m. today) and headed for Wirral at early o’clock. Met The Boy and whisked him to Nick Towers #1 to collect stuff he needed and supplies for the bedridden Mrs Nick (useless BiL and SiL had not done this) . Organised replacement phone and SIM ascribed to the contract I pay for for him and then we had to go shopping for him and Mrs Nick.
At this point Miss I calls from Dublin where things are a bit strained with Papa. Conversations all on hands free speakerphone as we are driving, so the Boy is earwigging.
She is mad about books and yesterday came across a signed limited edition of Waiting for Godot. She wanted to buy it but Papa went “arm wavingly mad” and told her she was nuts. Words were exchanged. “But it is only 995 Euros,” she wailed. “Do you think I am nuts?” I lied and said No while the Boy gaped at the phone. I advised her to haggle and see if they would drop the price. She said she would have to buy it secretly while parking Papa and his wheelchair somewhere. The Boy chipped in and said “Go to the bookshop and flutter your eyelashes, darlin’”
Stunned silence from Dublin, followed by, “Good plan, will try that. Who are you?” A conversation developed which I sensed was going in the direction of some sort of Dad Comparison exercise, suddenly realised she is only about 8 years older than him and I cut the call short.
The Boy said, “1000 Euros for a poxy book. Is she a loony?” I dodged the question and dragged him back to the subject of broken phones.
Stuff delivered to a mercifully semi-awake Mrs Nick at the horsepickle (she has a quite rare viral infection of her nervous system which affects just about everything including, mercifully, speech. Full recovery anticipated) and then took him out for a late lunch before delivering him to tennis club and an assignation with the lovely Lydia. (More condoms purchased by me “just in case, like” Flavoured ones were preferred. Who am I to pass judgement?)
Set out for near enough 300 mile drive to Brighton. M6 through Brum sounded awful so paid for the Toll Road. M40, M25 and now here. Getting a takeaway.
Miss I bought the book and Papa found out.
More wailing from Dublin. Backache from wheelchair pushing so introduced her to the concept of Radox.
Having an early night…………..May yet have to go up to Scallypool on the train for a day if circs change. Meantime, Malaga on Tuesday for lunch with Pasties. Not sure I can keep this pace up.
