Mum to mud to mad to Dad

Last night The Boy was deposited back at Uni with a case of freshly-laundered clothes, a food parcel and a tummy full of roast beef, roast potatoes, carrots, broccoli, parsnips, gravy, apple strudel and ice cream. We promised to give his love to his granny when we went down south this morning to visit her, do some geocaching and a booze cruise, and be home again for his visit next weekend.

We’re still here. Ned’s back isn’t yet up to the journey, nor to lifting supplies of alcohol. Poor soul, he’s having trouble lifting a single pint, let alone a crate. So I rang Mother to tell her that we wouldn’t be down today, which startled her somewhat because she wasn’t expecting us till Friday anyway, even though I’d carefully explained which dates were involved. So, Plan A is discarded. I wonder if we have a Plan B. I hope so, not only because a) I want to see my mum and b) I’ve printed out several cache pages, but also because it's been ages since we last topped up the alcohol supplies and have been reduced to paying UK prices. This can't go on.

And specially for Laura – no, I’ve never been on a train going through Barnsley, and I can’t email you, I’m afraid, because I haven’t a clue who you are. Sorry!