A prophesy?

So, I made a gate. I’d like to think that maybe it’s prophetic. That maybe the gate was a door to another world. A passage to Doris which, in turn, is only a few gallons of burnt diesel away from the south coast of France. Which, once there, shouts at the Pyrenees and onward into Spain and then Morocco.

Or maybe it’s just a gate. Yes, that’s it. It’s just a gate. But, and still with all my fingers, it is a gate that I made. From scratch. Total cost, including all the accessories: under £100. Although when B&Q didn’t recognise one article it priced it at £36,253. Having unswallowed my tongue, I did point out the discrepancy. The girl behind the till said, ‘Don’t worry, if often does that.’ Oh, OK. Let’s hope everyone has the sense to look at what they’re entering the pin for, otherwise its seems like an awful lot of money for three bags of compost.

IMG_20190422_163142865_HDR

look – I still have all my fingers!

But my original thought about disembarking at Calais and turning right still looms large. I know we have nothing to complain about (we have a new gate, for a start), but after a curtailed trip to Scotland, dad – and prep for his funeral, Jen (who’s not doing so well at the mo and, as a result, has closed down Cubbly’s), some work and a general feeling that we should be eking out more from our time, the thought screams at me. Last night – after a couple of hours of Homeland (Series two), which we are loving – I reread some of my blog from a couple of years ago. Time when we lived in the original Doris and had little to do other than amble about, walk, run, and visit people. Life was simpler. The days were longer. And, goodness, we did seem to live the life of Riley.

Life, of course, is never that simple. And nowhere near as miserable as I am currently making it out to be. The next six weeks are busy (I have four days work, we have a number of immovable commitments including dad’s funeral and looking after mum either side of that date), but on 4th June, just when His Orangeness touches down for his visit, we shall be off to SE Asia for six weeks. It wasn’t planned that way, but it feels good to be leaving just when the man with no morals turns up. I really hope that Bercow stops him from addressing the House of Commons. I know it’s the title that’s visiting and we do need to keep that relationship healthy (post-Brexit we’re going to need all the friends we can get our hands on), but, come on. Who knows, he might be impeached by then and unable to travel due to the fact that he is no longer the leader of the free world. How lucky are we?

Other than feeling the need to spread our wings, we have been busy. We’ve just come back from Jen’s where we’ve been finishing off a couple of items so she can close the business down for now. I’ve done a lot of work on Doris, including resealing the roof lights and servicing the fridge. And generally we’ve been enjoying having Mrs Sun around.

We’re down at Mary’s tomorrow (I have a work commitment in Farnham) and between now and Tuesday I need to sharpen up a presentation for Tuesday which I’m giving to the military. And then it’s heads down for dad’s funeral. I’ll be glad when that it is over.

Hey ho. Till Sunday.

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