So the bloody property management chap, Nige (he's a fuckin' legend) didn't come around yesterday because he's poorly. They are sending his side-kick, Mike, on Thursday and I'm now actually dreading that because this chap will be out to prove he's doing his job properly. Oh well. (As Fleetwood Mac would say) back to the buckets and scrubbing brushes. But first a crispy mini-pork pie and coffee.
Yay! Four more sleeps until we head off to the Southern hemisphere for some fun in the sun, dodging wayward taxi drivers, the occasional stray bullet, trolley guards, packers at the tills, beggars on the side of the road, window washers at the robots ... can't wait, to be honest. I'll try and do a few blog posts on me tablet when I'm over there ...' try' being the operative word here.
Faye said the other day when I was helping Ewan get sorted out with one of his super-hero costumes that she thinks I will be ignoring him when we are in SA and slobbering all over Daniel the whole time. Whilst I am really looking forward to zerberting my new baby grandson on his tummy, kissing him to death and having a play/getting to know him a bit bonding session or two ... no-one can hold a candle to Ewan, he has stolen my heart. He knows it as well.
He has a habit of coming up to me and saying things out of the blue, that either take my breath away or make me go all warm and fuzzy inside. I can't remember my sons ever being as sensitive/golden hearted when they were his age. For example, this morning when we were getting ready to go to school, he says to me in the bedroom, 'Nana I cwied when you wasn't here.' I said to him, 'What, when I went to Scotland?'. He says, 'Yes, when you was wiff Auntie Jean and I wasn't wiff you and you was far away and I came to my bed and I cwied.'
Who's going to top that? Huh?