The Little Horse called 10 minutes ago, lost in howling wind and rain, somewhere near Wincanton. We do not live near Wincanton. Then, 5 minutes ago, she was back on course. Only 18 miles now.
Toyah is making her way home, slowly, in the appalling weather which has struck Southern England. Tired from two shows today, she is driving from Canterbury along an unfamiliar road to the West Country. A flood alert on the M27 diverted her from the normal route to the A303.
Tasty, toasty food is waiting in the kitchen. Toyah hasn't eaten today either. Tomorrow is my Wife's only day off until New Year's Eve, so I shall be making a fuss of her. The house has become more like a home in the past two days: carpets & rugs unpacked, unrolled & thrown. More pictures on walls and, most significantly, the sitting room is unpacked and functioning. A storage room until 2 days ago, it is now the room Toyah wanted it to be for Christmas Day. Two stockings are waiting on the sofa, stuffed, and here in the dining room are two pillowcases with varying degrees of presents: sweet, silly, and some useful.
I shall now return to the kitchen.
