It is a sparkling day on the Lake and thoughts are turning to our return to Glasgow. I fear more time has been spent chopping back the undergrowth than on Grammar & Punctuation. My mother's house sits high above the village about 170 steps from the nearest house. When the washing machine broke down (our fault), I wanted to weep. In fact, I did weep. My mother said ring the repair people. I didn't believe that it could be repaired. It was at least 20 years old.
When the repairman called me on the mobile, he had reached the last of the houses and didn't believe there was another house. He arrived huffing and puffing and miraculously mended it. In fact, it turned out he was the same repairman who had mended the same fault nearly 20 years ago. So our crisis is over.
The chopping is over and the packing beginning. No doubt the next blog will be from Scotland. And still no sign of George.
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