Goodbye to my gorgeous German girl, who left me a lovely note this morning. She said that she hopes we will keep in touch, and that it would be "jolly super". I'm ashamed to admit that she learned this phrase from me. Of course she appreciates that it's a joke, but it will probably spread around Frankfurt like hot cakes, or even berliners!
When I surfaced at 8.45 am, to do breakfast, I found that I had acquired some rather fabulous hydrangea blooms, which I must have arranged in a vase at around midnight last night. I suppose I must have picked them on the way home from my friends' house, but I have no recollection of this. I know that I had drunk rather a lot of champagne, followed by rather a lot of white wine. I staggered home, but must have stopped on the way to nick the flowers! Lord, what a terrible example I am. Later on, this evening, I was also reminded by another friend of some things I supposedly said at our dinner last week. I had to admit that I really couldn't remember the conversation! Either I am turning into a terrible drunk, or I am losing my memory. I can't decide which would be worse. Definitely more fun to grow old disgracefully, I suppose.
Today was another glorious, hot day, which I spent looking after my grandson while Daughter was working. We had a great time at the paddling pool, which was totally rammed with freefall children and stressed-out parents. We paddled, splashed, dug in the sand and ate our picnic. I managed to fall over on the edge of the pool and was helped up by a charming young man (who may have thought I was drunk, come to think of it!). Then we walked back home, stopping on the way for Grandson to have a game of football with a group of young men we happened to meet on the Lawns. He just barged in and got them to play with him - don't know how he does it, but he is just irresistible. He has blue eyes and blonde hair, and dribbles like a young Beckham. And as he is only just 3, this is pretty impressive.
After I delivered grandson back home, I cooked for my remaining German lady (who looks set to eat me out of house and home), and then collapsed into my armchair, only to see that Sir Terry Wogan was on Millionaire. I have to say that I like him best on the steam radio. When he's on TV, I'm confronted with the syrup question. Does he or doesn't he? And do we care?
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