Chickens and eggs.

Have just got to the part in the new "Harry Potter" book where Dobby, the house elf, has been killed. He was an unlikely hero, but he actually saved Harry's life and sacrificed his own. It really made me sad - I remembered how grateful Dobby was to Harry when he was freed. What a wonderful and complete world J.K.Rowling has created. I have loved the stories, the characters and the films from the start, and the fact that the books are so fat is great. It's like being given a huge and delicious cake - you want to eat it but you can't manage it all at once. The trouble is, I only seem to have time to read when I go to bed, so it's never very long before my eyes start closing and I have to put the book down. Consequently it is taking me ages to get through this latest one. And I still haven't been to see the latest film. I must do better.

I spoke to Grandson this morning on the phone. He and Daughter are on the Isle of Wight having a holiday with the boyfriend and his daughter, at Nanny Daisy's house. This sounds like a lot of fun, because she lives in a cottage with a big garden, and keeps chickens. So the children collect the eggs every morning and have been doing things like baking cakes and feeding the chickens, as well as going to the beach and to the circus. I heard the cockerel crowing over the phone this morning. He was very loud, and Grandson was imitating him, so it was double bubble.

I wanted to phone Son this morning, but am aware that he has been having a very trying time, what with the move and sleeping on the floor surrounded by boxes and black bin liners. Apparently their friends' furniture arrived yesterday, so they now have actual beds to sleep in. I feel both responsible and guilty somehow, because I have not been able to move mountains and sort out his flat sale. This particular mountain has been a very slippery customer to handle - sorry about the mixed metaphors - but it has kept sliding out of my grasp every time I thought I had it
sorted. I enlisted the help of my Feng Shui guru a couple of months ago, and that did seem to help. He gave us a 'goodbye ritual' to observe, and various things to do, one of which was to roll up a set of the flat details, tie them with a red ribbon, and throw them off the end of the Pier when the tide was going out. Heaven knows what the onlookers must have thought, but I didn't care. If it was guaranteed to work, I would strip naked and run through the streets of Brighton - well perhaps not naked, but you know what I mean...