I had grandson here to stay last night, for various complicated reasons, and because I have two students at the moment, he can't sleep in his usual room. As he is just out of nappies, I put him in the travel cot first, and then in my bed. I did this amazing thing of lifting him up (still fast asleep) and holding him over the potty to do a wee. Which he did, and then was instantly fast asleep again. Bless the boy.
Sadly, it was I who couldn't sleep. I went to bed at 10pm, missing my "Life on Mars" repeat, thinking that would give me loads of sleep before he woke, which is usually at 5.30a.m! At 12.30, 1.30, 2.30 etc, etc, I checked the clock and grew ever more desperate for sleep. Alas, it eluded me, and I think I had about 2 hours max before he woke at 5.30 on the button.
So, by the time I was doing breakfast for two hungry Germans at 8 o'clock, I was past caring. Unwisely, I decided to continue with the crab-apple jelly making I had started the night before. It was just at the stage where you pour the mushy cooked crab-apples into a jelly bag which is hooked over a frame, poised over a large bowl. As I was deciding to pour the remaining mush into the bag, I had a moment's indecision, but poured anyway. Oh no! Too late. Too heavy! The bag dropped from the frame, plunged into the bowl, and splashed all the lovely, red juice everywhere. The language was terrible - and grandson retreated into the dining room with the students
who continued their breakfasts as if nothing had happened. The next hour was spent mopping up. Crab-apple juice coated the kitchen floor and gave it a lovely red sheen.
It was very difficult to mop up. And it had splashed everything in sight - including my laundry basket which was full of clean, fresh bedlinen ready to iron.
My darling grandson was an absolute trouper. At three, he is just getting to grips with polite conversation, and he entertained my two ladies superbly, chatting away and giving them a summary of the action next door in the kitchen. I was feeling so exhausted and so grumpy that I didn't care what they thought - but he kept the show going. After that, we sat (I collapsed) and built things with bricks for a bit. Then we watered the garden. By the time Daughter came to collect him at 11.30, I was so tired that I could barely put two words together to tell her what had happened. I had already washed the bedlinen again and hung it out in the sun, so as soon as they left, I dived back into bed and slept for a couple of hours. And I can't bear to even look at what's left of the crab-apples.
Son, fresh from the Big Chill yesterday, has gone to a Prince concert in London this evening. His life is one long round of pleasure, or so it seems from my perspective. I can't recall a time when I did stuff like that. My high point was a Stones concert at Olympia several centuries ago, after which his father and I drove down (or is it up?) to Gloucester for the weekend, singing all the way. It's a nice memory.