"Sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble."

Listening to the Beatles as I read my favourite blogs. I just love blogging - it's so sociable and I enjoy looking to see what comments I have received from the previous day. Someone has commented that they like my 'Mrs Dale's Diary' style - and I have to admit that I'm just about old enough to remember Mrs. Dale's Diary. That old chestnut, "I'm worried about Jim." is all I can remember, though. Now, of course, I'm an Archers fan - at least I listen to the Archers on a regular basis, and have followed them for years. My Dad was a fan too, and used to listen to the omnibus edition on a Sunday morning in the bath. We would hear the tap being turned on and off as he topped up the hot water, and he smoked either a cigar or his pipe as he listened. He usually had a glass of either brandy or whisky balancing on the edge of the bath too. He never emerged from the bathroom until the final music was heard. He'd be wrapped in a towel, Turkish style, with a soggy cigar clamped between his teeth. Then he was ready to start cooking Sunday Lunch, and if my Dad was cooking, it deserved the capital letters. One of his most memorable dishes was a combination of fillet steak and pheasant - truly glorious - served with mashed potatoes and a wonderful winey gravy, plus a good claret of course. I like to think that somewhere up there he's still enjoying the odd glass.

This morning on the Terry Wogan Show we had a virtual Firework display - just my cup of tea. And this evening, as I sit here, there are fireworks going off all around.
Luckily I don't have to step outside to see them. The bangs are muffled and I can see the sparkling showers of colour from where I'm sitting. It's just perfect.

Today we had the planned viewing at Son's flat, plus another one which came courtesy of the Agents later this afternoon. The friends of friends of Son were extremely nice, and I think they loved the flat. The fact that the buses have disappeared from outside is a real bonus, and it was a perfect sunny day too. Of course the flat was looking lovely (it is lovely) with fresh flowers and shining windows. The whole thing was marred only by the fact that Daughter and the Boyfriend were quite obviously mid-row when I arrived, and it just got worse. We ducked across the road to sit and have coffee in the sun at Frankinsteine, but it didn't help. In the end I went to do the viewing on my own, hoping that they would sort it out between them. On occasions like this, I say nothing. I have discovered that whatever you say you can't win. "A Mother's place..."