22nd July, 2011

I wish there was a sheepish way that I could write “Hello there”. I must say I am feeling a touch guilty at the length of respite I have given you from this drivel. If by any chance you have missed it I apologise. Fact is an important client engagement a couple of Fridays ago down at Wentworth ago got in the way and last week I was in Corfu.

It was the first time for a while we have had the whole family together for a holiday, by which I mean, Hen graced us with her presence. What can I say? Holiday’s in the sun with Hen are stressful experiences largely because she insists on demanding of us, on an hourly basis, whether she is getting browner. The sad reality is she really doesn’t change colour. Pale and interesting I suppose is the phrase I am looking for. Larking about in the pool playing sharks and dolphins she was referred to as the Great White. Actually that was just one of many little witticisms I came up with last week. I was on the most terrific form though I say it myself. For example, when Hen decided to smuggle away the scallop shells ( she said they were to store her earrings but I have seen them frequently used as ashtrays ) on which had been served some Greek seafood delicacy in napkins, and stowed them away between her legs on her seat whilst we finished dinner, she wondered what would happen if she was caught. “I wouldn’t worry” I said, “they’ll just assume you have CLAMydia.” How we roared.

By the way, if you think I am occasionally a little disparaging of my eldest daughter we met up with friends in Corfu whose eldest had not come with them. “And a very good thing too” her mother said. “She’d have eaten us out of house and home. She’s as large as a villa. She looks like an Oompa Loompa tree.”

Hey ho. Well it didn’t take long for the restorative benefits of a holiday and my ebullient disposition to wear off. A chastening week one way or another. I think I have told you before about my Atco lawn mower. Bought for £800 a few years back it had sat forlornly rusting in a shed for three years having failed to effect the lovely stripes I was expecting of it. I thought I would give it one more chance so at a cost of £350 it got the mother of all services and blades finely sharpened, but yet again all it managed to do was carve great chunks out of my front garden. To be honest I would have stuck by it. It had this nice seat on the back and a roller which I am sure in time would have flattened out the bumps and created the lawn tennis court I aspired to, however it was not to be. At Mrs S’s insistence I took some fine photographs, which I think probably flattered my machine, but imagine my consternation when, badly advised on Ebay strategy by a colleague who has happily since left our desk, my beloved Atco went for the princely sum of £150. I suppose it was some consolation that it went to the vicar of some parish in St Albans, but talk about feeling pillaged.

Things have gone from bad to worse since then it has to be said, but enough of that for this forum. And anyway, you can always depend on Hen to put things into perspective. Returning on Wednesday, the low point of my week, from a day in Scotland, on a delayed Easyjet flight, I rang home to tell them I would be back at 7.40pm. It was Hen who answered. “You’re cutting it a bit fine aren’t you Dave?” “Why?” I replied with that kind of sinking feeling in my stomach that my week was going to take another lurch downwards. “Durr Dave. The Wizards of Waverly Place starts at 7.45pm. Put your bloody foot down.”