Bus stop...
This weekend has been a game of two halves.
On Saturday, after the obligatory sausage sandwich and several cappuccinos, the shout came up to go into town to do a tiny bit of shopping. Mrs Jangles suggested that we should take the bus, which Miss R, the Mother and I thought a fine idea. Here's the thing though. The bus stop of choice is very close to my Nanny Joyce's flat. Those of you who have been with me on this carousel of nonsense since the beginning of the year will know that she finally decided to abandon us in January, leaving a huge void in all of our lives. A couple of weeks ago, her flat was sold to a lovely chap called Julian, and Mrs Jangles decided that henceforth, 'Nanny's Flat' should be known as 'Julian's Flat', with a swear box being started for any use of the 'N' word when talking about the flat. By the time we reached the bus stop, the virtual swear box had at least two pounds in it, and I reckon that by next Friday we should have enough for a three course Christmas meal...with wine.
The Mother, ever observant, had set up a look out post when Julian moved in, and told us all that he looked like a bit of a party animal, because he had a surfboard on top of his car. Mrs Jangles soon put her straight about what it actually was...a roof box. The Mother is not up to date with these things, still choosing to use the boot for her luggage and wonders whatever will they think of next...
So the bus stop just happens to also be situated in front of a large pub, and with twenty minutes till the next number 8 shimmied up, we had just enough time to sneak in a glass of Prosecco each. I did ask whether they did takeaway cups, but they didn't, so an element of unladylike necking was necessary.
We managed about two hours in town before I said that I needed to get back. This was not down to time constraints, merely that I couldn't carry any more bags without keeling over. So it was back on the bus, a drive home, a quick change into a posh frock, and then off to a good friend's 60th birthday, where Miss R and I danced the night away. The husband wasn't with us as he was watching the Rugby at Twickenham. I say 'watching', but as he had frequented several bars between home and the ground, I would imagine that as he is unable to operate two of his five senses simultaneously, then there was more listening going on than anything else. I didn't get back home till after midnight, which was around two hours after the husband - it's always good to keep them on their toes you know.
And the second half of my weekend?
This was spent in Sainbury's on the last weekend before December doing a weekly shop.
Lunacy...
On Saturday, after the obligatory sausage sandwich and several cappuccinos, the shout came up to go into town to do a tiny bit of shopping. Mrs Jangles suggested that we should take the bus, which Miss R, the Mother and I thought a fine idea. Here's the thing though. The bus stop of choice is very close to my Nanny Joyce's flat. Those of you who have been with me on this carousel of nonsense since the beginning of the year will know that she finally decided to abandon us in January, leaving a huge void in all of our lives. A couple of weeks ago, her flat was sold to a lovely chap called Julian, and Mrs Jangles decided that henceforth, 'Nanny's Flat' should be known as 'Julian's Flat', with a swear box being started for any use of the 'N' word when talking about the flat. By the time we reached the bus stop, the virtual swear box had at least two pounds in it, and I reckon that by next Friday we should have enough for a three course Christmas meal...with wine.
The Mother, ever observant, had set up a look out post when Julian moved in, and told us all that he looked like a bit of a party animal, because he had a surfboard on top of his car. Mrs Jangles soon put her straight about what it actually was...a roof box. The Mother is not up to date with these things, still choosing to use the boot for her luggage and wonders whatever will they think of next...
So the bus stop just happens to also be situated in front of a large pub, and with twenty minutes till the next number 8 shimmied up, we had just enough time to sneak in a glass of Prosecco each. I did ask whether they did takeaway cups, but they didn't, so an element of unladylike necking was necessary.
We managed about two hours in town before I said that I needed to get back. This was not down to time constraints, merely that I couldn't carry any more bags without keeling over. So it was back on the bus, a drive home, a quick change into a posh frock, and then off to a good friend's 60th birthday, where Miss R and I danced the night away. The husband wasn't with us as he was watching the Rugby at Twickenham. I say 'watching', but as he had frequented several bars between home and the ground, I would imagine that as he is unable to operate two of his five senses simultaneously, then there was more listening going on than anything else. I didn't get back home till after midnight, which was around two hours after the husband - it's always good to keep them on their toes you know.
And the second half of my weekend?
This was spent in Sainbury's on the last weekend before December doing a weekly shop.
Lunacy...
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