We had a relatively peaceful night – the Boy was slightly restless, but essentially slept for ten hours, from 8pm to 5.50am – so the fact that I slept poorly, and didn’t spring blithely into action on receiving my early morning alarm call, was no-one’s fault but my own. B, by contrast, was full of beans – happy, funny, and bossy – and was soon up, breakfasted, and directing the morning’s activities.
When we went out into the garden to play football (at an hour when I would normally still be buried under the duvet) he took exception to the fact that the top lawn was littered with windfall apples, so R fetched a wheelbarrow and got him to help with clearing them up. The entertainment value of this game soon palled, and it was abandoned in favour of going for a walk to see the machinery at the farm at the end of the lane, and then going for another walk to see the humongous koi in our neighbour’s fish pond. After his morning nap though, B went back to the apples game – or more accurately, to the game of trying to push the wheelbarrow, and making an enormous fuss when he couldn’t get it to move without grown-up assistance. I predict a career in the performing arts.
After lunch we all headed back over to Wales, meeting up with R and G at Tredegar. We were very sorry to be handing the Boy back to his parents, because he’s been a delightful house guest – and if at the same time we could barely contain our relief at seeing the back of him, that was surely just down to the fact that we’re old now, and we tire more quickly than we used to. By this evening – refreshed by several hours back home in a peaceful house, an uninterrupted evening meal, and a small bucket of red wine – we found ourselves laughing over some of his cute antics and the funny things he says, and sighing about the fact that we won’t see him now for several days.
I fear we may be incurably besotted with the little man.
