31st May 2008

As is traditional, half term arrived hand-in-hand with foul weather. In a desperate attempt to escape the relentless drizzle of Harborough, Sarah and I set off for sunny Yorkshire, where, naturally, it was also raining. Honestly, if Noah had shown up in a dinghy offering us space for two, I’d have packed sandwiches.

Despite the sogginess, I managed to weed Nan’s vegetable patch (not that anything will grow without snorkels) and even performed emergency surgery on her washing machine. The rest of our visit involved us bonding with the sofa and watching an obscene amount of The Simpsons on Sky. At least it was educational. I now know exactly what not to do in any given situation, thank you, Homer.

On the return leg, we made a quick detour to Newark to drop off some clothes for Lucas. It was a brief but pleasant visit, punctuated by, you guessed it, more rain. At this point, I was beginning to wonder whether someone had installed a personal raincloud over the car.

Back home, Thursday and Friday were devoted to the construction of a wedding cake, courtesy of Sarah and Sue. Flour, sugar, and icing seemed to cover every available surface. I’m still finding sprinkles in places no sprinkle should be.

Friday evening brought a bit of cultural uplift with a trip to the theatre to see High School Musical. It was lively, colourful, and impressively enthusiastic, even if I did come away humming “We’re All In This Together” against my will.

But joy quickly turned to heartbreak when we returned home to discover tragedy in the garden: the fox had struck. Our poor guinea pigs, Chocolate and Honey, had fallen victim. The wretched animal was still in the garden, standing guard over his gruesome handiwork. Jamie and I did our best to shoo him off, flailing our arms and making noises more fitting for a haunted house than suburban Harborough. Had we arrived ten minutes earlier, we might have prevented the whole sorry business. Saturday morning was spent giving them a proper burial. It was a sombre moment, and a difficult one to explain without crying into the compost.

Later that day, Jamie left for Bath with some friends, hopefully somewhere drier, quieter, and with considerably fewer foxes.