Roasts with the country set
Up late, and at last feeling a bit fresher this morning, despite brief solving dreams. I would keep waking up and realising that my brain didn't have to be solving these problems, then drop back to sleep to start it all over again.
A happily slow start, talking lots and enjoying another morning untroubled by cats. Eventually everyone up for coffee and poached eggs and smoked salmon breakfast with Rosie and Innis. Then slowly getting ready and packing, before setting off from Robertsbridge. Lorraine and I drove to a pub called The Hatch Inn in the heart of Ashdown forest, and the quite far away to a car park and walked dangerously along the road to meet the others again in the pub. We had lunch there among the posh country set, a young woman near us with a huge diamond on her finger and wellies, bluff entitled older men, younger guys climbing out of racy two seat cars with their women friends. The young guy who was serving us, we were sat outside, called me 'good sir' and seemed to be playing a part, possibly as a coping mechanism. Lovely food, perfectly cooked chicken roasts with all the trimmings. Ouchy price for a pint of soda and cranberry juice Lorraine had bought -- almost a fiver. I had a super fancy bread and butter pudding, and Lorraine and Rosie shared one of these too. Saw curried parsnip soup and it made me think of Betty for some reason. I WhatsApped her to that effect. She must think I am mad.
A woman asking on Instagram if Skelton Yawngrave's new book was coming out. Exactly the kind of thing I meant to think about next week.
Fond farewells to our pals. We had a great time with them. A drive home, and also nice to be home. Selfishly nice for me as I don't have to take a briefing tomorrow. What bliss.
Chatted with Mum, poor Mason had poked bits to do with his hearing aids deep into his ears, they found out when they went to the ear doctor, and he had to go to A&E to get them fished out. Mum having to arrange everything. Her car passed its MOT again. Miracles exist. Although there is no petrol in their neck of the woods.