I have left Mr B home alone while I head off for a few riotous days with my Little Welsh Boys.
I don't particularly worry
how Mr B will get on without me. I know, for a start, that he won't starve as he is a competent cook, well versed in cooking for one - or two, or, indeed, more. I am more concerned whether he will remember to feed the poor birds, leave the bathroom tidy and
sweep the kitchen floor occasionally.
To be honest, I can always straighten the towels and sweep the floor when I get home and nobody will be any the wiser about
the state of the house in my absence. The birds, however, are a different matter entirely. Before I left for the station, therefore, I treated them to two extra suet logs and tied an additional coconut shell (with added mealworms) onto the feeder. Hopefully
they won't even notice I am gone.
The train journey to Cardiff was long but uneventful. I studied my fellow passengers but none of them seemed at all out
of the ordinary. I do have a reason for telling you this so keep it in your thoughts for a bit.
My Boy met me from the station and drove me to his house where,
in no time at all the Little Welsh Boys arrived home, full of plans for the next few days. Tomorrow's plans involve a trip into Cardiff City Centre on the bus, where we are paying a visit to something called The Cardiff Story. I will tell you all about it
tomorrow but apparently we will be able to dress up as people who lived in the Olden Days. Like when I was a child, explains James.
Sam was a trifle worried that
I might forget the instructions being reeled off by his Dad and sensibly fetched pencil and paper to write down all the details. These included the numbers of the buses we can catch (21 or 27); the cost of a family return ticket (£5 apparently); where
we must get off the bus (opposite the Castle - should be fairly easy to spot, don't you think?) and the exact floor at the House of Fraser where Sam and James like to eat lunch. What can possibly go wrong? I will report back tomorrow....
Young Sam, who is something of an artist, decides to draw a picture of me arriving at Cardiff railway station. It is an amazingly detailed drawing and he has even remembered to draw
the cross and chain I always wear which I find extremely impressive. I am not sure why I am standing on top of the railway carriage but it may be something to do with the fact that every carriage is occupied by animals - a lion, a camel, a bear, a fox, a horse,
a rhino. A couple of giraffes poke their heads out of the roof of the carriage, just a short distance from where I am precariously balanced.
I say that I don't
remember any of the animals among my fellow passengers. Sam looks a little disappointed at my lack of imagination. I feel the need to redeem myself.
I was reading
my book most of the way, i explain. It's pefectly possibly I didn't notice the arrival of any passengers of the four legged variety. Sam is even less impressed.
"It's only a picture, Nanna," he tells me.
It may be only a picture to him - to me, it's a work of art.
And quite, quite priceless...