Here I am, on a train hurtling towards Cardiff where My Boy and his family are waiting for me. It's a bit later than I usually travel so I shall have to keep myself awake with the help of a flask of coffee and a selection
of goodies - namely a ham sandwich and a buttered hot cross bun. You have to admit, this gal knows how to live. And then some...
I couldn't leave any earlier because this afternoon was the Easter get-together
for our Nomination Whist group and I knew that all participants would be agog to know who would be the winners of this term's prizes. Though, to be honest, they seemed more excited at the plate of hot cross buns which we produced half way through proceedings.
We have all commented (generally when having a poor game) that we simply haven't been achieving the scores this term. This is either because we are losing our grip on the game or - to put a more positive spin on it -
we are all getting so very much better that we are now able to stop others scoring. I prefer to think it is the latter.
It takes me a while to work out all the averages, especially with Mr B forever checking
if anyone has yet beaten his average score. He won't get a prize, I remind him, being a convenor of the group and all, but as far as Mr B is concerned he is in it for the glory. (He does come out on top again but only by three. He must watch out in case his
I have prepared well for my trip. My suitcase was packed by midday leaving just my travel rucksack, carrying the aforesaid flask, ham sandwich, buttered bun and a book to read on the long
journey. The Eldest of the Darling Daughters gave me Khaled Hosseini's novel "And the Mountains Echoed" for Mothering Sunday and I have resisted, with some difficulty, starting to read it, preferring to keep it to savour it on my long journey to and from Wales.
The anticipation and eager expectation is thrilling. The Sunday Telegraph says it is "epic" and the Mail on Sunday describes it as "magnificent." Who am I to argue with such august reviewers? Not that I would, having already read "The Kite Runner" and "A Thousand
I have had to leave Mr B home alone. Heaven only knows what he will get up to while I am away. There is lasagne in the fridge and his favourite pasta in the food cupboard. He won't starve anyway
and, as he says, with a note of hopefulness in his voice, there is always Kentucky Fried Chicken down the road. Mr B is very fond of KFC. I expect there will be sport on the TV. Let's face it there is always sport on T.V.
He ran me to the station in the car but I told him not to toil all the way over to the opposite platform via the bridge. I was travelling light, I reminded him. There's not a lot of weight to a ham sandwich and a buttered bun.
In fact I thought he would have driven home after dropping me off outside the station but when I reached Platform 2, there he was smiling and waving across at me from Platform 1. We continued to make encouraging signs to each other
for the next six minutes right up until my train arrived. As I took a seat by the window, I could see him scanning the carriages to find me, probably worrying that I hadn't found a seat in a train made up of only three carriages. I knocked on the window and
he finally saw me, just seconds before the train moved off.
I know I will have the warmest of receptions when I arrive in Cardiff. But in the meantime Mr B's Fond Farewell will keep me all aglow as I travel