Granny's plane a bit later than she thought. Time for one last mini-blog, amid all the things she hopes she hasn't forgotten. Sun across the landscape. Her land still in shadow. Across it from the far side her orange cat wends his way to breakfast. Almost all of the land green now. Granny, despite longing for London, leaves it regretfully - she always does. A sense of exile either way. She doesn't mind - wouldn't be much use if she did, would it? Mixed feelings, she thinks, are the productive ones.
One last lot of chestnuts to shell for Beloved and Beloved's Beloved Daughter's Christmas. OVER AND OUT