Sorry, sorry, sorry. Granny will shortly finish the story about her criminal past. But right now she's too busy trying to organise her London flat; in other words her Beloved has arrived to join her. This means redoubling her efforts to get a parking permit for the estate they live in. So far in vain - it demands documentation that has to be dug out of reluctant and inefficient agencies - when these do condescend to produce a document they invariably send the wrong one to the wrong place. As a result of which the car still has had to be parked three miles away - the one time it wasn't it got hauled off to a Local Authority Pound and could only be redeemed for a price very steep for needy pensioners like themselves. (Double the price of a whole year's parking with the right documents.) This wouldn't matter if they didn't need said car every now and then; eg to makes an expedition to Ikea; as everyone who knows Ikea knows, buying stuff there is virtually impossible without your own transport - the nearest one from here is a hundred miles from any tube station, not least. So car has to be fetched and afterwards taken back to the safe parking three miles away. Then it turns out that the items acquired from Ikea have been evilly and inadequately packed so lack essential items like screws of the kind only Ikea supplies. So car has to be fetched again; and replaced again. Etc. Etc. On top of this are the endless discussions resulting from bright ideas for improvement put forward by one or other of Granny's household of two. These kind of discussions reveal the total gulf between the technical understandings of her and him - eg- to give but one small example. 'Why not remove the kitchen door and put it between the sitting-room and hall to limit the noise coming from the outside landing.' 'Good idea, only problem is hinges/lintel/opening is/are wrong side?' Why does that matter? Explanation as to why it matters not at all clear to whichever party has not identified the problem - or, when it is identified to them, who fail to understand it (usually, well, invariably, Granny.) It all takes a LONG TIME. And achieves little. And meantime the screws are still lacking. And Ikea has to be visited. AGAIN. And an Ikea queue stood in. YET AGAIN.
Why are male/female brains so very different? Granny comforts herself for her lack of carpentry nous with fact only she knows how to work the digital telly (acquired at point she was under (very) erroneous impression that move would leave them in in rather than out-of-pocket) manipulate broadband connection system on laptop, tell north from south, east from west, thereby finding way from one part of London to another (which means she always has to do the driving - eg to distant parking spot - bugger it). All of this means that historical exegis has to wait for the moment. Tra la la. Luckily she loves her Beloved. And he loves her. And they do manage to take in the odd amusement. And the odd good meal. So that's alright.