Sorry sorry sorry, everyone. An exhausted Granny has had to write another piece for somewhere else today. If it gets accepted she'll point you to it. Tomorrow she will write her blogging story. PROMISE.
Today the house feels empty empty empty; she feels EXHAUSTED - has just put on yet another machineful of washing. Weather is horrible - summer island - chilly wind, grey skies, shrouded landscape; it was, mostly, kinder to the visitor; the final lot had never been here before and were as Beloved Son predicted 'blown away.' Though they wouldn't have been if all had been as now. And there Granny was, looking forward to retiring to her hammock. At last. Instead of sitting huddled up in her shawl in her office.
'Why haven't you got your heating on then?' enquires Mr Handsome from Blackburn, putting his head round the door. Granny mutters something about global warming. 'That's all a lot of nonsense,' he retorts. Granny gets pious (never mind: she means it.) 'Don't you worry about what will happen to your grandchildren?'she asks, sternly. 'I care about what's happening today. I don't care about what's coming tomorrow. I'm not turning off any of my heaters. It's nonsense that stuff, like I said.'
This did not cheer Granny up. She fears that such views are all too typical and that they make things the more hopeless. Neither downloading this relevant piece from today's Guardian let alone adding this one and handing both to Mr Handsome look likely to get her anywhere. She'll have to put Beloved on to it. Mr H listens to him.
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