So remiss of me not to post, but past few months have been frenetic and hellish in equal measure.
Jensen has cultured some horrible CF bug (one of the less common ones, the name of which I can’t remember) and has been on two weeks’ IVs (so we’ve been splitting time between Stoke and Wycombe) and is now on orals and DNase (which finally seems to be shifting the gunk).
He had a great time at Prior Park (even fitting in an impromptu sports day) but is very sad about leaving Wycombe and Godstowe and all his little friends. We’ve had tears again this morning.
On the house move front, this has been the most inept and stressful transaction ever, something akin to pulling teeth (very slowly) with a broken peg. Our purchase (which had begun to feel like a cross between American Psycho and Call my Bluff) fell through at the eleventh hour. Second choice has also disappeared (beaten to the post). However, our sale has now teetered to exchange (I won’t say more as I can feel a Jeremy Clarkson moment coming on).
The net result is that we will soon be homeless. And, sadly, the wettest June on record has dampened Jensen’s ardour for living in a tent. Somewhere in this, there’s a silver lining (like not being buried under a ton of clay in Cricklade High Street or having to deal with North Wilts’ answer to the Cosa Nostra). But it doesn’t feel like it, especially when Ian reminds me that this time last year it was sunny and I was sipping a dry Martini on Rue Cler.
But, as my favourite heroine says, tomorrow is another day. And, there may well be a late Eursostar deal in time for completion.