Today, September 26, was supposed to be the day my son, Tristan, was finally moving into his own home. This would mean I'd be able to remove his excess boxes from my new home and return the beloved Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet superstar, to him.
Alas, nothing seems to have changed. All I get is that the finalisation of the house sale, "Is in the hands of the solicitors...." This means that I may still have to get up at 4:30 A.M. and drive him to work from his mother's place. There is no public transport at that time. The house he's trying to move into is close to his work. My responsibilities of being a chauffeur were hopefully ending. Now, I just don't know.
I'm exhausted and getting very frustrated that I've little time to interact with you. My son is frustrated and who can blame him.
I do know how much I'm going to savour actually blogging again. Please don't give up on me. In the meantime, here's a test pattern to stare at. Thank you. If you see Monty Python, tell him I've got a script almost ready.
