Douglas Spencer (dougs) wrote,
Douglas Spencer

Last weekend

Friday night, I got into my car -- the old, knackered, 140,000-mile one -- and drove to Devon, two hundred miles. I arrived at my mother's, ate, and went to sleep.
Saturday we went shopping -- into Bideford, where we successfully chose carpet for mum's living room, and booked the chap to come and measure for the fitting. Thirteen feet by seventeen, about six hundred quid.
After this, we went to Barnstaple, where we completely failed to find appropriate shelving for her books ("Spur" system, in brown).
Back to Appledore and I then delivered the knackered car to my brother's house, where his son, the apprentice mechanic, is just learning to drive. Big smiles all round. My brother showed me his brand new lorry and I promised to show him my brand new car next time I was down.
Saturday evening, down the road to a pub we'd not been to before, the Thatched Inn in Abbotsham, for Old Speckled Hen and a steak and kidney pie. Mother had Cider and fish.
Sunday morning off to Alwington Methodist Church, which is nowhere near Alwington, where mother is conducting the 11 am service. Finishing there at twelve, we are due in Feltham at four PM, a little over 220 miles, which we just manage, arriving with about two minutes to spare for the second service of the day. Perhaps if I'd been driving instead of Mother we'd have had three minutes spare instead of two.
As we approach Feltham, I say to Mother, "Are we just punters tonight, or are you doing part of the service?". She assures me that we are off-duty, but somehow she finds herself called upon to say grace before the bun fight which follows the service.
Having left home at about seven on Friday night, I arrive home at about eight on Sunday night. Busy? no more so than usual -- I think I get more rest during a convention.

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