chairs-1834393_960_720Conversation at supper that night was more strained than it had been of late.  At least there was some conversation mind – usually he came home, collapsed, ate, slept, shouted at the news, slept, got up and came to bed.  This evening however, even he got the message that there were Things I Had to Say, and Things he Had to Hear, and there was a full and frank discussion of the financial implications of what he had done, the logistics of a possible move given that D (delivery) Day was fast approaching, and a gnawing at the knotty issue of whether or not to move No1 child from his boarding school given that the house it seemed we were about to buy was a good 21/2 hours from it, etc.  Nearly hysterical I was finally levered up the stairs and put to bed, pretty much on the promise (he denies it now) that we wouldn’t get it anyway, and that all this angst would prove to have been pointless.



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