The next morning however was absolutely gorgeous. Hot and golden by 7am, and positively baking by 8am when we turned up at our new home to meet Eeyore and take possession. We found the farmer, who for some days had had both our money and our keys, hurling mattresses out of a first floor window into a tractor drawn trailer like some latter-day Gabriel Oak. The builders we had hired to paint the kitchen and one bedroom for the baby were there too, as was the Vendor’s ex-wife, and quite a few extras who just seemed to be having a look – it was chaos, and I didn’t have a clue where to start. In a lull in proceedings I rang Eeyore and apologised for being entirely wrong. I stood on the edge of the ha-ha and looked back at the house, and then back at the astonishing view across fields and hedges to the horizon and told Eeyore that he was right. For the first time in our entire life together, he was right and I had been wrong. And that although the house clearly came with baggage and complications, this was the second best decision he had ever made – after, of course, the one where he finally agreed to marry me.