Joan, my wife, comes home

Joan, my wife, comes home in the morning (0200) from five weeks away in London, Ireland, Scotland and bits of Europe. I’ve been washing, ironing, mopping, shopping (buying flowers – yeh, I know -snivelling, but I did miss her) and now I can really appreciate my father going those extra yards 50 odd years ago to find the Y-Chromosome to kick me off. Both daughters have left London and are heading home, albeit slowly. All five kinder should be home for my birthday next month – on the periphery of terrorism rather than the centres. I’ll be busy tomorrow – no blogging.