The sensation of a mounting pressure is palpable. MMIL is drunk with excited anticipation and bewilderment regarding the important matters of the conveyance. The bank survey has been completed and the 'yet-to-be-completed-report hovers over the game-board in search of it's place in the equation; once snuggled in, the whole firework display can illuminate the darkness of the preceding weeks of inactivity. The pressure is mounting and the accumulated tidal-wave will burst at any minute and we'll be dashing about to and fro discovering things floating away that we should have done in the lull.
Bless her, MMIL's been scuttling off to the tip with five binbags bags each time, admitting to not really knowing the precised contents - some bits of paper and stuff from that file, you know - 'tis best at this stage not enquire as the twice daily phone calls are a chore in themselves without prolonging.
The carpet and blinds for the Bung are in hand so the event that showed new growth back in the early Autumn, is positively blossoming, like the cherry trees around here, fooled by the False Spring. Pickfords are ready to receive instructions, next will be Wirral Council and the Charities! It will be soon enough to instruct MMIL NOT to order again from Sainsbury's Home Delivery. (Pickfords will be delighted to pack boxes of tinned tuns, and enough kitchen roll to cover Lords Cricket Ground).
A well, it's not quite time to un-cross limbs and digits; more like 'beware London busses' (3 at once)
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