I am coming home early from Boulder. I don’t have any faith in the way the Coronavirus is being managed over here, and I’m concerned that the longer I leave the return flight, the more chance there is that I could catch it on the journey home. Plus there is so much uncertainty in the near future, that Hepworth Towers feels like the best place to be.
I shall be so sad to leave behind all the love and the fun and the cuddles, but my instinct is nevertheless to go home tomorrow instead of next Wednesday.
In the meantime I am packing in as many sunny bike rides as possible while the girls are at school, with views like this:
as many margaritas with Wendy as possible,
and as much time as possible spent with the girls when they’re at home. I might even read them their chapter of Harry Potter tonight. The family are half way through the first HP book, and at the girls’ request I read them a chapter last week. I’ve added it to the list of things I have done for grandchildren that I would do for no one else. I LOVE reading to them, but Harry Potter is not my bag. Noggin the Nog is, however, and I’ve just introduced the girls to the delights of the stories on YouTube. The animation is so basic in the context of TV and cinema today that it adds to the charm and hilarity.
We all watched the original Railway Children for Saturday’s family movie night. When Bobbie was peering through the smoke on the platform at the end of the film, both girls said ‘It’s her dad!’ before we could see him. I was surprised they guessed, and asked them how they knew. It was the music, they said, and the slowing down of the action. It fascinates me that they are so attuned to cinematic story telling at the ages of 7 and 9. They didn’t cry, though, as I did. That will come.