I am going through the usual antics in working out what clothes and things to take. My daughters have cautioned me to bring a small bag, as the cars will be full of stuff and we will all be very squashed. So I have done my best to comply. The bag is small (but it is now heavy). Some wool and crochet has been squashed in, as I cannot be expected to sit around idly. And I have remembered to pack a couple of jars of quince jelly. This is usually a popular move.
On Sunday I chopped some quinces, and put them on to simmer, so as to make more jelly. Alas, the telephone rang while they were simmering, and we talked at length, and it was not until I sniffed odour of burning quinces that I remembered the saucepan. It was a waste of good quinces, and it took some time and effort to remove all the burnt stuff from the pan. In future I must concentrate better.
Before I go to the airport I am to see the physiotherapist, and discover how well the arm is going, and whether I will need new pressure garments. It all gets a bit tedious. It is five months since this condition recurred.
I return on Monday, in time to go to the midyear production by the Pinchgut Opera company, of an opera by Salieri called The Chimney Sweep. This is the first time that this company is putting on two productions in a year, which all Pinchgut fans joyfully and heartily applaud, as all their performances have been uniformly excellent. So I must make sure I do not miss my return flight.
Last night dear friends took me out to dinner to celebrate my forthcoming birthday, and to give me practical instructions in packing lightly. We had an excellent time, and wonderful food. No wonder my mood resembles a rosy glow.
Before I leave, I must play Purcell's Chorus of Cold People, from his King Arthur. It has some excellent shivering in it. Better get in the mood....