The boy began clattering around at 3 o’clock this morning. I went in to see what the problem was. Wide awake, HRH looked me in the eye, in his unflinching, autistic way (they taught him eye contact at school, which is wonderful… and slightly unnerving when he’s in full Royal Highness mode), and demanded a new pair of pyjamas. He then lay in bed muttering (loudly) at how horrible and unreasonable Mummy is for being
livid slightly miffed at this request. Little Tink heard what was going on, hopped out of bed, fetched a clean pair, waved them at me for me to take, then hopped back to bed, without a word. Bless her. What a sweetie.
Anyway, now I am packing, in an attempt at getting ready to move in a fortnight’s time. And of course I am totally in control, super-organised and positively overflowing with the joy of the Lord. Hallelujah.
Yes, I’m slightly panicking. But we have a house, and a removals company. So far so good.
As a result of my magnificent efforts, the girls’ room is in a teensy bit of disarray. I am trying to sort out all their stuff. I never knew my girls had so many clothes. We could open a shop. It’s shameful! Oh well. The charity shop will be thrilled when I turn up with a dozen bags of clothes.
E. M. Forster on Radio 4 Extra is a lifeline at times like these 😉