A real grandchild

Today Michael came out to Farnham for a visit. Mum wanted to see him before she goes back to Oz.

Okay, she literally saw him from the bus yesterday as we drove passed the bar he works in but she was hoping to talk to him as well.

Originally we’d thought he could come out to the house and I’d cook something nutritional like ham, egg and chips but, mainly because it’s a bit of a phaff, we thought it would be easier to meet him at the station then go to a pub for lunch. Which is what we did.

Of course, mum was quite keen to revisit the Wheatsheaf so that’s where we headed and took the first seats of their lunch sitting.

In a clear demonstration of the pubs popularity, it didn’t take long before a steady stream of diners started wandering through. We arrived at just gone 12. An hour later you’d have been hard pressed to find a table.

Actually that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Suffice it to say there were others there apart from us.

Mum decided to have the giant plate of peas and bacon again, half of which she was forced to leave. I had a delicious house burger and Michael went for a pulled pork chiabatta.

We had a jolly good natter before heading out for a wander to help our meals go down. Half, in mum’s case.

Mum wanted to print off some photos which meant visiting Boots after which we sort of wandered aimlessly before reaching St Andrews church where I forced them both to admire the Pugin window.

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It was a lovely day improved only by the appearance of Mirinda, home early in her new, super bright, funky, self designed Nikes.

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