We were very busy today. It was our penultimate day at the house, filling final boxes, cleaning ancient architraves, moving beds around and, of course, having a final visit to Geranium Cottage for a delicious lunch – the coconut prawns were amazing. Actually, I told the waitress that they were glorious and she laughed hysterically. Not one of my better lines but it worked.
The weather was lovely – it’s actually started to warm up – which was a good thing because, having Archie with us, meant we had to sit outside.
Fi and I also indulged in the Eton mess which was awful. Awful big, that is, and far too nice.
Later in the day, before the sun vanished, Mirinda and Fi took Archie for a final walk around Fagan Park while I did a few final things around the house. Of course, we didn’t need tea so Mirinda and Fi had soup. I had beer and saos.
As we’ve been getting rid of paperwork from the house, I’ve insisted that we collect together anything identifying in order to burn it. Names, addresses, locations of the bodies, etc, the usual sort of thing one needs to destroy. It has sat, piling gradually higher in the fireplace. And tonight was the conflagration.
We celebrated with true campfire hours, sitting around in the furniture-less room, bathed in the light from the flames. Fi took this photo and sent it to Lauren and Jason.
I think it looks like a crime scene photo where I’ve been stabbed with the blunt end of a beer bottle, next to a dead dog. It’s clear the killer is still in the room.
Jason, living in his single man flat, responded to the photograph saying “How the turns have tabled!” a reference to his own lack of furniture up to a little while ago. His minimalism was admirable. Ours has been forced upon us.
Tomorrow will be our last Dural day. It will be a bit sad, I think.
