Ferretfingers has hated not being able to go away during this present unpleasantness.
In the
past we’ve hired cottages near my old home village in Wales at least once a
year (sometimes three) to see friends and family.
We usually go on weekend or midweek trips every
couple of months or so.
The boys have
been to the furthest ends of the British mainland, and lots of places in
between.
We had
intended to visit Glenridding in the Lake District last February.
But we spent a
fortnight in the trauma ward of our local infirmary instead because of his
broken ankle.
I have two answers to his frequent requests to go away: “No we can’t” and “Possibly, if we’re allowed to.”
Last night he asked “Glenridding in January?”
“No, it’s
too soon to book.”
“Next
year Glenridding on the 14th and 15th of February … if
we’re allowed.”
“And if someone
doesn’t break something” I added warningly.
He gave a
long loud low laugh.
With his communication disorder it’s hard to tell whether or not he understood the inference.
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