Flies in ointments

In the near future, The Boys and I will be on a plane heading back to the UK for a week. I usually manage to make it back there at least once every two and a half months or so - almost before I even have a chance anything - but it will have been nearly 14 weeks between visits this time and so I've had a little longer than usual to feel the absence of 'Home' in my life.

It's OK, though. Before I start getting carried away about the prospects of politeness in shops, hosts of golden daffodils, Waitrose, M&S Food, London in spring time, the lush countryside, lambs gamboling in the fields, lamb on my plate (I tried to buy some lamb for a casserole I was planning for 10 people yesterday but lost my nerve when I realised that the meat would have cost me nearly $100...), and street signs I can read in less than 4 seconds, I see that the powers that be have dropped a few flies in the ointment to make sure I don't get too over-excited.

For example, whilst the weather gods have been blessing Blighty with blazing sunshine over the last few days, the forecast is that the temperature will drop back to around 11 or 12degC in honour of our visit. And then there is the current fuss and commotion over the potential of the Unite trade union calling out the drivers of petrol tankers (currently delivering to 90% of the UK's petrol stations) on strike, just around the time we are planning on picking up our hire car to start our whistle-stop tour of hard-to-reach friends and relatives around southern England.

Not forgetting of course the fact that the connecting flight from Moscow to London which Husband organised for the Boys and I in an effort to save cash, and which he expressly promised at the time of booking I would not under any circumstances have to take on my own after last time (as in, without him) proved - by the time he got around to organising his own ticket - to have no availability left.

All together now; 'There'll be blue skies over, the white cliffs of Dover...'