The Dottie

I tried to write on here this morning, when I had 1 hour and 27 minutes until 'the dottie's' arrival. (The 'dottie' is my daughter Cat, so named by my school's French caretaker who, after over thirty years in Guernsey, still speaks his own uniquely accented English. He needs a whole blog post all to himself. At least.) But my dear husband had started a scan on my computer – which took a couple of hours rather than the twenty minutes he had envisaged – and then the internet decided to go slow. Very slow. After it took several minutes just to load one page, I decided to abandon the attempt.

So, several hours later, and she is home. Exhausted: up most of the night travelling after going to the annual church ball, getting down to Gatwick by coach. Then, several cups of coffee later, the flight to Guernsey. Unpacking, then reorganising her room, took some time, as did more cups of coffee with homemade Guernsey gache, lunch, and catch up.

Now she is crashed out, asleep. The house is as quiet as if she was still away. But it is so good to have her back.