April is the month when both families come across to visit me – which explains the absence of posts. The Gillies left on Tuesday after ten days (of rather bracing, chilly and windy weather) and their place has been taken by the BPs, who are enjoying a much kinder, warmer, though shorter visit.
The Gillies came with their dog, Bramble, an affectionate but absolutely enormous cross between a retrieve and poodle. Her youthful exuberance and wish to be the top dog did not go down well for the ageing Poppy, so after a couple of difficult moments, I took her to have a peaceful holiday with Hans and Margaret.
Bramble’s presence also meant that whatever the weather, the family had to perforce take plenty of exercise. And even when they were not out walking, we braved the wind for exciting bouts of table tennis. Otto’s skill has leapt ahead dramatically and Willow is following suit. My place near the top of the family ping pong stakes has dropped accordingly and I reckon by the time I celebrate my 80th birthday next April I should be bottom of the Gillies table, though still somewhere on the BP list (reluctant late comers to this splendid sociable sport). My position in the family Monopoly Deal table is also not impressive.
Apart from missing Poppy, my only regret during the Gillies stay was that I did not have the time for gloomy post mortems with my friends of the first round of the presidential elections. I’ll have to make up for this in ten days time. Meanwhile the outcome is nail bitingly close; the possibility of victory by Le Pen is too awful to contemplate, even if the alternative is not exactly attractive.
The BPs are out on a walk, but sadly so far these have been gentle affairs by their standards, as Ed came back from their Morocco trip with a debilitating tummy bug. Actually both parents need a break from work, so the fact that all four are keen readers and compete for places on the loungers in the sun is no bad thing.
Meanwhile Poppy is back home and has asserted a place on Ed and Jude’s bed for much of the night. She has traditionally been allowed to pop up onto the foot of my bed for the last half an hour of the night. Recently she has been quietly trying to extend these boundaries. The consensus seems to be that given she is now an old(ish) lady of nearly 13 years (suffering from arthritis – after all, she is my dog… ) and now a bit traumatised after Bramble’s visit, she should be allowed to creep further onto the bed.
“Traumatised”. Ah yes, my use of that word causes much hilarity amongst the young. It turns out that the whole family except for me pronounces this with an ‘aw’ first syllable, whereas I have always pronounced it with an ‘ow’ syllable. Initial research on the internet suggests that I am in an almost global minority of one (apart from some southern American states, where they don’t really pronounce their words such as ‘caught’ like the rest of the English speaking world). I am baffled. Did I pick this up from my mother (who sometimes had a fairly idiosyncratic pronunciation style)? Or is it a generation thing, and I am the last of the dinosaurs to still (mis)pronounce the word?
