Beloved is back: for the moment. He has to go back to London for tests in a few weeks - nothing serious seems likely, but all has to be checked out. It's called ageing, that sort of thing. Granny has to be grateful, she supposes, that unlike him, unlike many of her friends, she has no such symptoms apart from the odd creak, she takes no battery of pills, no pills at all in fact other than the odd vitamin. She does have, of course, that fatal familial disease ever lurking in the background - she only has to touch the empty space on her right hand side to remind herself about that - if she's not reminded by the periodic itches from one or other part of the scar. On the whole she thinks she prefers this to the arthritis, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, etc, etc, the battery of pills. Especially as she's escaped the worst of the dread disease so far. Down at the swimming pool the other day she was wriggling under her towel, trying to dress herself without revealing all to the world, when a very jolly hockey-sticks English voice said 'I don't suppose anyone would mind if some bits did show.' 'It's not the bits that are there,' replied Granny, 'It's the scar where one bit was.' There was silence. 'Jolly bad luck,' the voice came back at last. Angela Brazil still lives, obviously, even down at La Santa sports centre. The madcap of Lanzarote was left to dress and go home in peace not a single bit revealed. ('Jolly good show.')
The return of Beloved reminds Granny of other semantic matters. When he cooks he shouts peremptorily, "Dishing-up,' and proceeds to dump the full plates on the table. Granny on the other hand cries, "Breakfast/lunch/dinner's ready,' and waits for him and whoever else to appear. She too can get cross if her call is ignored too long, her food allowed to spoil/get cold, but she does realise that sometimes sentences have to be finished, ablutions attended to etc etc before people can attend. She and Beloved discuss these distinctions, more or less amicably; so far no conclusion has been reached.
No serious rain here yet. The inadequate lot they have had was dried up by last weeks easterly winds and resultant heat wave. The locals wait to plant. The chickens don't lay. Oh well.