I experienced disturbed dreams where the National Trust had a starring role. I’m not really sure what was going on. It also seemed to be to do with walking H on their property.
Anyway, I woke up feeling shattered and not looking forward to the packing up ritual or the journey. But I also was looking forward to being home.
I lost count of the number of times that I rescued various hotel artefacts from T’s clutches. He had taken a particular fancy to the dog bed they supplied. But so had Heidi.
It was pouring with rain so it was a quick early dash up the alleyway for H and myself and then a nagging to get T operational. I can no longer ask him to pick up a carrier bag by the wardrobe because he does not understand carrier bag or wardrobe. This renders him totally helpless. Or maybe hapless. It was the same with emptying the car once we arrived home. He couldn’t identify carrier bags or front passenger seat. Nor could he distinguish between wardrobe and floor. Eg carrierbag on the floor beside the wardrobe gets completely lost in translation. He even says he does not know what I’m talking about.
After brekkie and settling the bill, we trundled our bags down the road and set off to Dunster Beach where H had a crap and a canter. The sea was in so she had to take care to avoid wet paws. But found a little friend to annoy.
Since the weather was so awful, we decided to head home. We were encased in a snake like queue that moved very slowly from Minehead to Bridgewater.
Bridgewater has to be the biggest dump in the UK. It is consists of light to heavy industrial areas, traffic lights, tarmac, houses and not much else that I could see. It’s even worse than Northampton.
And that is hard!
My eyes felt heavy on the drive so we ‘enjoyed’ a couple of rest breaks. We listened to Classic FM on the way home because Music soothes T. It consisted of the Classic FM top 100 (From 100 down to 50) with lots of memorable pieces – Greensleeves, Dambusters, young persons guide to the orchestra are but a few.
From Minehead to Bristol, the drive was unbearably slow. However, once past Bristol, things livened up and we were quickly home.
An Illi (?Dave) had cut the grass for which I am very grateful. I believe George was involved in the grass cutting too. Whoever did it , it was a huge relief.
The remains of the afternoon was a typical summer afternoon dull and grey. And it poured with rain. I’m almost at screaming pitch at the relentlessly awful weather. I know summer officially starts in June… but just to be able to sit outside would be nice.
It is Tuesday – more weird dreams last night.
I hope Charles does become more political than his mother. A sort of ‘Not in my name’ political – viz Johnson and Rwanda, if true.
Our stay at Luttrell Arms was lovely, in such a pretty village; top marks for room, food, staff, comfort. Weather – awful; T – tricky.
Thought for the Day
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