I loved the weekends. Andy and Gilly would often arrive first, making it up to our house in a fraction of the time that it took Ian, more than likely because Andy drove like he was racing in the Dakar Rally. The grandchildren would always spend a lot of time with us and usually be driven home after our Sunday evening roast. This was a time of chatter, hide and seek, exploration, and baking. Our old house buzzed with activity, right down to the canal and beyond. In the afternoons it would smell of meat and mint sauce, and we would finish the weekend with a chocolate cake. While I was usually involved in most of the children’s games, Harold would sit quietly, engrossed in his newspaper, or a library book from his weekly stack. The man read like there was no tomorrow.
I just love these.