Uncle Albert’s merchant navy past is but a speck of dust in a far off mote of memory, as he sits on the settee tending to the guinea pigs.
Here he is, getting to know Sandy and Phoebe, while they gaze adoringly into his beard, hopeful of a few tasty titbits from within its luxuriant curls.
We’ve had visitors, we are soon to receive more visitors, we have just the one bathroom (also contaning the only loo) and we’re considering installing a libre/occupe light system in the kitchen to save on wasted journeys up and down the stairs in the vain hope of being able to brush our teeth.
Hannah has taken to writing stories, and her current oeuvre is ten pages long.
It’s called The Adventurous Eight but already the original eight are down to seven, as one of them has been turned evil by a baddy.
Hannah informs me the story will be at least ten chapters long, so we’ve got a way to go yet.
She reads it out to us every now and then, and I would place its influences firmly between Enid Blyton and Harry Potter with perhaps a touch of Milly Molly Mandy.
Uncle Albert had never held guinea pigs before, but doesn’t he look at home with them?
I think I know what Santa will be bringing him later this year.