September 17th, 1989

September 17th, 1989

At home

Very funny sight this morning watching Kimberly attempting to squeeze her tiny frame into the back seat of Carl’s brother’s two-seater sports car, all because his suitcase was wedged in the front. As small as Kimberly is, she was totally squashed and I swear by the time they got to Heathrow, she’d be in desperate need of a Chiropractor!

Carl and I were outside witnessing the comic events unfold and when his brother pulled away, Carl and I cracked up laughing. In Carl’s best Brooke Shields impersonation, he breathed, “Nothing comes between me and my Samsonite.”

When I got home three hours later (didn’t expect it to take that long on a Sunday) mum and dad were in the living room.

“There’s post in the kitchen for ye,” mum said.

“Did you enjoy the party?” Dad asked.

“It was great fun, I’m glad I was able to be there.”

“Aye it’s no easy flying round the world is it?” he laughed.

“Well, you know,” I said in an exaggerated tone.

“Want me to grab your post for ye?”

“Mum, I take it from your, let’s say, enthusiasm, that it’s from David.”

“That’s you caught, Liz,” dad said, laughing.

Mum’s attempt at keeping a straight face failed.

“I’m off to Harry’s for dinner later,” dad said. “D’ye fancy going?”

I looked at mum. “I cannae go,” she said. “I’ve got a meeting at the church.”

“Yeah, dad, I’ll go with you. I wonder what Harry will cook.”

“Well you know whatever it is, it’ll be smashing,” mum said.

“Oh aye and Janice and Terry’ll be there as well.”

“Great,” I said, “I haven’t seen them for ages. Mum, will you remind me to take the t-shirt I bought in Bermuda for Suzi? I hope it fits her, it said eight to ten years on the label.”

“Aye, I’ll remind ye. So are ye going to open your post now?” Mum asked.

“Yes ma’am,” I said, heading for the kitchen. “Allow me to put you out of your misery.”

Mum followed me into the hall. “Did anyone ring?” I asked as we passed the phone.

“Aye, Pamsy and Sebastian did.”

“How are they?”

“Aye, good. Pamsy said she hopes you can go back down soon.”

“What did Sebastian want?”

“He wanted to see if you could go to a party in London with him.”

“Oh, when?”

“Last night.”

“Aw, what a shame.”

In the kitchen, mum handed me an airmail letter and a postcard. On the left hand corner of the envelope, David had written his name and address. The postcard had a picture of the lions in Trafalgar Square and on the back, he’d written, “Wish we were there…again! I love going to London with you xxx”

Ah, I love it too.


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