Day Twenty Eight

Furrgus 

It was sleep in Sunday, while we took advantage of the opportunity Mrs. T was still a bit under the weather.

So it will be off to her doctor tomorrow to get some better medicine.

After her breakfast she called her parents in Dublin. 

She will be off to visit them at the end of the week.

This is where Miss Poppy’s role as 2 IC was unquestioned, which leaves a bit of a power vacuum I must admit.

None of use want that particular responsibility let me tell you. 

But the other freezer has been stuffed with easy to make dinners, so perhaps he will not starve. Perhaps.

Whenever Mrs. T was off in Ireland Miss Poppy alway succeeded in lobbying for egg rolls. 

The crunchy ends were her special delight. 

Niamh and Miss Tarryn stayed at Miss Sach’s apartment last night as she needed serious moral support.

Last night she had to give her, now ex-boyfriend, his walking papers and the ladies rallied around to prevent any second thoughts. 

But the upside was that they all arrived here at lunchtime.

And made a full Sunday breakfast, pancakes, sausages, bacon, whipped cream and maple syrup. 

We would have joined them, but we had already over indulged ourselves with the Wild Oat’s delicious omelettes. 

Uncle Dugal accompanied us as he is boycotting church services as Mister Kirk is no long playing the organ.

We suspect that the music was the only reason he went; as he habitually exited before if not during the sermon. 

So it being a beautiful day he let the church roil away in the problems of it own making. 

So when we returned home we were all too stuffed to even contemplate a single sausage, or a scrap of bacon. Unfortunately. 

Mrs. T had to go her downtown office to retrieve some papers she needed for tomorrow.

And Mr. T retired to the den to watch the Formula One race. 

All the young ladies went downstairs to Niamh’s bedroom to keep Miss Sach on the straight and narrow. 

Then it was homework time so Miss Niamh’s friends went to their own homes. 

We decided a long nap would help with our digestion. 

This insight is the result of years of over indulging let me tell you.

Uncle Dugal holds the restaurant in the Raffels hotel to be totally responsible for his deficit of self control.

That and an uncontested Foreign Office expense account.

Easy to blame a restaurant 5 thousand miles away I do say. 

Personally I blame decades of field rations, but who is to say. 

After Mr. and Mrs. T had dinner Uncle Dugal got the Mahjong tiles out. 

See my previous reference to the Raffles Hotel.

And then Mr. and Mrs. T went into the den to try to solve yet another detective story. 

We reminded Dugal about the no money rules. Yet again.