Mandela’s Wall, Kitchens are Where The Heart Is, and Caught With Your Pants Down.

Mandela’s Wall, namely the magnificent rebuilding of the garden wall shared with our brave uncomplaining and very poorly neighbour was finished last week. It was truly a labour of love, as was the life of its namesake. It was completed by two heroic men in the face of atrocious weather and many other adverse conditions, but they stuck it out and there it is and it will stand any future hurricanes like the one that blew it down. We found this little bronze Buda in the foundations of the original and it is to him that we offer many prayers to “Diana, truly the goddess of love.

Below you will see a picture of my divine cleaning assistant flanked by her husband and their assistant. They opened a kitchen shop in Tooting, it is wonderful, so if you need a new kitchen go up on all the marble is sourced in India hence the flavour of the photo. Really I felt quite embarrassed by our own recent improvements of which we are inordinately proud on our return. The new open shelving looked very last year.

The day after this opening I went to see my daughter and needed to (what is known in my generation) spend a penny urgently. Rushing to the small room I sank onto the seat with a sigh of relief. This nice feeling was instantly ruined by a sensation that my bladder must have developed a terrible kind of fissure as I was sitting in a pool of warm liquid most of which had gone on the floor and my rather nice new trousers. Leaping to my feet I find that one of my grandsons had put cling film all over the bowl. The worst thing about it was that the whole family were complicit in this as they had realized what he had done the previous day, and deliberately avoided using that loo to spite him. Of course they all looked a bit sheepish, and as for him he looked like the cat that got the cream. But he should watch his back it’s not over yet, not by any means

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