We are now nearly into the fourth week of this third lockdown, with two weeks more to go.
Finding subjects to write about every day is becoming a wee bit difficult. The chances of me succeeding to fill out a further two weeks looks ominously hard-pressed.
Anyway, that's the good news.
Whilst awaiting inspiration from on high, I was stressing out a little. Not, I must say, about the blog, but about our long-lost home in the Wales. Many years ago, my dream was to finally retire from veterinary work and live in the Wye Valley. Some dreams come true, although this was not in the way I originally imagined.
Having one foot in France, I needed somewhere to live in the UK. Having been asked to expand our emergency services out towards Monmouth and Gloucester, living in the Wye Valley seemed a distinct possibility. We found the ideal house, a cottage perched on the side of the Wye Valley above a village called Llandogo.
It is a truly amazing place, with stunning views, if a little difficult to get to...
Well, life changes, viruses screw up all sorts of dreams. I have not seen the cottage for well over a year. Renting out as a holiday let in times of pandemic is not entirely a profitable enterprise. Thus, we have had to sell it, and this week the sale is meant to be completed. Except for the small matter of contacting busy solicitors in times of, you guessed it, pandemic.
So, whilst spending a frustrating day phoning hither and thither, what should tun up in my letter box but a surprise parcel.
Inside, a book printed in 1910:
Inside, 24 colour prints of the Wye Valley by Sutton Palmer, including this one of Llandogo:
How amazing is that? Some friends from the UK saw the book, thought of me, and sent it over, arriving on the very day I was stressing out over the sale. Wow. Phil & Claire. Stars. Thanks guys.
And I didn't even have to pay any import taxes! Thanks Boris!
So, I wonder, what amazing thing will happen tomorrow? Maybe sell the bloody cottage?
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