Fiona's Quiet Life

a grand­son asked me recently if the title of my blog is irony, after this week­end i can see why he should think so.

spent Thursday with grand­son, Fri­day morn­ing col­lec­ted Brother from Queen St. sta­tion, he was over from Den­mark to go to Strath­clyde university/ Jordanhill col­lege 75 th. anniversary. It was a two day event so i delivered him at the beau­ti­ful build­ing in the after­noon of fri­day. Sat­urday we hunted down tas­sells ( in Buchanan St ) for his shoe laces as he was attend­ing the din­ner in full high­land dress.….….……215 dishy PE teach­ers in kilts. mean­while him upstairs was hav­ing a party on Sat­urday night ( 8 till late ).….….…..he wanted it to be a joint one again but i was ambi­val­ent, he worked out why that was , i.e. the last party we did that for was Basil’s sur­prise 80^th.….…..so it was just an upstairs party, any­way it turned out in con­ver­sa­tion with one of the guests that he and his par­ents had been patients of Basil and he hadn’t made the con­nec­tion dur­ing the birth­day party and hadn’t gone in to Basil’s room to see him …a bit sad but it was prob­ably bet­ter for him to remem­ber Basil as a great doc­tor. Gor­don joined the upstairs party hav­ing arrived abso­lutely sober by taxi from the din­ner , then he and a guy called John talked very enthu­si­ast­ic­ally about cricket.….….….just like he did all my childhood.….great aunt Euphemia banned the word cricket when we vis­ited her.

then this morn­ing Gor­don and i had to be up at 5 a.m. so that I could drive him to Edin­burgh air­port to get his plane back home.…the red sheep are still on the grass pyramids.

i had all the sheets and tow­els washed and dried out­side in the sun by the time he phoned me from home.
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