Yesterday I wrote a long lament about Chelsea after watching their not-so-friendly against Arsenal (the best part - actually the only good part - being that I watched the match with the same two people who started me on premier league a year ago - one a Chelsea fan, the other Arsenal) but I realized this afternoon that I never hit the publish button. Whoops.
Oh well. You wouldn't have liked it much anyway. Yes Chelsea's lack of offense is troubling but did any of you need to read my 600 words on the subject? No.
We are back at Tyler Place so apart from watching football I have done nothing but eat bacon and read - I am now on book three about Anne of Green Gables and I still have another 20 hours left to go, per my kindle. Did they tack Moby Dick onto the end of it? How much more Anne can there possibly be?
Patrick is a teen now (both in the fact that he is a teenager and he is in the Teen group) so we have given him permission to go where and when he will around the property; with the unforeseen consequence being that last night at eleven I had absolutely no idea where he was. More than anything I just wanted to go to bed but it occurred to me that although it was improbable that he had broken his neck riding his bike home, it was not impossible.
So after another convivial evening (it late here - good grief. how mortifying) I found myself in the dark, wandering around dozens of acres of trees and cottages hissing "Patrick!" at all of the places I thought might contain a cluster of rogue teens.
I finally located him and a few friends whispering cozily on the trampolines and the surprise with which he greeted the news that I thought he should probably be back at the cottage and in bed was so genuine that I think we might have been a little vague in explaining the extent of his new freedoms. Staying at all night not being one of them.
On the plus side I found him fairly easily. Caroline would have been in Canada.