WH has just left for a week working in London as he does periodically. All is peace and calm after the last three days of the television turned up loud, music blaring from the CD player, and noisy, animated and frequent phone calls. The holdall, resident in the centre of the lounge since Thursday, has gone. The padded shirt, spilling saw dust and plaster at every turn, has resumed its' rightful place in the back of the builder's van. Three pairs of boots, left under chairs, in doorways and in strangely singular isolation have been gathered up, re-partnered and removed. Catalogues, price lists and scruffy drawings on scraps of paper have gone too, leaving their posher relatives, the VAT receipts, on the desk to be filed. The newspapers are tidied and put in their righful place. The TV controller is by the TV where it can be found easily, no hunts down the side of the sofa this week.
Within ten minutes of the van driving off round the corner all is peace, quiet and tidy. The five of us remaining are silent until Friday when it will all explode again. Malmesley and Misty enjoy the empty bed and lie in the warmth of the morning sun knowing they can sleep undisturbed all week. Nelson looks for his temporary bed in the holdall then scarpers to play with his brother next door. Only Goggins, sad to see his hero depart, sinks glummly into the sofa, to a warm and wood-chip scented spot, where he waits in abject misery until he can share this place once again.
As for me, I enjoy my week of doing what I want, when I want; sleeping, eating and generally revelling in the luxury of being alone, just me and the 4 cats.
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