Sunday 21^st April

Morning

06:00 - Jolly Molly's up and banging about. 

The wash basin joins in with a resonant gurgle that starts after five minutes of being drained. 

I suffer these noises for two hours - then choose to appear for breakfast at 08:30. She's waiting for her baby, making sure he gets enough to eat.

Jolly Molly has invited friends over for Sunday Afternoon Tea. 

Jolly Molly says everything's ready. "I prepared it all before we drove over. We need a quart of milk" [That's 1.13l]

"Buying food on a Sunday! What an evil thin to make me do!" I complain.

"But we need these things for our visitors!" she pleads.

The local Tesco's obliges. I also buy some fresh food, ensuring we have an edible menu option for our guests.

Sudeley Castle

We drive to Sudeley Castle for our midday meal.

Sudeley Castle meets with Jolly Molly's approval - especially when I park close to the restaurant. The food on offer suits her well - bacon and cheese snacks and coffee are fine. It's a pleasure to be able to sit outside in shirt sleeves. Summer is coming!

I spend the bright sunny afternoon walking around the grounds. Cromwell vandalised a some of the structure: only parts of the main hall and tithe barn remain.

Visitors

16:00 and Jolly Molly's friend Marjory arrives with her daughter Elizabeth. Lots of reminiscences. They were both young teachers working together at the beginning of World War 2. We all enjoy tea in the sun room.

Jolly Molly has prepared the meal. It was actually prepared a couple of days previously. The meal includes tinned puke, sold as tinned potato salad. Is this the 3rd year this has been sprung on me? Anyway her visitors and I all shun the yellow mush. The fruit salad prepared 3 days before has begun to ferment.

Elizabeth and I plan suitable excursions for Jolly Molly for the rest of the week. Elizabeth is also aware of the limitations of an elderly parent.

Jolly Molly complains to Marjory that all her friends at the sheltered accommodation are dying like flies, and some more will have gone by the time she gets back there.

"What do you expect if you live in a place like that!" Marjory replies with brutal honesty. We young ones snigger.

We enjoy coffee, and the visitors escape.

From Stockwell Common, near Cleeve Hill, I watch the sun set in peace.