I got a call yesterday from young Jamie at the estate agents to say that the people that came to view the house last Friday had made an offer. After a little haggling we settled on a figure and so I hope it is done, for the second time of asking.
As ever, it's a question of waiting. I seem to be doing a lot of that again these days, including waiting for funeral directors to 'phone - it's all gone quiet since I got back from Puglia. I feel a like a prisoner in dad's little bungalow and that the new buyers are coming to spring me.
Peering out at the garden this evening I notice that the pear tree dad tried to kill with creosote has another bumper crop and that the wooden eagle that sits on plinth nearby has fallen in the strong winds and that its paint is beginning to peel. Hopefully I'll be gone before the fruit has ripened ...
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