The Last Supper

We are shortly on the move yet again, meaning of course, that not only must we, alas, have to drink all the wine in the cellar, but I am not longer allowed to go shopping for food, as everything we need, according to Mr Kitchen, is available to us either dried (pasta) or frozen (something brown in a box). I suspect that by the time Monday night rolls round, we will be left with spag and Birds Custard.

The weather is dreadful, so we are spending the day arguing about doing the cleaning and packing. We have achieved lots (in the falling out areas), but not much actual physical "aren't our suitcases heavy?"-type areas.

And then I lost my wallet. Which ironically followed the day I lost my car-keys. Meaning I had to swallow my pride and go around exactly the same shops I had done the previously day, asking practically the same question. And what did I have in my wallet? No idea, I'm afraid. Certainly not much money, but probably the kind of cards it is a real pain to replace, for very little worth eg Co-op and Migros cards.