Can I be still tired nearly a week after arriving back from my holiday? It seems that way, might have something to do with fetching my Mum over to Clifton to see the neighbours house, exactly like ours but a better finish, largely due to the chap living there, he’s got engineers hands. So Mum wants to live there, with colourful feature walls and parrot wallpaper in the garden room, if she does move in I will be rather jealous and the garden bar has the properties to attract a mate; which I really couldn’t stand I don’t think.

I spent the 3 days left in the second half of last week, the English part as opposed to the Turkish half, smiling like a demented clown as I realised I have very little to offer Mum in terms of things to keep her occupied, she seems content just to sit down and look at the view, which on reflection I have been known to do myself when a quiet moment materialises.

Brother S came over to the Tap House this weekend with about 20 other folk, including children and dogs, he bought his mixing desk and as the tunes flowed the drinks were drunk and inhibitions dissipated, and all the while the Sun warmed our backs as Mrs T and I and our friends L and J hoped to magic a  fictional taxi back home. Which ultimately didn’t happen and under the cover of darkness l drove us back at about 2am. It’s no wonder I’m so bloody tired.