I have got another horrible cold and my breathing really hurts. On Saturday morning I woke up feeling sorry for myself after a very bad night. Robbie was away 'plating trains' so I rang him to remind him that I want to be cremated not buried! The they had made a very early start and rail tour was well under way heading toward Blackpool, Robbie was concerned that I felt rotten and he offered to come home. I gratefully accepted his offer and he was left stuttering and spluttering trying to think of a convincing reason why he couldn't come home. I didn't really expect him to come home, but I couldn't resist making him squirm. I dosed myself up and got on with my jobs which included taking Sam to his friend's party and doing some food shopping. The party was at a go carting circuit which must be run by the secret services because it is so badly signposted that we couldn't find it and everybody was half an hour late.
I spoke to Robbie later on Saturday evening and he assured me that he would get home as quickly as he could in the morning because he was worried about me. Sunday morning dawned and by 10am I still had not heard from him so I rang him, he said he had just woken up and he was sitting up in bed enjoying a cup of coffee. He told me that he would be on his way home after breakfast. By 3pm I was starting to wonder when he would be back, I rang again and he said he had just finished his breakfast and was having a coffee – he hadn't even started his journey! He finally got home at about 7pm and he was still talking about his wonderful breakfast – what is it about Robbie that makes everyone want to feed him? On the way back from the station we needed to stop for fuel, it had been raining and when stopped the car the wipers were not straight, Robbie protested loudly, he couldn't possibly refuel a car with wonky wipers! He sat there arms folded demanding that I should straighten the wipers, I didn't and he muttered and moaned all through the refuling and payment process.
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