A few months ago when the idea of the family helping Sam and Julie to move was mooted, I said yes great if I feel well enough and here we are now back in home number 2 in South West France having successfully moved them lock, stock and barrel, although the barrel was empty by the time we left. I felt perfectly fit, relatively perfectly fit that is. And while I can't say I did that much to contribute to the move, on Day 2 when I got up and straightened a few books, plumped a few cushions and picked up a scrap of paper, Joe got the vac out and voila the room was transformed into a thing of beauty. It is a beautiful house, all wood panelling and Minton tiled floors, ceiling roses and those enormous double doors you see in bourgeois French houses.
Harry and Danny tazzed around it with great joi de vivre making us all imagine the twins doing the same thing in a couple of years time. Although two years seems an enormous stretch for poor time limited me. As Jess and Julie filled the bookcases on Saturday night to much banter and hilarity, and as my boys who used to spend hours talking about the relative merits of amps or cry baby wa wa pedals discussed drill bits with their father with equal enthusiasm, I imagined this all going on without me there. After all what did I contribute? - very little other than the odd quip or giggle so maybe it will all continue and not be ripped apart. And maybe, just maybe I will be well enough to go and help Julie when the twins arrive and be there when they career around the lovely hall and through the gorgeous doors and send all our hearts to our collective mouths as they make their attempt on the summit of the two sets of stairs.