It’s Downton! HOORAY!

Second series. Already a pageturner, if that’s the phrase for a classy TV serial like this. I am simultaneously watching, thinking about the day ahead and warming my tootsies by the fire. It’s cold here!

I just went up to tuck Rowan in and he was flat on his back, snoring, with his head under his pillow. Gave me quite a turn until I heard the stentorian nasal stylings issuing forth. He’s grown so much over the Summer that he’s shot out of all his trousers. Either they pop open over his tummer-tum like he’s Tom Kitten, or his ankles shoot forth from his cuffs like Leon the Assassin. In size 7-8 and he’s but 5. Must be all the grubbles I’m pouring down his maw – but he’s so full of sunshine and laughter, and good humour, and vitality. Growing fat on fun! He told me this evening that he’s die if I couldn’t be his mummy always. I don’t know where he hears these things – and possibly a five-year-old could have less morbid fancies – but I love them. I’ve never been as close to another human being as I am to him. Regarding what he said, I believe the boot to be firmly on the other foot.

M has come a cropper this afternoon – slipped on top of the Saracen when he was trying to close the top hatch in a pissing rainstorm and has fallen badly and scraped himself all over, banged his head and goodness knows what else. He’s a superman in many if not most respects but against the forces of nature, well – you see the result!! I have him tucked up in bed also – it’s like sardines up there – all in their serried ranks like fish in a tin – and he’s sending up zeds like a good’un. I worry about him so. He’s so fearless and punishes himself so remorselessly in a physical sense. He makes me very happy. He’s truly the kindest and best of men.

Coming home is an exercise in comfort and joy for me now. There have been may years when this was not so. Thank god. Thank god it is true in this moment.

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