The dominant thought in the household’s collective mind is, ‘End of Week Eleven’. One more week, and that’s it. I ended up forgetting to go to a jolly good party last week because, by the time I had finished teaching at 6, I trudged off to the bus thinking about the following day’s work, totally overlooking the fact that I was meant to stay in Aberdeen and meet the Professor at the house of the Professor of French. Nor did I remember until a frantic phone call a couple of hours later told me where he was. All of which suggests that my nose has been so firmly attached to the grindstone that my field of view has ended up entirely restricted to teaching. I will not be sorry to see an end to it.
PS. Miss Best Friend, who had also been invited, enjoyed the occasion enormously. There was both ham and cake; the sum and substance of felicity for a middle aged Labrador. For two days afterwards, one only had to say ‘party’ for the tail to start thumping.