As we all know, there’s no such thing as a free lunch. And so after 134 days of travel, it’s time to pay the piper. The motorhome has to cleaned inside and out, packed up, and put away. It’s the equivalent of moving house or more specifically, a small apartment.
I can put it off no longer. Once we arrive in Truro, the house elves have to be released. I start with the worst of it, clearing the cupboards. I don’t know who it was, but someone bought stuff along the way. Fragile stuff. A lots of heavy books. Packing’s going to be fun.
It takes about four hours before boredom sets in. As gratifying as a good cleaning frenzy can be, there’s only so much joy that can be wrung out of wiping down surfaces.
Deepite the rain, I plead with Himself to be taken into town. I had in mind a little shopping distraction, filling those “empty” corners of my suitcase (yes, thank you, I do see the problem) but Himself has more practical matters in mind. I’ve learnt from past experience that cutting off cooking during the clean up phase is an essential salve to one’s mental health. When it comes to the final meals, the simpler the better. And it doesn’t get much better or simpler than the tasty fare on offer in the Cornish Store. All local produce, it offers prepared meals as well.
It seems impossible that we’ll be on a plane on Friday night. And there’s so much to do! And then there’s the drive back to Heathrow. Eek!
Chores on hold, we to pop into Truro for a wander. The cathedral is looking fabulous, as usual and the streets are strung with new bunting. Last year we were lucky to see Truro dressed for Christmas. I’ll be sorry to miss it this year.
He’s not silly, Himself: it’s almost day’s end and the shops are closing. But we do make it to Waterstones where we buy…. yet another cookbook. Palestinian food and it’s Himself’s idea! I’m not guilty, this time. Cookbooks draw us both. Moths to a flame.
We also see Truro’s cute new hedgehog roundabout. Love it!
It’s a brief, but welcome, respite from the work that tomorrow will bring.