Arriving home at 0303 I was walking into walls exhausted. Bad enough I was stupid enough to drive home rather than take Réne up on her offer of a place to stay, but there was one more “official” event on the agenda.
This afternoon was the Annual Garden Party at the Mess. Pims, tea, crumpets, scones, and finger sandwichs. Exhaustion prevented me from getting the full history behind the event. What was evident was that I actually was dressed appropriately for the occasion (it is not often that I voluntarily don either dress or heels).
It seemed to be one of those occasions when retirees come out of the wood work making me feel quite young (understand, with the normal British Army retirement age I am the oldest officer in the building, trumping even those who rank me).
The Mole, being home for the weekend came along on the promise of free food and the threat of whatever if he didn’t. Kindly wearing his suit, he spent most of the time bored out of his tree until we had a chance to talk to probably the only two other people at the event anywhere near his own age (offspring of the senior Keogh ESO, one of whom is reading law while his sister plans the same in about two years time).
The rain held until just after we returned home.
As might be expected, knitting, reading, spinning and sewing were not high on my list of accomplishments today.