Be that as it may, he will have to tough it out here for the next few days and I have asked the good Frau NN, our nice-but-nosey neighbour, to look after him. CG and I went over yesterday to ask her, and her little Bavarian blue eyes lit up, presumably at the prospect of finally getting a good squiz at the inside of our house. Of course she won't admit it, but she is sure to look in every single room - I would. The problem is I am now panicking at the thought of a real housewife, someone who takes true pride in their work and actually enjoys cleaning for its own sake, scrutinising my surfaces (marble, glass, wood - you name it, it's somewhere in this house). I can just picture her running a finger along the bookshelf, particularly where the tin soldier army stands knee-deep in dust, as CG doesn't want anyone to clean them except himself, yet seems to think that twice-yearly sessions with a soft cloth and Mr Sheen are sufficient. (I don't mind this at all, as the responsibility of polishing all those minute cannons and muskets and not breaking them brings me out in a cold sweat.)
I shall be running around like a whirlwind tomorrow morning, sweeping up fruit loops and apple-tree clippings and whipping away the worst of the cobwebs. I even think I might leave a note on our bed - something along the lines of, 'if you are reading this, you are SNOOPING'. The kids think I should set booby-traps but I feel that is going a bit far. After all, she is a kind soul and without her help we would have to pack Max off to some distant boarding kennels. In fact I don't even know of any. Gaia wanted to lock her door but my father managed to put her off with the wise adage that there is nothing more interesting than a locked room. Best to leave the door wide open, he said, everything neat and tidy and absolutely nothing tantalising a la 'private, keep out'.
Must go and throw some pasta in a pan. Nothing like ready-made tortellini for a Sunday lunch!
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