Numbing Down

My angels are here; my splendid brother is here; his darling wife is here.

Mum and I are sparkling in their company.

My girls are divine and behaving so well with their grandma.

All my imagined confrontations dissolve.

P is superb as ever. The caricatures painted by our so-called intimates here in Greece of him as a blustering young fogey are vapour crap. He is splendid and I am privileged.

I cannot grapple with yardwork in this heightened state of happiness and self-worth. I can't even glimpse the required level of groveling mindlessness essential to tackle that brand of drudgery.

I have done a few puny tasks lest my girls be asked to 'perform', but the least I can do is protect them from this while they are here.

They are gorgeous and witty and helpful and I had a quiet weep as I took the trash out, anticipating on their first day's arrival the terrible day when they leave.

Tomorrow, or rather today but after sleep, is mama's birthday when the house will be transformed into the social centre of the isle.

The top people have been invited (and accepted, natch) and the rejecteds are, I assume, drowning their sorrow and shame in cheap ouzo.

Both girls are beautiful beyond compare and have their party frocks planned.

A's eyes slitted with panicky rebellion when I jested about them wearing Fifi-the-maid gear to curtsey as they serve drinks and canapés

If A doesnt have a crush on her uncle, I have one on my brother for treating her so well. Her mother, on the other hand, will not approve.

Under Pete's firm tutelage, she can now

Fix a decent ouzo, Campari and soda, scotch and water, vodka and tonic

Open a bottle of bubbly sans that vulgar explosion

Prepare moules

Lay a table in 27 secs flat, all utensils in correct order and vino goblets ditto

Clip and light a cigar

Oh ... all that.

Plus she has a killer tan.

Overnight, a property I'd awake to that oozed the menace and soul destruction of yardwork has been transformed to a place of light and happiness.