As he surveyed the mess in our bedroom, the poor boy knew something was happening; and without him.
The drive up to the Northwest took quite a while, but we appreciated the kind English drivers, waving you in front of them on the road (a welcome change from the Montreal mindset of, "mustn't let anyone in, even if I am going at 10km an hour."), and eventually we arrived at mum and dad's to be greeted with a cup of English tea made with proper milk, and a slice of homemade simnel cake. Buoyed on by this, we had a walk to make the most of the sunshine (it mostly rains at my parents, so this was a rarity and no matter how much or little sleep we had had, it was essential we made the most of it).
I haven't seen a robin yet, nor have we had the supermarket chatter, or been witness to the overuse of the word "sorry". We have forty-eight hours left to tick these things off.
This aircraft is not headed to Montreal...