And then seven o'clock, and "is it morningtime yet Mummy?" Incoherent snarl. And she lies back and chats to herself instead.
"Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday." On and on. Cunning torture, or genuine error? Either way, it is effective. THURSDAY, I find myself growling, and I can't pretend to be asleep any more, and the day proper begins.
It does get better.
A full day of rain but some lovely cowl, a nice Manor, a fine collection of flat irons and many memories from Great Grannie. "We were to bottom of the scale really; we only had two live-in maids and Groom." I suggest that possibly the live-in maids and Groom were lower in the social scale, and the blank look reminds me that such people were not on the scale at all a century or so ago.
Groom, who also did the milking, drove the Governess Cart, polished all the shoes and saw to the boiler, was paid £1.13.03 a week, on which he supported his two maiden sisters. I can't help but wonder how this compared to the school fees for Malvern.
These are memories worth recording somewhere.
And I realise it's now Monday evening, but it's been that kind of a day. And now we can't eat until we solve the last crossword clue "Cotton Twill" A_I__. Any ideas? I'm hungry.