Meanwhile, on the home front, Mr Four who by the miracle of time transportation is about to become Mr Eleven, enquired of his mother while being driven home from school as to whether we would be home in time for his birthday. On receiving the answer in the negative, Miss Now Seven also in the back seat immediately intervened.
“Don’t worry”, she proclaimed “If they aren’t here they ALWAYS send a parcel in the mail”. News of this, despite having made sufficient contingency for the event before our departure, sent us into something of a tail spin. Needless to say, a day spent looking into reflections on our wondrous way up the Mozelle River did nothing to ameliorate what could very well escalate into a serious doubt on grandparent credibility. We have it seems, set a very high bar for ourselves to jump.
Such is the wonder of the world in which we live, that at day’s end despite being moored at some from a centre of commerce a thing called “the internet” turned out to be very helpful indeed, and had promised delivery of a parcel almost in time for the birthday in question. We therefore, settled into the evening in a similar state of calm reflection to that which the river had provided during the day.
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