Delivered.

The architect comes, then goes. While he's here he has a cup of coffee and makes notes. The architect has a large shiny black Porsche. He calls Sophie 'Miss Fluffy'. He also suggests that we move out while the works are underway. This won't be anytime soon as planning permission is likely to take at least six months . We had somehow thought the building work might go on around us. We are soon disabused of that notion.

After he's gone a kitchen bin is delivered . Then comes a van bearing candles in case we have power cuts this winter. I have the feeling that it could be very dark here in January if the power is 'rationed'.

The telephone repair man shows up to deal with the 'crackle' on the line. He's a cheery soul and replaces our phone sockets with 'industrial' ones that are ( apparently ) of much better quality. He also disappears for half an hour to the local switching centre and upgrades our line. British Telecom scores 10/10. Even better, he has shortbread , which is shared with Sophie. This takes the BT engineers score to 18/10. If there had been more Sophie would have given him a whopping 20/10.

The big news of the day is the delivery of the bed. The van has driven from Paris to London, spent the night, and then headed north into barbarian country. Why they thought it would take them six hours to get from London to  Scotland is anyone's guess. The British Isles may not be wide but they are long. The bed is due at two and arrives at six thirty. The professional bed assembling takes a further two hours. One bed assembler is Polish, the other Spanish. They take their shoes off each time they enter the house which intrigues Sophie no end. 

This morning Angus is heading into Edinburgh. Sophie is loaded into the back of the car for the journey to the station. There may be a halt on the way home for 'The Font' and the family diva to do some shopping and share a Ginger Snap at the garden centre.

Required 'provisions' for a journey with a PONette.