Woke early, packed up and headed home before breakfast.
Encountered a mob of wild horses on the forestry track and thought again that Bearhands had been right about not driving home last night; only one of them seemed to be teaching her foal road sense.
Returned to the farm and packed away the van. Received three messages from the Big Sister while I guided Bearhands into the parking spot a mere fifty metres away.
Realised that today brings around forty days and forty nights of Distanced Ed with the girls. Remembered a lesson from high school religion that explained the biblical forty isn’t a literal measure. Scriptures reference Christ fasting in the desert for forty days and forty nights, but at the time among the Jews, forty simply meant a “long time”. I find myself in agreement.
The delivery of seafood I’d ordered arrived mid-morning. I found a bloke online who was selling lobsters, scallops and prawns that pre-COVID19 were destined for the export trade/restaurant trade. Day dreamed about the best way to treat such beautiful produce.
Shouted the kids lunch from the Golden Arches. Arrived home and discovered they’d not supplied my big mac. Bearhands shared his quarter pounder before he headed off to play golf with a mate.
Worried about my calorific deficit, the Big Sister shared one of her maths-prize caramilk donuts for afternoon tea.
Had a zoom Smyth-family Sunday Session in the early evening.
Spag bol for dinner with accompanying garlic bread and Lego Masters. Then everyone headed off to bed willingly, tired from last night’s cold, dark caravan kip.