Wend, wend..

We are calmly wending our way towards Easter.  My explosion-count is down.  M is recovering well from the last hospital experience.  Here he is watching opera, attended by his faithful moi..

He is making me go with him on the BUS to get things done in the city shops. BUS!! Princesses don't DO buses do they?

Apparently, yes they do.  Hmm.  [I should add that the bus is incredibly convenient - the driver lowers the bus to pavement level, then nips out and unfolds the ramp.  An unexpected side effect is that (so far) they've refused to charge either of us a fare.  Nice.  It takes ten minutes to get into the city so I really can't complain.  But I do note that I am not as flexible as I used to be about bumpiness!]

The bus, going the other way, stops at several other very useful places, like M's favourite pub, the shops where the late-night chemist is (much-frequented by me of late); one stop up is M's church, and a little way further we can get off and it's a 15 minute walk home.  Whence we wend our way to Wendy.

Sorry, I just had to say that!

I can't smell a thing so I can only hope that this post is brought to you by eau de spag bol, clean linen and a thoughtful pshht of Gucci (cos why should the rest of you miss out??).