I had intended to use the weekend just gone to try and find, fix and firm up at lest one more show in the South. I could do nothing about that, but I did take Bev to stay at my parents again, and it proved to be a very significant few days; probably more than if I had managed to do work.

Instead of having the 3 individuals clashing, and me having to manage myself and the parents, Bev’s presence made things much easier; and not just because both me and my dad did not have to listen to Ma’s stories unaided. My mother is a good storyteller, but she has no interest in the audience. Once she starts it is very hard to stop her; but me and Bev not only managd to change the subject seamlessly, but my dad even managed to say something new! (and it was about him forgetting all the Welsh girlfriends he had; which was a surprize; and offered only after Ma had gone to the kitchen)

On top of that Bev heard stories I never have, and I got some of the old favourites straightened out. The time she got shot at by a Russian plane, whilst washing clothes outside her family home in Karelia, in 1941 probably, she actually wi tnesses a bombing raid by two planes on an airstrip, and the shoting down of one of them; and that means it may be possible to identify the date, and possibly the plane shot down.

The weather was very sunny; though frosty this morning. I spotted a magnificent red admiral butterfly feeding on a brown apple on their front apple tree. I hope it did not get too drunk, because if it did not find somewhere to hibinate within a few hours the frost will have killed it.

One apples: the small, sweet ones me and Bev picked, the one that fell on her head with a THUNK! were a kink that grew at Ma’s family farm; leastways. so she reckoned when she saw amd smelled one.