As Saturday morning arrived bright and early thanks to the large resident cock (no pun intended)…(well ok, I meant it a little bit)… I awoke to the rustic beamed ceiling, the view from yesterday’s post, and silence.

No cars, no buses, no general buzz of a town waking up.

No alarm clocks, no small children jumping on my head, no Mr B singing in the shower, nothing.

And I lay for a moment staring up at the sunshine that poured through the windows touching everything with clean white light.

One by one the hens slowly stirred and though some heads were a little sore, some eyes a little red and some mouths seemed to have become the temporary home to several badgers overnight, smiles were abundant.

I showered, dressed, did my hair, took in the view and read a magazine. By the time we were all up I was completely relaxed and getting used to my child free state, though I had chatted with Misses E and M briefly on the phone as I stared out at the view below and took in the fresh, if a little damp, air.

Me: “Hi M, Are you ok?”

Miss M: “Yes.”

Me: “I love you so much.”

Miss M: “My know. Bye.”

It was so good to know they were completely fine without me…

As we shared brunch and plied our hen with daft gifts, the laughter and tears continued.

Especially as Miss Lucy insisted on modelling everything over her clothes and did it all while wearing a curly blonde Vera Duckworth wig and a veil.

I have a feeling we may have all been frozen for a while as suddenly it was time to get ready to hit Bath.
An hour later we were strolling through the land of Jane Austen. Seriously, I imagined myself in one of those posh dresses with a bulging bosom and weird little curls sculpted around my face, but I actually looked mostly normal.

We ate at the Chequers Bar, a gorgeous gastro pub where Lucy was wooed by ‘the silver fox’ a cross between Lovejoy and David Dickinson but more handsome, and we witnessed a posh bloke with curly hair pulverize a chair with the power of his bottom.

We ate yummy stuff,

..and drank cold wet alcoholic beverages, and made about a million toasts to all and sundry, and all again. If you ever go to Bath this is a great bar and well worth the visit. I have a feeling Holl and I may go there someday and partake of a few ales, it would be rude not to.

Our final destination was a club where the fabulous Hilary blagged us though to the front of the queue and we boogied, pulled strange scary men and for some reason took photos of our chests. Niiiice.

Then it was back to the barn with the scary taxi driver who seemed to be attempting to kill us (or himself), or was trying to impress us with his manly, erratic ‘holdontoyourpants’ driving. I think he was hoping for an invite inside for a flagon of brown booze and maybe a packet of Monster Munch but this weekend was strictly girls only so we sent him packing with erm, his fee.

Then we sat and drank and chatted until the wee small hours. It could not have been more perfect.

Or could it?

Well, actually, yes, it blumming well could, you see, at about 7.00am as we supped vodka and lemonade in the first pub of the evening my sweet little nokia sang a special song and I headed outside to answer it.

Sister Claire *: “Jo, Daren just proposed.”

Me: “Oh my Bob.”

Claire: “I know.”

Me: “Oh my Bob. Oh my Bob. That’s wonderful, I’m so happy, you’ve made me cry.”

Claire: “I know.”

Me: “Squeal, giggle, sob, squeal, I love you, giggle, sob.”

Claire: “I know.”

*Sister Claire – refers to my sister ‘Claire’, not a nun. Nun’s don’t get engaged, they’re not allowed.

So, on top of the perfect night, I got the perfect news, and the next day I headed off home to my perfect children after a perfect weekend.

And their reaction to the news??

Miss E: “UNCLE Daren, at last.”

Miss M: “So Claire is marrying Sharon,and Sharon is marrying Claire Mummy?”

Me: “Blimey I’ve missed you two, snigger.”

And that is all…or is it?