Seb's back.

That was him on the phone, talking to Martin in the kitchen while I craned my neck to hear from behind a magazine in the sitting room. It's all a bit startling really. So much time has passed since he was last here, stomping across our grass, crunching the gravel with the wheels of his Land Rover, making my little boy laugh. While he's been away on that copywriting course I've been ill, Bertie the dog's died and all work on the pigsty's ground to a halt because Martin smashed his thumb with a hammer which understandably left us all in limbo for a little while. My poor diary has been neglected, but then, what could I have written in those sad few months that would have made entertaining reading?

Still, it's May now. Bertie's snowdrops have been replaced by the odd, forgotten daffodil, and the lower banks of the Mound have the remains of the primroses and dog violets that emblazoned it not so long ago. Now it's the turn of the lilacs to grace the kitchen table. The table that is set for four; Martin, Joe, Seb and me. He's coming for dinner. Joe's excited and Martin's whistling, despite his thumb.

And I don't know why my mouth keeps twitching at the corners. Anyone would think I was vaguely thrilled.