The long running debate between me and myself as to whether to drive or train it to Birmingham today is, last night, easily solved when I realise I was simply too dog tired to drive for five hours on a motorway in one day. I give up watching an extremely boring episode of Michael Palin's tour of Eastern Europe and go to log onto Qjump . I find a way of doing the journey on trains that provide a first class carriage with minimal changes, so the snob in me is happy. Right. Lap top off, into the bath then to bed. Decision made.
Except.... it was still calling me. Those two walls of potential- Christmas- present -quilting-books just as you walk in the door, the low rack under the window full of neat Japanese and country style Australain magazines. Two whole rooms of fabric to touch. Come to me, it sang like the sirens that used to lure sailors onto the rocks. Come to me with my beautiful alluring products.
An idea occurs.
I get out of the bath, shrug on a dressing gown and go and interupt Dennis who is watching some obscure footie match on Interactive Freeview TV. " You know how the quilt shop is kind of in the middle of the bottom of Birmingham?" (It doesn't do to be too precise with my lovely, but directionally challenged husband) "And you know how it is so tempting because I am going to the bottom right tomorrow anyway? And you know how we are getting up early to go to Bath on Saturday for the week and that the M5 motorway kind of goes not that far from the bottom left of Birmingham...."
He mutes the TV. "How long a diversion?"
"Only half an hour. Each way. And say an hour in the shop. Max."
He shrugs. "OK."
I am saved. I turn to stumble off to bed when he says, "Hang on I want to show you this bit of Michael Palin I recorded."
Readers, I confess to being ungrateful. I confess to being unwilling to swap my two hour diversion from his holiday time for just a minute or two from my time. I am cranky, I am tired, and Palin was boring. I think of Japanese magazines. "Go on then."
He shows me an aerial shot of Palin climbing up stairs onto the upper floor of a Soviet era satelite spy installation. It is dull ( both in colour and content). Dennis pauses it just as Palin's feet get to a smudgy landing. "There. Look!" He points at some green and brown tiles. "Its just like your quilt." He rewinds it. Plays it again. "Only yours is a better pattern."