I haven't, however, been to church in ages. I mean, I was brought up in the Church of England because my Mum and Dad wanted me to get into a good primary school, and I never did mind church, but I suppose I like church for all the wrong reasons - I love the rituals and atmosphere, but I suppose that's not actually the point of church.
I do still celebrate Good Friday and Easter of course, also because it's a family tradition.
So yes, I'm no longer in the country, I'm stuck in the city at my parents' house, nibbling on hot cross buns, everything looking sort of yellow and green and lavender, and Mum really rather obnoxiously grilling me on my last term. I do look forward to meeting up with some friends in the city over the next few days, but I do rather miss just being on my own, doing nothing but watch telly.
On the upside, we have cucumber sandwiches.
Grandfather will come visit too, all the way from Yorkshire. This, I don't mind. Grandfather grew up in a completely different time and place and I love listening to his stories of the past. When women wore hats and gloves and men always wore suits.
I should really try and get Ernest to wear suits more often. I'm sure he would look utterly dashing in them. A lovely overcast grey three-piece suit, a veritable Prince Charming.
Or dress him as the artist-poet type. Floppy brimmed hats and wide shirts and cravats, suffering, dying for his art, and I would come to rescue him, and I will be his Muse, and we shall live happily ever after.
He's promised to come by on Monday. I want to introduce him to Mum. He's in the city anyway, celebrating Easter with Jack I suppose.
I may organise a small egg hunt for him. He'll love that.
It's a shame really that Dad cannot join us for the weekend, but he's away for business. I suppose investment bankers can't celebrate Easter. I'll ring him over the weekend, though, to wish him happy Easter.
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