Change of plan

Much work on the phone now as Dig starts changing all his travel plans, intermittently locking himself in the downstairs toilet and thrashing around with the plumbing. He's off to Scotland to do a gig and the original plan was to go up and return by plane. That's all changed. He dumps the return flight ticket home and books a train seat instead to Newcastle, where he'll pick up a white van. He'll drive the white van to the family pile which has to be cleared out so the revolting Scrimvers can stride about their new property, pulling up the carpets and complaining about the cracks in the wall. I think we planned for a longer time gap than this, coming back from Aus, but it's now or never, thanks to a failure of time management and Dig's spirit of meanness about the hire charges.

There is one bit of all this new planning I don't like. I have to drive alone to Northumberland with the three kids in the back of the car. It's a five hour journey. And we cannot find the code for the radio. No code, no radio, no means for the FM transmitter to transmit the portable CD player through the radio to play the ten Roald Dahl CDs I bought cheap on the Book club, which all in sum means driving in the pit of hell for five hours.

And then when I get there? Uncle Eff has lived in the attic for 53 years and is not about to be moved so easy. He has two large rooms in the attic, one of which is kept locked and the other which is so filled with junk that we can barely open the door, even on a quiet snoop when we're sure he's out, doing his business at the church or, in the last three years, creeping off to the massage parlour.

So after a good start, all is not well. And I have found out why the house is behaving strangely. I met Mr Pod on the stairs, holding his groin. He claims he's been at home for a month apart from a week in hospital having his innards rearranged. And Pastry announces she's leaving, so she's keeping odd hours, rearranging her furniture and crashing around at three o'clock in the morning.

Dig goes off tomorrow, then I follow. And even worse than being locked in a metal box with the kids, is the thought of meeting Uncle Eff again. I don't think he knows what's about to hit him.