(Not) my generation

It’s a slow day at home, slow to rise and slow to do. Angus prepares somewhat lackadaisically for his party tonight, while I set up an alternative home for the chicks.

The generator arrives early afternoon after phoning for directions from Neidpath, West Linton, and Kirkurd. In the end, Angus goes to the bottom of the track to flag him down.

We head into town around 7 and spend hours faffing around getting keys, buying insurance, loading vans. Already behind schedule, I drive Angus and genny into the damp, misty night.

The mythical combination padlock has been replaced by sturdy, key-driven types - and all roads are barred. Eventually Angus & Ferdi decide to cancel and we head back to Newhaven Road to put everything away.

Then I drop the boys at Newhaven Harbour. They’re going to a flat party - only they can’t find the flat. The cobbles dislodge the jockey wheel - claiming another few hit points from the night.

I eventually get home after midnight, towing the hire company’s trailer, complete with non-compliant electrics. I pass a police van just by Rosewell, but they have pulled someone else over, although that doesn’t stop me nervously looking in my mirrors until after Leadburn.

I clamber into bed, where Claire’s already fast asleep.