But the thing that I’m most thankful for is the companionship of family. I’m happy that you made your trip safely and that you (and charlotte) have found your home and companion. You just can’t put a price on that.

After long and difficult preparations, including tricking the bureaucrats of two governments and the sale of all worldly possessions, her journey starts with the near-loss of her faithful-but-afraid companion to last-second fears and doubts.

Our Lass bravely chooses to search and rescue her dear Charlotte -even at the risk of the wreck of her own plans; fortunately love and a special knowledge that only true friends share triumphs at the last possible moment.

Throwing money at the driver, and shouting, “Damn the police, man! – I’ve a plane to catch and my true love is waiting!”,there a wild ride through the cold November countryside to the tiny Rhode Island airport, where the pilot waits, smoking a third cigarette and glancing at his watch. He can be a little late, for a plucky girl. Besides, by pulling up to 50,000 feet and then putting the plane into a powerdive, he can make up the lost time over the Atlantic – if she comes soon.

Meanwhile, Uncle Badger waits. His tie is in the pocket of his tweed jacket… it’s been on again, off again. He knows that she’ll think it too stuffy and Brit to wear a tie, but dammit! it IS an occasion, and he’ll be uncomfortable with his collar open. The flowers are wilting, but he doesn’t think about that. He wishes he still smoked, since he can’t have another drink, and his scotch (splash of soda) is wearing off.

Finally, through the fog comes the shrill shriek of a Jet in a dive. He glances again at his watch. That’s the one. Her plane. He drops the newspaper that he’s been staring at blankly – doesn’t hear the Cleaning Lady mutter, “‘ello Guv, have a bit of thought there” – as he strides to the gate, flowers clutched too tight in his hand.

Ah, then there are Customs! “Hello, Miss. Coming from America on a Finance visa, are we? Well then…” And then the rescue of a pathetically mewing Charlotte who is wondering exactly what the hell just happened? and what the hell is going to happen next?.

We will not linger on the tears, and kisses and hugs. Those are private things not to be discussed before the minions like us.

Instead we shall leave our Badger and Weasel basking in the soft orange light of the fireplace, snuggled together under a warm wool blanket, past talking of nothing, but still too excited to todder off to their bed. A “I thought you’d be hungry” meal sits only nibbled at on the table, and a bowl of cream is waiting for Charlotte when she sneaks out of hiding….

Was there ever a better Thanksgiving? This is the night the poet was dreaming of when he wrote, so many centuries ago,

“Blow, western wind, when will thou blow
and down small rain can rain?
Christ, if my love were in my arms
And I in my bed again!”

G’morning. Stayed up too late and got me a bit of the scungemouth.