Adrian (my second) has moved out of the house. It’s her doing. He won’t admit it, but I can see her paws all over him. I know I should be happy, and I am happy. But he’s always lived at home. I don’t know how he’s going to manage. I don’t know how I am going to manage.

I really don’t see the point. It’s a farm, every half decent farmer lives in the farm house. But with their wedding come summer, I shudder to think how far they will have to move away from me. I would be surprised she pulls a fast one and move right out of Wales altogether. Believe me, I won’t. I bet Glasgow will be a nice patch. She’s always ranting about how she loves the place.

What it means now is that I will be having tea alone. I know, she’s always saying Adrian is a grown man. I know; I’m his mother. He’s nearly thirty, bless him and he does know how to take care of himself. I taught him well. He doesn’t need to prove anything by moving out of the house.

Things are going to be pretty quiet round here now, with Adrian moving out with Fiona. I suppose if I wanted to see him and he could not tear himself away from her, I will have to phone before hand. And when I get there, I will have to knock too. I know what young couples are like, all flesh and no fresh. Sick; if you ask my opinion. But hey, we have to move on, and moving on for my Adrian and his Fiona, are moving out.

You know I have even started thinking of what to do with the extra room space. I mean, it is a big manor. Even with a healthy occupancy, I am still struggling to fill the box room. But now I have to make it up to standard and invite the tourist board for a proper inspection before it is listed as an extra room. I’ll say this now; I am not looking forward to this move in the slightest. Eleven rooms are quite a lot of spaces to manage.

Still, he’s only in the barn. I supposed it could be worse. And there’s always Fred. He’s not going anywhere. I won’t let him.