Well there's a surprise. They're not coming!

And the saga of the Sunday Lunch continues.

We first mentioned the invitation at the lunch following The Builder’s father’s funeral in May. I sent out written invitations in (I think) September, and follow-up instructions with the Christmas cards. Everybody checked in to say they were coming. We belatedly invited The Builder’s adult niece and nephew. Alas, they can’t come. Previous engagements.

When I say that everyone checked in, I mean everyone except for The Builder’s son and daughter in law. I must admit,that I had long assumed that they wouldn’t come. The DiL appears to dislike The Builder intensely and positively loathes me. This is a pity in that it limits the contact The Builder has with his son, who appears to like us both immensely. But by and large it doesn’t impact much in our life. It’s not as though she lives around the corner. I was waiting for an unexpected emergency in her family, or some such.

And, as anticipated, yesterday evening the son rang to say that indeed they would be unable to attend. And what convincing reason did he give? That their 17, nearly 18 year old daughter would be working on Sunday from 11 to 5 and couldn’t be abandoned!!!!!!

The party is about a 50 minute drive away. At 1pm

She’s not finishing until 5. Not hard to get back for then.

And for goodness sake. She’s practically a grown up. Even if they were back later, surely she can spend a bit of time on her own or with a friend?

This is such a spurious excuse that it’s positively risible! I expected a better level of imagination than that!

The risible nature of the excuse seems to have irritated lots of people. They also had expected at least some attempt at a sensible reason why they couldn’t attend a very, very rare family gathering.

Actually, it has its compensations from my point of view (the lack of attendance, not the pathetic reason for it). I really had not been looking forward to the malevolent and brooding presence at my own Sunday Lunch of a poisonous Orc who was studiously blanking me unless she knew she was observed by others. And now it won’t be there. Every cloud ...