THAT’S Home from France to find the lawn waterlogged and covered in leaves

We leave a fair skies France and get home to a soggy Scotland. Since our return the rain has been relentless. Great puddles line the drive. The lawn is waterlogged and covered with mashed up leaves.

Because while we have been away the trees have shed their green glory. Or rather, they have dropped their yellow and brown foliage.

It makes them look so bare – and the garden very open.

In fact, there are leaves everywhere. On paths, in plant pots; in drains, on cobbles; no doubt in gutters, too. I must ask the chief to get out his ladder…

All in all, it’s been a bit of a weather shock.

To go from sitting outside at breakfast, to watching the rain thundering on the roof and drumming on the window.

At least one of us is glad to be back. The naughty Norfolk enjoyed the French trip – up to a point.

Travelling by road and ferry, poor Bennie had to spend long hours in his cage in the back of the car.

Then when we reached our destination, it wasn’t what he was used to. Take the steep wooden stairs, for example. Or the slippery tiled kitchen floor.

I think he missed the familiarity of home. He certainly missed the Chow Chow.

Bounding back into the hall, Bennie was almost crying when he saw Delilah. Leaping up to lick her face. Tail wagging 10 to the dozen.

Yes, if you’re a dog, there must be no place like home.

We get back to hear all the news. What has gone right. And what hasn’t.

Our daughter tells us how there have been few upsets. Apart from Delilah having a problem with her back. Oh, and my elderly mother being lost for a day…

In our absence DD is holding the fort. And as well as working and caring for a dog, she is also tasked with keeping an eye on nana.

My mother, you may recall, lives nearby in a bungalow on a loch. But when DD turns up to check on her, there is no-one in the house.

She checks each room. Then phones the care company. Who say they are unable to tell her where my mother is. She is safe, apparently. But they can tell her no more.

Some hours go by and she manages to talk to a neighbour. Who thinks that my mum may have been taken to hospital.

DD decides to investigate. She rings the hospital. She is her mother’s daughter, and not a journalist for nothing.

There a spokesperson confirms that yes, they do have a Mrs Armstrong in a ward.

There has been a slight problem with her diabetes. But she has specifically asked that none of the family should be bothered with the fact.

Which I suppose you’re entitled to do when you’re nearly ninety-four…

But mum, really! As it happens, she is discharged soon after.

She is now back in the bungalow. Because there’s no place like home…

SINCE OUR RETURN THE RAIN HAS BEEN RELENTLESS. GREAT PUDDLES LINE THE DRIVE

The trees have dropped their leaves on Fiona’s lawn.