Liz Moody’s Dulwich Life

Sunday Jan 27
Am writing on the loo, as only room in house with lock on it. Anywhere else too dangerous. Cornelia sees all, forgives nothing. Must remember to lock diary in medicine cupboard afterwards, or maybe post to Sarah to open in the event of my untimely demise.
Cornelia arrived at 8am. On a Saturday! How should I know she was getting the sleeper? Well, of course I wasn’t dressed– who the hell is at that time? She swept through the house, nostrils flaring, mentally noting the empty wine bottles by the back door (for recycling, obviously, although they probably don’t have that in Scotland), unopened credit card bills by the front door, and every misplaced sock, shoe, school report or dustball in between.
The boys did their best, but poor Tom went stiff with fear when she tried to kiss him, and started stammering. He’s never done that before. Must break him of it sharpish – imagine being ginger and a stammerer! Sam’s the image of his father, all that blond hair, so he’s her favourite. Although whether that preference will survive his ghastly cello recital of yesterday afternoon is another matter.
Sonja’s claiming winter vomiting virus and has confined herself to her room. I don’t blame her. Although I admit, the sound effects are very convincing.
Ohgod Ohgod Ohgod. Cornelia’s off again, asking Mr M ‘if there’s any chance in this household of a nice, plain cup of tea.’ Better go.
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Gainsborough’s “Mrs Elizabeth Moody and her two sons” can be viewed until 5pm every day except Mondays at Dulwich Picture Gallery