Weekends tend to be interrupted by the realities of owning a large estate. There is always something that needs to be checked, mended, replaced or installed. 

During the summer many of these jobs get pushed to one side by social commitments (the local paper still insists on mentioning the incident during the weekend croquet tournament - it was unfortunate, but hardly our fault; and there's no reason to believe that the Duchess will not make a full recovery given time. The surgeon did manage to recover the ball, the mallet and the hoop and return them in time for the next weekend's game).

This weekend I have had to get Osbourne to look at the electric gates. They are very good, and open promptly when the old jalopy approaches, or when at a visitor's behest we press the button from the house. They do tend to snap shut however, and this morning Persephone was upset by the sight of a neighbour's (one of the staff I think) pet cat bisected by the alacrity of the closing mechanism. Shame it wasn't their rabbit - she could have given it to cook for the domestic staff's supper. Osbourne assures me that some febrile nobodys called the Health and Safety Executive would not approve and agreed to adjust the counterbalance and fit a failsafe sensor (seems to me the dead cat serves that purpose).