Fully Redeemed

A surprise.

Last night my husband and I had one of those rows common to married people, in which Spouse 1 says something bad happened that day, and Spouse 2 attempts to present it in a sunnier light. This irritates Spouse 1, who tuts, sighs, and insists that it was too bad for sunshine, which goads Spouse 2 into doubling down on insisting on the triviality of the complaint. This leads Spouse 1 to go woke and accuse Spouse 2 of "denying" his/her "experience," and so on. 

Happily, it ended well because when I escaped to my computer, I found a message from our mortgage lender saying that our mortgage was "fully redeemed." This was so very unlikely that I laughed with glee. Someone at Moneylender Inc. had screwed up royally.  

But of course hope springs eternal, so I tapped a few keys to make sure the mortgage balance wasn't zero and indeed it was not. It was as I had seen it yesterday morning. Therefore I just called Moneylender Inc. as soon as they opened this morning and reported the premature email. Benedict Ambrose, who once got a bottle half a case of wine from a rival moneylender when it made a mistake, is hoping we get a bottle of wine, but no bottle of wine was mentioned by the sincere Scottish voice on the line, so I am not. 

When the mortgage really is fully redeemed, we will have a party.

Meanwhile, the only other recent event of note is that we took two Cambridge philosophers to lunch on Wednesday afternoon, and we all ate very well amidst Victorian architectural splendour, which is to say within an ex-bank on George Street built in 1884. We heard many interesting stories about Elizabeth Anscombe, et alia, although we didn't have confirmed the story that Anscombe's husband Peter Geach had called a Catholic priest to minister to the dying Wittgenstein, for Anscombe apparently would never talk about it. (Wikipedia, however, thinks Wittgenstein asked for the priest himself.)   

(Short break while I asked B.A. if he thinks Wittgenstein would be said to be fully redeemed if he indeed died a Christian. "I see what you're doing there," said B.A., having been told about the title of my post.)

The occasional delicious lunch out is not as ruinous to my proud parsimony as travel, I must say. Today we are going to London, where people spend money as they breathe. Train fares in the UK are no joke (although they can be reduced a bit through planning), and the cost of hotel rooms isn't funny either. (I suppose there is no reason middle-aged people cannot book bunks in a hostel, but, my dear, the discomfort.) An Edinburgher travelling solo can sometimes find a place on a London's pal's sofa, or (if the pal is a Pole of the old school) be given his/her bed while he/she sleeps on the floor. However, it is much kinder to one's London pals, who are constantly asked by travellers for house room, just to book a hotel. Thus, we will be temporarily domiciled in South Kensington, and I am looking forward to it. 

Our plans are to spend as much time with pals as possible, to visit up to three museums, and to see the Christmas lights in Oxford Street and/or Carnaby Street and/or Soho and/or Marylebone Village, and/or Regent Street. The excuse for the visit is, however, the baptism of a baby, after which he will be...

Yes, you've got it: fully redeemed.