Friday July2nd.
First let me say that I love my husband. Truly, madly, deeply. I have since about five minutes after I met him. Apart from the fact that he has GREAT hair and a wondrous child-like sense of awe about the world, he's the wittiest man I know and drop dead cute for any age. He has great taste in music, plays awesome drums, understands art and is wonderfully romantic.
However he can also be a selfish bastard!!! Well nobody's perfect!
Tony had planned to go up to London today to meet up with all his old crowd and swap nostalgic stories in the pub. This trip is as much about him saying goodbye to 45 years of his life - and family and friends - as it is about seeing places we haven't seen before.
I felt terribly sorry when he discovered friends have died...or are old and infirm...or have lost touch and he wasn't able to meet up with them. BUT.......
He's still going. This would not be a problem except I am as sick as a dog! Not sure if it's flu or hayfever but I have lost my voice...my nose is streaming horrible gunk and my head is pounding. I want to stay in bed...I want him to nurse me and pat my head and say there,there ( told you I was sick as a dog). What I don't want is to be left alone with his 80 year old sister in a house with no cooling system on a summer day worthy of Australia. But left alone I am. I sleep, I cry, I convince myself something has happened to Oliver or one of the other cats. (It hasn't) and I feel sorry for myself.
Part of me understands this is a pilgrimage and something he must do alone. He is - unbelievably - 73years old and doesn't expect to come back again. A city boy through and through, London is part of his heart and soul - and integral to what I love about him. The other part of me couldn't give two monkies chunkies!!!!
He calls from PIccadilly Circus. The Regent Palace hotel is being demolished! Unthinkable! It's been a landmark for eons...how can it just be a pile of rubble and scaffolding? It's Friday afternoon and he says there are queues to get into the pubs! Depressing.
He arrives home quiet and sad, and I sense his yearning for Paradise Lost. Nostalgia isn't what it used to be - and maybe it never was.
Saturday.
Well...the Sat nav is working and I am dosed up on flu and hayfever medication....kill the bastard lurgie one way or the other!
We watch The Ladies Final and go to a very good Italian Restaurant called Mama Mia in Hook...the next village. My boy/man is attentive and lovely and I soooo wish we weren't in twin beds. We are used to falling asleep in each other's arms....bridging hands held across a river of carpet just doesn't cut it!
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Day17/50 - Wimbledon and a nice cuppa tea.
It's Thursday - and four whole days before we hit the road again. Oh dear!
It's not that I don't love Family - even Tony's family - it's just that I don't want to travel 12,000 miles to be stuck with the mundane....and yes, picturesque villages have their own version of suburbia.
There's washing to do.... and I do it through gritted teeth. I'm waiting for some wild suggestion like running barefoot ( or, even better, bare) through a meadow od daisies and buttercups. The hedgerows are filled with red poppies - white Queen Ann's lace ( sounds so much better than Cow's parsley) and tall mauve flkowers which look a bit like foxgloves but aren't - and I want to pick wildflowers. But I'm doing the washing!!! It's a rest day....except I don't want to rest in a bungalow at Hartney Wintney!
Tony, who thinks of himself as technically efficient, is completely stymied while trying to load the Navman with the EU map! So now we need tech support...Washing and Tech support....thrill factor 0.
We go into Fleet so that Tony can hopefully find help....but it's not forthcoming. At least I get a couple of hours midst the walking sticks and incontinence pads to book our stay in Bath and a night in Newquay - and theatre tickets for the night before we leave the UK. John...he of the terrible coffee - makes a fantastic cup of tea so I can forgive him for almost poisoning him with the coffee. John is now a Facebook friend and a REAL friend. The three of us have bonded....though I think he is more enamoured of Tony than me! He's a great bloke and one of the best things about Fleet...which is never going to win awards as one of Hampshire's ( I SOOO keep wanting to say Hamster) prettiest county towns. Tony disappears and is replaced by Mister Grumpy....it happens periodically and mister Grumpy pisses me off BIGTIME. Neativity runs in Tony's family and generally he does his best never to fall victim to it. But today it has him by the throat and is shaking the life out of him. He's furious he can't get help with the bloody Navman because he KNOWS he should have done it in Australia in the 7 months leading up to this trip. GRRRRRRRRR!
We shop at Waitrose's...a very superior supermarket chain full of yummy things. I've decided to cook tonight....as much for self preservation as enjoyment!
This afternoon we watch the women's semi-finals from Wimbledon.....seems strange to be watching them in the afternoon and not the middle of the night like we do in OZ. It all seems a bit pointless. They could just post the trophy to Serena Williams BEFORE the tournament and she could go off on holiday.
The chicken breasts with chili, lime and creme Fraiche and new potatoes and asparagus and mediterranean roasted vegies go down a treat, washed down with some South African wine which actually isn't too bad. There's strawberries for dessert and I feel I have done my cooking duty.
I actually feel like I'm coming down with some dreaded lurgie...hopefully not swine flu which they are still raving on about over here.
My nose is dripping like a leaky tap and the back of my throat feels like razorblades. Not my hope of sympathy while the soccer is on!
A nothing day - but one day closer to France!
It's not that I don't love Family - even Tony's family - it's just that I don't want to travel 12,000 miles to be stuck with the mundane....and yes, picturesque villages have their own version of suburbia.
There's washing to do.... and I do it through gritted teeth. I'm waiting for some wild suggestion like running barefoot ( or, even better, bare) through a meadow od daisies and buttercups. The hedgerows are filled with red poppies - white Queen Ann's lace ( sounds so much better than Cow's parsley) and tall mauve flkowers which look a bit like foxgloves but aren't - and I want to pick wildflowers. But I'm doing the washing!!! It's a rest day....except I don't want to rest in a bungalow at Hartney Wintney!
Tony, who thinks of himself as technically efficient, is completely stymied while trying to load the Navman with the EU map! So now we need tech support...Washing and Tech support....thrill factor 0.
We go into Fleet so that Tony can hopefully find help....but it's not forthcoming. At least I get a couple of hours midst the walking sticks and incontinence pads to book our stay in Bath and a night in Newquay - and theatre tickets for the night before we leave the UK. John...he of the terrible coffee - makes a fantastic cup of tea so I can forgive him for almost poisoning him with the coffee. John is now a Facebook friend and a REAL friend. The three of us have bonded....though I think he is more enamoured of Tony than me! He's a great bloke and one of the best things about Fleet...which is never going to win awards as one of Hampshire's ( I SOOO keep wanting to say Hamster) prettiest county towns. Tony disappears and is replaced by Mister Grumpy....it happens periodically and mister Grumpy pisses me off BIGTIME. Neativity runs in Tony's family and generally he does his best never to fall victim to it. But today it has him by the throat and is shaking the life out of him. He's furious he can't get help with the bloody Navman because he KNOWS he should have done it in Australia in the 7 months leading up to this trip. GRRRRRRRRR!
We shop at Waitrose's...a very superior supermarket chain full of yummy things. I've decided to cook tonight....as much for self preservation as enjoyment!
This afternoon we watch the women's semi-finals from Wimbledon.....seems strange to be watching them in the afternoon and not the middle of the night like we do in OZ. It all seems a bit pointless. They could just post the trophy to Serena Williams BEFORE the tournament and she could go off on holiday.
The chicken breasts with chili, lime and creme Fraiche and new potatoes and asparagus and mediterranean roasted vegies go down a treat, washed down with some South African wine which actually isn't too bad. There's strawberries for dessert and I feel I have done my cooking duty.
I actually feel like I'm coming down with some dreaded lurgie...hopefully not swine flu which they are still raving on about over here.
My nose is dripping like a leaky tap and the back of my throat feels like razorblades. Not my hope of sympathy while the soccer is on!
A nothing day - but one day closer to France!
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Day 16/51 - Old Loves - New Motorways.
It's Wednesday and the last day of June. The break at Eastwood Hall was great - D H Lawrence country - his museum is across the road - and though he arguably only wrote one good book in his life, it's interesting to see where other writers lived and wrote. It's pretty countryside but his house is austere and joyless....pretty much like his writing really!
Now we're on the road to Nuneaton. Where? Er....well it's more or less on the way back to Hartley Wintney and pretty much in the middle of England. So why...when there are historical sites galore to see, are we heading for Nuneaton? Well, obviously because my first boyfriend lives there! He's had cancer and is unable to drive to meet us. I found him 7 years ago on Friends Reunited and he and Tony hit it off....both being drummers. We engage in more of Tony's famous circular driving - but this time we can at least blame A for not actually knowing how to direct someone to where he lives! He doesn't seem to know what's a mile down the road - and yet he's travelled all over the world.
We reach the house and after big hugs I spend a mindless hour learning the names of all the plants in P ( his wife's) garden while Tony and A talk about Jazz, big bands, and musicians they both knew.
People say you can't go back.... you can if you have no expectations. But still I look at this very frail white haired man - still younger than my gorgeous husband - and wonder what I was attracted to when I was 15 and he was 20. There is no answer - it's just all part of groeing up - and while A was my first boyfriend he was not my first great love....That was Michael H....whom I've had no luck tracking down.
WE all hug when we leave and I know that I will never see him again and that's okay. He reminds me of a time when my parents were young and fabulous and sought after and a summer season gig in Newquay - all 16 weeks of it - was the most sought after gig in English Variety...and my dad was king of the Cosy Nook Theatre for six years.
All gone now...but not forgotten.
Tony has promised me a trip to Woburn Abbey on the way back to HW..... but we're stuck in traffic, caught between roadworks and deadly accidents - and the side trip doesn't happen. One more thing to cross off the list as unfulfilled - but in the greater scheme of things, saying goodbye to my youth is more important.
Now we're on the road to Nuneaton. Where? Er....well it's more or less on the way back to Hartley Wintney and pretty much in the middle of England. So why...when there are historical sites galore to see, are we heading for Nuneaton? Well, obviously because my first boyfriend lives there! He's had cancer and is unable to drive to meet us. I found him 7 years ago on Friends Reunited and he and Tony hit it off....both being drummers. We engage in more of Tony's famous circular driving - but this time we can at least blame A for not actually knowing how to direct someone to where he lives! He doesn't seem to know what's a mile down the road - and yet he's travelled all over the world.
We reach the house and after big hugs I spend a mindless hour learning the names of all the plants in P ( his wife's) garden while Tony and A talk about Jazz, big bands, and musicians they both knew.
People say you can't go back.... you can if you have no expectations. But still I look at this very frail white haired man - still younger than my gorgeous husband - and wonder what I was attracted to when I was 15 and he was 20. There is no answer - it's just all part of groeing up - and while A was my first boyfriend he was not my first great love....That was Michael H....whom I've had no luck tracking down.
WE all hug when we leave and I know that I will never see him again and that's okay. He reminds me of a time when my parents were young and fabulous and sought after and a summer season gig in Newquay - all 16 weeks of it - was the most sought after gig in English Variety...and my dad was king of the Cosy Nook Theatre for six years.
All gone now...but not forgotten.
Tony has promised me a trip to Woburn Abbey on the way back to HW..... but we're stuck in traffic, caught between roadworks and deadly accidents - and the side trip doesn't happen. One more thing to cross off the list as unfulfilled - but in the greater scheme of things, saying goodbye to my youth is more important.
Day 15/52 - Relax - Don't do it
The words of Frankie goes to Hollywood...a song from my past.
I wake up this morning unable to move....seriously! My big toe can't move anyway and Tony is being un-necessarily cheerful by suggesting two paddle-pop sticks and a rubber band as splints! If I could move I would smack him with a cricket bat - but he knows he's safe. Somehow I hobble down to breakfast and eat something....while Beloved tucks into 2 eggs, bacon, hash browns, sausages and BLACK PUDDING ( which must surely have been eliminated in the middle ages during the great plague!). I need something to stop the aches and a pool and 1/2 hour in the jacuzzi seems like the best treatment- since I can't stand even the lightest touch. The pool is gorgeous and the jacuzzi is as hot as the skin will allow. An hour later I am back in the room and fall asleep on the bed ( which is infinitely more convenient than the floor!)
The plan - when we both awake - is to go to Newstead Abbey - home of Lord Byron ( well it was...he's DEAD) and then to Sherwood Forest ( Beloved makes a terrible joke - aren't they all? "Which way to Sherwood Forest?" "Just follow the arrows!" This will of course make very little sense to anyone A) under the age of 40 or B) Not a Kevin Costner or Russell Crowe fan)
It's still light at 10pm here in summer and so 5pm seems like midday. WE take off in the car....both refreshed by the sleep and the swim. Of course, beloved always asks me to navigate and then totally ignores me when I give directions. After an hour and a half we wind up back at the hotel....Okaaaaay...let's atart again.
We finally find Newstead Abbey - but it's closed! And Sherwood forest would now be put to shame by The Dandongs - but there are quaint little villages - some of which we see several times as Beloved continues to say "I know the way" . He won't stop at the charming little restaurant I have seen and chosen....but insteads drives to a country pub...The Little John Inn. AS it happens the food is superb, the waitress is fantastic but does warn us NOT to eat....if we're staying on, at the very restaurant I picked...... should I slap my husband just because his smile is so smug.
Strangely she has never heard of the Trip to Jerusalem pub though she comes from Nottingham. "But it's historic" we tell her..... a meeting place for King Richard's followers before leaving for the crusades. "But King Richard weren't real, were he?" she counters - and we give up and take an extra helping of stilton.
I was afraidd thet the extra nap in the morning would take the edge off my sleeping at night. I was right....I lay awake for all of....five minutes.
I wake up this morning unable to move....seriously! My big toe can't move anyway and Tony is being un-necessarily cheerful by suggesting two paddle-pop sticks and a rubber band as splints! If I could move I would smack him with a cricket bat - but he knows he's safe. Somehow I hobble down to breakfast and eat something....while Beloved tucks into 2 eggs, bacon, hash browns, sausages and BLACK PUDDING ( which must surely have been eliminated in the middle ages during the great plague!). I need something to stop the aches and a pool and 1/2 hour in the jacuzzi seems like the best treatment- since I can't stand even the lightest touch. The pool is gorgeous and the jacuzzi is as hot as the skin will allow. An hour later I am back in the room and fall asleep on the bed ( which is infinitely more convenient than the floor!)
The plan - when we both awake - is to go to Newstead Abbey - home of Lord Byron ( well it was...he's DEAD) and then to Sherwood Forest ( Beloved makes a terrible joke - aren't they all? "Which way to Sherwood Forest?" "Just follow the arrows!" This will of course make very little sense to anyone A) under the age of 40 or B) Not a Kevin Costner or Russell Crowe fan)
It's still light at 10pm here in summer and so 5pm seems like midday. WE take off in the car....both refreshed by the sleep and the swim. Of course, beloved always asks me to navigate and then totally ignores me when I give directions. After an hour and a half we wind up back at the hotel....Okaaaaay...let's atart again.
We finally find Newstead Abbey - but it's closed! And Sherwood forest would now be put to shame by The Dandongs - but there are quaint little villages - some of which we see several times as Beloved continues to say "I know the way" . He won't stop at the charming little restaurant I have seen and chosen....but insteads drives to a country pub...The Little John Inn. AS it happens the food is superb, the waitress is fantastic but does warn us NOT to eat....if we're staying on, at the very restaurant I picked...... should I slap my husband just because his smile is so smug.
Strangely she has never heard of the Trip to Jerusalem pub though she comes from Nottingham. "But it's historic" we tell her..... a meeting place for King Richard's followers before leaving for the crusades. "But King Richard weren't real, were he?" she counters - and we give up and take an extra helping of stilton.
I was afraidd thet the extra nap in the morning would take the edge off my sleeping at night. I was right....I lay awake for all of....five minutes.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Day 14/53 - Nottingham and bad maps and good friends.
Monday morning. I awake, terrified to even move, afraid of the pain. When I do pluck up the courage I am surprised to find that I don't feel bad - I might even get through the day without painkillers....and so I pack and drink the cup of instant coffee Tony has made for made. (England...have you HEARD of the coffee machine?)
Remember I was surprised that I didn't fall up the stairs? I was less surprised when I feel down....tripping on the carpet and bending my toe under me at 180degrees. The suburban staircase achieved what the might of Tesco's couldn't - it fractured my big toe ( no...just strap it....no really....I don't want plaster....no...you see...I'm on holiday....)
It took three hours in the car from Narej to Nottnem.... Robin Hood Country!
It then took 1 1/2 hours to find our hotel - because Last minute,com had attached the wrong map. We were driving in circles until finally we called Eastwwood Hall and they directed us in. By that time I would happily have launched a jihad against the British Isles and any tourists who happened to get in the way.
The hotel is sympathetic and upgrades us to a superior room....it's luxurious and comfortable and ON SPECIAL ( my favourite phrase) and I need to rest so we've booked in for an extra night.
With my sugar levels now erratic ( somehow I lost my Diabex XR...an integral part of my meds) I hastily clean up and go to meet my friend Hils whom I have known online for 7 years. She's a delight - and we get on well. The Trip to Jerusalem is Britain's oldest pub - dating back to 1189 when the followers of Richard the Lionheart drank toasts to God and Country before leaving for the Crusades.
The pub is literally carved into the rock face beneath Nottingham Castle....scene of all those swordfights between various Robin Hoods and Sheriffs of Nottingham. It's charming and atmospheric and does great pub food which which Hils, Tony and myself devour with relish. Made up of many small tudor and medieval rooms, it oozes history in a way we in Australia can only dream of. A group of Americans is in another room with a whitewashed cave face. There's lots of shrieking and cheering as they play ringling - a very old game where you swing an iron ring on a rope and try to hook it onto a cow's horn on the wall! Whether they are drunk or just intoxicated by the ambiance - who can say?
But most of Nottingham doesn't have that charm...it's a seiously depressed area and it is so sad to see boarded up shops crying out for some love and attention. I'm glad I came but I shan't be sorry to leave.
Remember I was surprised that I didn't fall up the stairs? I was less surprised when I feel down....tripping on the carpet and bending my toe under me at 180degrees. The suburban staircase achieved what the might of Tesco's couldn't - it fractured my big toe ( no...just strap it....no really....I don't want plaster....no...you see...I'm on holiday....)
It took three hours in the car from Narej to Nottnem.... Robin Hood Country!
It then took 1 1/2 hours to find our hotel - because Last minute,com had attached the wrong map. We were driving in circles until finally we called Eastwwood Hall and they directed us in. By that time I would happily have launched a jihad against the British Isles and any tourists who happened to get in the way.
The hotel is sympathetic and upgrades us to a superior room....it's luxurious and comfortable and ON SPECIAL ( my favourite phrase) and I need to rest so we've booked in for an extra night.
With my sugar levels now erratic ( somehow I lost my Diabex XR...an integral part of my meds) I hastily clean up and go to meet my friend Hils whom I have known online for 7 years. She's a delight - and we get on well. The Trip to Jerusalem is Britain's oldest pub - dating back to 1189 when the followers of Richard the Lionheart drank toasts to God and Country before leaving for the Crusades.
The pub is literally carved into the rock face beneath Nottingham Castle....scene of all those swordfights between various Robin Hoods and Sheriffs of Nottingham. It's charming and atmospheric and does great pub food which which Hils, Tony and myself devour with relish. Made up of many small tudor and medieval rooms, it oozes history in a way we in Australia can only dream of. A group of Americans is in another room with a whitewashed cave face. There's lots of shrieking and cheering as they play ringling - a very old game where you swing an iron ring on a rope and try to hook it onto a cow's horn on the wall! Whether they are drunk or just intoxicated by the ambiance - who can say?
But most of Nottingham doesn't have that charm...it's a seiously depressed area and it is so sad to see boarded up shops crying out for some love and attention. I'm glad I came but I shan't be sorry to leave.
Day 13/54 - Tested at Tesco's!
Sunday morning - a glorious start. There we are eating cornflakes ( which seem to be more English than roast beef) when a brace of magnificent male pheasants in full plumage wonder out of the long grass and nonchalantly cross in front of the window. Isn't it strange that in nature the only female species which primps and parades and looks more ornate than the male is HUMAN! We hold our breath - willing the deer whose ears we can only just see, to follow, but it doesn't.
We say goodbye to John and Jenny with many hugs and look forward to another perfect day. But it's day 13 innit? I always thought it was my lucky number - but not today.
We make the drive from Beccles to Norwich ( which is pronounced "Narej") - stopping on the way for roast beef and Yorkshire puddin....only a child's portion and it's still enormous. Lashings of hot horseradish....yummy.
Outside Norwich we stop at Tesco's to pick up an offering for Tony's nephew and his wife - and that's when it happens.
Some great pillock (Isn't that a great word...it's even better than Dickhead....though not quite as self explanatory) has emptied one of the frozen food cabinets but hasn't mopped the floor. I feel my feet slide in what is almost a duckpond; I yell out; but there's no way I can stop myself. My feet go up....and I go down - cracking my head on the concrete floor. For a few seconds I lose consciousness but then I hear Tony's voice calling me and the world comes back into focus and there's a nurse telling me not to move, and my husband looking white and scared and Tesco staff calling for an ambulance.
Now there is no bloody way I am spending my holiday in a NHS hospital eating rotten food when France is beckoning! It takes about 40 minutes to get me off my back and onto my feet. Nothing is broken - but my back is hurt and me head took a pounding. Another half hour to fill out the accident report while they give me strong tea and check my blood sugars to make sure I am not in shock. I'm given a huge bunch of flowers and a forty pound gift card - the colour is coming back into Tony's face and my two good samaritans ( it appears that one is a lawyer) are muttering threats about suing and neglogence. They're right of course - but all I am focussed on is not being held up.
We arrive at Tony's nephew's and I meet yet more new relatives and give Sue the lovely bouquet courtesy of Tesco's. They have googled me on the net and somehow discovered I love smoked salmon and avocadoes. I do of course and there is a lovely summer lunch spread with both included and I don't have the heart to tell them about the roast beef!.
English strawberries taste like no others. Did I say that before? Well it's TRUE. Now if I could just find somewhere that serves Gooseberry pie! We watch the world cup with England horribly disgraced by a pathetic display of overpaid egotistical show ponies. And the pain of the game triples the pain of the fall. I need to collapse and just hope the headache doesn't get worse and I don't have concussion.
Up the narrow steep staircase which for some insane reason is carpeted - and the carpet is LOOSE. If I don't fall again it will be a miracle! But miracles do happen.
It's a small stuffy room with just a desk fan to disperse the 31c heat - and we're sleeping in twin beds again....but I crawl into bed and try to ignore the pains that are chasing each other through my body and focus on what a wonderful day yesterday was.
We say goodbye to John and Jenny with many hugs and look forward to another perfect day. But it's day 13 innit? I always thought it was my lucky number - but not today.
We make the drive from Beccles to Norwich ( which is pronounced "Narej") - stopping on the way for roast beef and Yorkshire puddin....only a child's portion and it's still enormous. Lashings of hot horseradish....yummy.
Outside Norwich we stop at Tesco's to pick up an offering for Tony's nephew and his wife - and that's when it happens.
Some great pillock (Isn't that a great word...it's even better than Dickhead....though not quite as self explanatory) has emptied one of the frozen food cabinets but hasn't mopped the floor. I feel my feet slide in what is almost a duckpond; I yell out; but there's no way I can stop myself. My feet go up....and I go down - cracking my head on the concrete floor. For a few seconds I lose consciousness but then I hear Tony's voice calling me and the world comes back into focus and there's a nurse telling me not to move, and my husband looking white and scared and Tesco staff calling for an ambulance.
Now there is no bloody way I am spending my holiday in a NHS hospital eating rotten food when France is beckoning! It takes about 40 minutes to get me off my back and onto my feet. Nothing is broken - but my back is hurt and me head took a pounding. Another half hour to fill out the accident report while they give me strong tea and check my blood sugars to make sure I am not in shock. I'm given a huge bunch of flowers and a forty pound gift card - the colour is coming back into Tony's face and my two good samaritans ( it appears that one is a lawyer) are muttering threats about suing and neglogence. They're right of course - but all I am focussed on is not being held up.
We arrive at Tony's nephew's and I meet yet more new relatives and give Sue the lovely bouquet courtesy of Tesco's. They have googled me on the net and somehow discovered I love smoked salmon and avocadoes. I do of course and there is a lovely summer lunch spread with both included and I don't have the heart to tell them about the roast beef!.
English strawberries taste like no others. Did I say that before? Well it's TRUE. Now if I could just find somewhere that serves Gooseberry pie! We watch the world cup with England horribly disgraced by a pathetic display of overpaid egotistical show ponies. And the pain of the game triples the pain of the fall. I need to collapse and just hope the headache doesn't get worse and I don't have concussion.
Up the narrow steep staircase which for some insane reason is carpeted - and the carpet is LOOSE. If I don't fall again it will be a miracle! But miracles do happen.
It's a small stuffy room with just a desk fan to disperse the 31c heat - and we're sleeping in twin beds again....but I crawl into bed and try to ignore the pains that are chasing each other through my body and focus on what a wonderful day yesterday was.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Day 12/55 - Changing Tack
Christopher Cross had a great song called "Sailing" ( so did Rod Stewart...bigger hit - inferior song.)
Today I sailed...me! In a Waveney ( which is a type of competitive little yacht). Now before you start yawning - I mean I SAILED. I didn't go as a passenger - I skippered and took the helm.
Now I finally GET IT and have new insight into my Beloved man. There surely can't be anymore spectacular feeling in the entire world than making a pact with the wind and God and feeling the sails fill and the boat lift and cut the water, racing away.
Buckets gave me a few quick lessons and he and Tony crewed for me. It was a Tony I have never seen, overflowing with happiness and energy and totally in tune with the boat. He loves it so much and now I understand the need for him to be near water - and why he feels so hemmed in by the trees.
I did a halfway decent tack out of instinct and both my lovely crew looked at me in amazement. We all talked about it when we finally got back to the clubhouse - but I could have stayed out there forever!
The little town of Oulton is charming enough in itself. But it's the gateway to the Broads - which actually start in Suffolk. And Oulton Broad is spectacular - as beautiful as any place on earth you can imagine.
The weather Gods smiled on us - clear blue skies - 28 degrees - the water glistening like a diamond mine stripped naked. Bliss.
We had already been to see Lowestoft, just a few miles away, where I spent one summer of my childhood when my dad did a summer season there at the theatre on the pier. There's a plaza there now with dancing water spouts which little children run in and out of, shrieking with delight.
Tuna Mayonnaise sandwiches, a ginger beer, and a walk across the park in Oulton and suddenly there it is...WOBYC ( Sounds like someone from Lord of The Rings rather than a modest yacht club)
It's the Waveney world championships....not that huge a deal since Waveneys are a boat peculiar to this area. Tony is greeted by all as the Prodigal son - to some he is still known as Coca Cola trousers, after some outrageous Coca Cola beeach pants he wore 40 years ago...he still has them and still wears them occassionally. He is clearly loved and he loves everyone there....touching, hugging, back slapping, laughing - and always the Broad is in the background ( no...not me...the water) and the sails zip past us.
It is only after the racing is over that the lovely Jenny ( she of the soft Suffolk burr) says her dad has left the boat rigged in case we want to go for a sail. It's 5.30pm but it doesn't get dark till 9.30 - so why not. I try to beg off but Buckets is having none of that - and so I get to skipper a Waveney and find myself talking to her, encouraging the sails to fill, urging her to find the wind. The exhilaration is overwhelming and I swear I am no more than eighteen years old. Time stops when the wind and the water do their thing - was ever a do more perfect?
Of course, Perfection can only be measured by comparison with imperfection. As we dock and I try to alight - both my bung knee and hip give way and I fall flat on my arse in the boat. A second attempt but my hip is locked and this time I pull Tony over with me!
Thankfully, my ego now put firmly back in its place, I succeed at the third attempt - but where the hell was the 18 year old who had skimmed the water with full sails?
Still, NOTHING could spoil the day. An extra hour in the clubhouse with my crew talking about my one perfect tack..... and then it's fish and cheaps in batter made with the local beer and home to bed. Being a helmsman is a tiring business.
What memories for when I am truly old and dementia sets in...I'm sure by then I will remember winning the America's cup...or at least the Oulton Broad Waveney trophy!
And I'm think maybe....only maybe mind.... when we move to Franmkston we should get a little boat.....
Swallows and Amazons.... aah, a book of my childhood...and now I am living it.
And I am finally up to date with this blog!
Today I sailed...me! In a Waveney ( which is a type of competitive little yacht). Now before you start yawning - I mean I SAILED. I didn't go as a passenger - I skippered and took the helm.
Now I finally GET IT and have new insight into my Beloved man. There surely can't be anymore spectacular feeling in the entire world than making a pact with the wind and God and feeling the sails fill and the boat lift and cut the water, racing away.
Buckets gave me a few quick lessons and he and Tony crewed for me. It was a Tony I have never seen, overflowing with happiness and energy and totally in tune with the boat. He loves it so much and now I understand the need for him to be near water - and why he feels so hemmed in by the trees.
I did a halfway decent tack out of instinct and both my lovely crew looked at me in amazement. We all talked about it when we finally got back to the clubhouse - but I could have stayed out there forever!
The little town of Oulton is charming enough in itself. But it's the gateway to the Broads - which actually start in Suffolk. And Oulton Broad is spectacular - as beautiful as any place on earth you can imagine.
The weather Gods smiled on us - clear blue skies - 28 degrees - the water glistening like a diamond mine stripped naked. Bliss.
We had already been to see Lowestoft, just a few miles away, where I spent one summer of my childhood when my dad did a summer season there at the theatre on the pier. There's a plaza there now with dancing water spouts which little children run in and out of, shrieking with delight.
Tuna Mayonnaise sandwiches, a ginger beer, and a walk across the park in Oulton and suddenly there it is...WOBYC ( Sounds like someone from Lord of The Rings rather than a modest yacht club)
It's the Waveney world championships....not that huge a deal since Waveneys are a boat peculiar to this area. Tony is greeted by all as the Prodigal son - to some he is still known as Coca Cola trousers, after some outrageous Coca Cola beeach pants he wore 40 years ago...he still has them and still wears them occassionally. He is clearly loved and he loves everyone there....touching, hugging, back slapping, laughing - and always the Broad is in the background ( no...not me...the water) and the sails zip past us.
It is only after the racing is over that the lovely Jenny ( she of the soft Suffolk burr) says her dad has left the boat rigged in case we want to go for a sail. It's 5.30pm but it doesn't get dark till 9.30 - so why not. I try to beg off but Buckets is having none of that - and so I get to skipper a Waveney and find myself talking to her, encouraging the sails to fill, urging her to find the wind. The exhilaration is overwhelming and I swear I am no more than eighteen years old. Time stops when the wind and the water do their thing - was ever a do more perfect?
Of course, Perfection can only be measured by comparison with imperfection. As we dock and I try to alight - both my bung knee and hip give way and I fall flat on my arse in the boat. A second attempt but my hip is locked and this time I pull Tony over with me!
Thankfully, my ego now put firmly back in its place, I succeed at the third attempt - but where the hell was the 18 year old who had skimmed the water with full sails?
Still, NOTHING could spoil the day. An extra hour in the clubhouse with my crew talking about my one perfect tack..... and then it's fish and cheaps in batter made with the local beer and home to bed. Being a helmsman is a tiring business.
What memories for when I am truly old and dementia sets in...I'm sure by then I will remember winning the America's cup...or at least the Oulton Broad Waveney trophy!
And I'm think maybe....only maybe mind.... when we move to Franmkston we should get a little boat.....
Swallows and Amazons.... aah, a book of my childhood...and now I am living it.
And I am finally up to date with this blog!
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