So a new year arrives and we look ahead with renewed anticipation but no clarity of vision for who can truly predict the future. New Years resolutions are made and quickly broken but life moves on in its inexorable course for better or worse, for richer or poorer. Things change and things stay the same.
Things have changed for us recently. We've made decisions and brought to fruition plans to make the present easier and the future better by selling up and downsizing from a large detached house to purchase outright a small, semi-detached house at the top of the village we've lived in happily for nearly fifteen years. No more mortgage payments, no more stress and worry about making ends meet and no more hefty bills for heating such a large house from liquid petroleum gas, which had proven to be fiendishly and painfully expensive. Many Winter nights in our last house we simply couldn't afford to heat the place and instead added layers of clothing and climbed under duvets together to watch TV from the couch and venture out from the warmth only when necessary. It's wasn't a comfortable or dignified way to live but financially we had little alternative. But that is behind us and life moves on.
Of course there are small sadnesses in leaving the place we'd spent nearly fifteen years in. A house we shared for the majority of that time with two marvellous little characters in the shape of our cats Bailey and Jess. The gave us many smiles and me more than a few tales for the blog, especially back in the days when I had plenty of nothing but time on my hands after being made redundant. I spent many late nights and very early mornings blogging away accompanied by one or other of them, either prowling close by or draped in a more intrusive way across whatever I was trying to do. I often think of and miss them but life moves on and part of that process is loss great or small. Life teaches us to appreciate moments and cherish memories.
I'll miss the garden too. I enjoyed prowling around its private corners, often barefoot when weather allowed. I'll miss the fruit trees and their annual gifts of pears, plums and apples and I'll miss my friends in sparrow squadron as I came to call the argumentative families of the commonest birds here, but I'll miss those many other visitors too, birds who could always rely on a feed or a drink from spots around the garden and who in return gave me hours of shared companionable curiosity. I won't miss the amount of work needed to maintain the garden though, especially the effort needed to cut the hedge that stretched across the front of the house and drive before turning down to the road. That was a job I came to hate.
I'll miss my pal the old pear tree that stood at the front of the house and dripped its leaves and sometimes its fruit across the roof of the car as we'd pass under coming up the drive. A gentle touch like a comforting caress that said "You're home now." I came to appreciate its rough character and what it must have stood witness to in what we found to be about 125 years of its life. It must have seen some changes but surely also saw that in our ancient village, much also stays the same. People come and go - I was undoubtedly only one person in a chain of others who had tended and cared for the old tree, many perhaps like me who came to cherish her ability to listen well and keep her council and my worries told in confidence. I hope that there is now another in the chain who will appreciate and enjoy her and keep her in good fettle as I tried to do. I would be upset to hear she came to harm but life changes everything and my ability to influence that is passed.
I won't miss our old house, although I will definitely miss its space. Somehow I never thought of it as anything other than a house despite my attachment to the site it occupied. We had lots of great times there but I never felt attached to the house. I never thought of it as 'home'. Maybe because we had always spoken about moving on at some point I never made that emotional connection, unconsciously protecting myself from feeling any loss over it. Who knows?
So we moved on. Now we have a house at the top of the village. Oddly, an older house but in a newer space for while our old house was newer it stood in an old spot while this is an older house but in a location of newer houses. Having said that we have a house from the 1700's just three houses away but that too is new compared to our old near neighbour of Sparrow Castle with its foundations from the 1200's. Now instead of nestled in the heart of the village we stand at it's edge and look out to sea over the heads of most of the village.
The 'new' house isn't old. It's only 60 years old and for all that time was lived in by one lady who lived independently here until well into her nineties. The house is small but well cared for and has a feel more appealing somehow. It needs time, money and effort invested but we can do that. In the few weeks we've been here it's begun to tell us its story and perhaps to hint at what it could be. We in turn have listened carefully and changed our ideas completely from what we thought might be done initially. There's still space to build a two story extension at the side but apart from that we will be less disruptive and more respectful of what we now feel is the integrity of the place. The garden is much smaller and made to be looked after by someone elderly. It will change. We can let it grow into something else. It too will tell us in time what it should be and that will no doubt be different to what I now think it could be. Time will tell and we will listen. In the time we will be here we will appreciate and we will cherish. Birds will be fed and at some time down the line fruit will be grown. I may try and get a cutting from my old friend The Pear Tree. It would be good to let her see new things. It would be good to still have her to talk to and shelter the new arrivals who arrive hungry or thirsty.
While many things change much abides. A new year begins and we look forward with unknowing anticipation to what may be. We make plans but who can knowingly predict the future.
Life changes everything and nothing at the same time.
Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,
April cold with sudden anger,
Ever changing, ever true --
I love April, I love you.
Jess butts her head against my fingers as I rub her neck and shoulders, gently massaging a loud purr of appreciation from her as we spend a companionable minute or two together. She's been restless this morning, repeatedly wandering in and out of the kitchen and its attached utility room where Jess has her bed, food and litter tray. Her litter tray is one of those big covered ones with a flap so she can get in and out. We bought it after noticing that if she was using her tray and either of us went in to the utility room or even passed by the door, Jess would immediately get back out. Obviously she's a sensitive wee soul and, being somewhat the same myself when it comes to privacy, I felt sympathy. The covered litter tray has worked a treat for a few years now and she's been much more relaxed.
If there is a down side it is - how should I put it? Maybe "out of sight, out of mind" would best cover the occasional slip between The Lovely G and I which has meant that there's been the odd dip in regularity of cleaning up and this is what has happened today. Each of us thought the other had done the deed when the reality was that neither of us has leaving Jess with 'ants in her pants'.
Realising what's happened I get her little harness on her and put her out into the garden for a while carefully tethered to a tree via one of those extending leads. She has some history as a runner in her earlier years and now she's a bit older and more fragile I'd prefer not to leave it to chance that the wanderlust doesn't take her again. Anyway, the fierce winds of the last couple of days have gone and it's not too cold, not for one with a built in fur coat anyway. As I leave her, with a promise that I'll be back in a wee minute or two once she's done her business. she looks at me with a 'Really?' kind of glance. I look at the darkening sky and say, "I know. It's going to rain soon. You just do your business and I'll be back in two shakes of a cats tail."
Forty five minutes later I look up from my cup of coffee. " Aw no! Crivens jings and help ma boab I've left wee Jessie outside! Even as I make my way to the patio door I can hear the rain pattering against it and as I slide it open and step out I can see a small white and brown nose and two huge eyes peeking out at me from beneath the hedge at the back of the garden. I make apologetic and encouraging noises as I cross the garden towards her and she comes out from under the hedge at a fair speed. She's not completely soaked, not 'drookit' by any stretch of the imagination but she's a bit damp {he says trying to make himself feel a bit less guilty}. Ok - she's completely 'damp'.
We meet by the apple tree and I unfasten her from her leash so she can head back indoors but oddly she stands there looking at me with what I can only describe as feline disgust dripping from every whisker before taking four or five slow deliberate steps towards the house. With each step she lifts a paw and gives it a shake, spraying small droplets of water around her. The air is heavy with indignation as I follow her dripping tail back to the patio door, rushing to make sure she's not kept waiting at the door. My own tail is firmly between my legs as I slide the door aside and she steps up and into the house, making straight for where The Lovely G is sitting at the table. Jess stops directly in front of her and sits down as if to say " Look what this pillock's done to me!" before reaching a soggy paw up to pat her thigh for emphasis. She gets a sympathetic look and noise from G as I return from the far side of the kitchen with some paper towels which I use to rub her dry under G's disappointed gaze..
Jess arches her back and moves huffily away from my towelling ministrations and starts rearranging all the fur I've managed to disrupt on her back and flanks. I can see I'm going to be ignored for the rest of the afternoon. I can see G eyeing me up too.
I wonder what the cat equivalent of the dog house is?
I'd better get in it right now.
But should I clean out the litter tray before I go?
I step out into the garden, stretch and exhale slowly in morning air that holds quiet promise of coming Autumn. In the fields around the village farmers harvest their golden prize from summer near past. I walk barefoot to the apple trees and load the feeders for the birds and luxuriate in the feel of cool grass between my toes. It reminds me that I should be dealing with the garden before we head off for a short break at the weekend, back to France and that special place that's come to mean so much to me over these last few years.
I'd wanted to go to Languedoc for years and years before I ever got there. When I did I felt immediately at home, somehow completely relaxed and at peace. Oddly, I felt unexplainably relieved just to be there. I never said anything to My Lovely G, thinking it was probably just over reaction to that getting-away-from-it-all-on-holiday feeling, yet feeling like it was more than that too.
A few days before the holiday ended we were sitting in the 'Bar A Vin', our favourite watering hole in the ancient walled city of Carcassonne, slaking thirst and letting the heat of the day drain from us as we recovered from a day trip somewhere that had included a hill climb beyond what the overweight middle aged me was comfortable with anymore. My mind wandered over the day: rivers we drove beside, tiny villages, narrow hill roads, treacherous paths and that withering climb to a Cathar castle ruined centuries ago perched high on its crag. And yet most of all my mind pondered on how familiar it all felt. How comforting it was to push the path down beneath my feet and walk higher and higher through an environment that should have felt completely alien yet instead was the absolute opposite.
I turned to G and said, "Y'know, I don't think I've ever been somewhere I've felt more at home than here - other than actually at home. I can't explain it. I know this is the first time we've been here but I love it. I really do. I feel such a sense of peace. I've been trying to dismiss it as some kind of daft holiday nonsense but I honestly can't. I absolutely love it here."
I glanced across the table into those mesmerising eyes and found I was being examined with one of those typically concerned looks I know so well. I braced myself for a dose of reality.
"I know. I feel it too. I can't explain it either."
Back in the now I turn from the trees and the now full bird feeders tucked amongst the apples and head back across the grass to the house. At the patio door I turn and look back at the garden for a second, stretch and slowly inhale cool morning mixed with the scent of the garden. Autumn's in the air here for sure and the days will soon be growing short. I wonder how it will have changed by the time we get back. After breakfast I'll get out and mow the lawn, weed the borders and tidy down the drive for the last time this summer. Even though we'll be gone just a week summer will have gone by the time we get back. I'll be sad to see it go but glad to be back in France again.
My laptop isn't coming this time but G is taking hers so I may get a blog or two in, especially if I get the inspiration or some good photos. I have programmed in a couple of Sunday posts anyway to keep the blog ticking over.
Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,
April cold with sudden anger,
Ever changing, ever true --
I love April, I love you.
Ogden Nash
Photo by Alistair.
Happy Anniversary Sweetheart.
I turned the key in the lock and walked out to the car across the half inch of snow that was being slowly added to by the minute, the bags heavy in my hand as I opened the boot and placed them, my camera bag and a couple of other things we'd decided to take on this short break, carefully inside. We always have a holiday around my birthday and this year's no exception, although we'd decided to stay in the UK to save money for later in the year, something I was regretting momentarily as snowflakes managed to get down the neck of my shirt as I got into the drivers seat. It struck me that somewhere warm and sunny right now would be a nice relief from the cold and damp of a Scottish winter. Technically it's not winter any more of course, but no-one's taken time to let the weather know and it's been dourly consistent in its approach to the passing days. This holiday would take us to England, staying a few days with a friend and an overnight somewhere on the way back at the end of the week.
Ok - maybe not quite half an inch. Sue me.
The snow on the road at the end of the drive was red slush, stained the colour of the local soil from the fields around the village, but had all but disappeared as we joined the main road a few moments later and headed south on the twenty minute drive to Berwick Upon Tweed to catch the train due in half an hour. I flicked the wipers on as dirt spray spattered from cars in front and decided that lights wouldn't be a bad idea either on a day so grey and flat and with the world in monochrome beyond the window.
The day was dull and grey and monochrome.
A lot to say in English.
In Scots we'd just say 'dreich'. Everyone would understand.
A few minutes later than the scheduled time we pulled out of the station comfortably sat at a table to ourselves. G was texting ahead to let our pal Indigo Roth know that we were on our way while I was busy setting up my laptop for the journey- a couple of hours then a switch to take us another couple of hours down towards Cambridge before finally changing to a local service to get to our friends home town. Part of my birthday pampering was this part of journey in first class, with its extra leg room, better seats and a never ending supply of complimentary tea, coffee, drinks and various other goodies. I was pleased, but we'd be coming home standard class as we'd decided to break the journey into two smaller portions with an overnight stay in York, - one of 'our places'- making first class an unreasonable cost.
G is a seasoned rail traveller from her time working in Edinburgh but it's not something I've done a lot of over the years, my preference almost always being to drive. A rail journey then, is special to me and I'm always reminded of my first train trip as a small boy - a visit with my Grandmother to her twin sister who lived at the other end of the world. Or that's how it seemed to me at the time. Being such an unusual and evocative means of transport to me, trains are therefore special and I always get a frisson of excitement as a journey starts. In some ways it's part of the reason I'd rather be an infrequent passenger. I like to keep it special. I'd hate to lose the feeling.
As we stepped off the train a few hours later the figure of our chum was easily identifiable. It's not easy to miss the afghan-lean six foot five figure of Mr Roth and today was no exception as from the other end of the platform he raised his walking cane and waved a cheery greeting some distance over the heads of our fellow travellers. While we walked towards each other he doffed his gleaming bowler hat and beamed a smile, his dark locks shining in the late afternoon sun. He'd dressed for the occasion in an impressive Victorian style frock coat, with dark, muted stripe trousers over gleaming shoes and spats. From beneath his coat the edge of a crimson waistcoat caught the eye and led the glance past an immaculately starched ivory shirt and a Jacobs-coat-of-many-colours cravat at his throat to our monocled friends face. By the time he'd reached us he'd removed one of his pale calfskin gloves and proffered a hand the size of a small country to G, who was delighted when he bowed and kissed the back of her hand before scooping her into a hug and lifting her several feet off the ground. When he gently returned her to the platform he kept an arm protectively around her as he replaced the hat on his head, adjusted the angle to 'jaunty' and thrust a manly paw in my direction. I reached out to shake it to find myself pulled to his side while he exclaimed his delight at seeing me again. I felt my shoulders squeeze several inches towards each other as he manoeuvred all three of us around to face the opposite direction. He gently encouraged us in the required direction and when I turned to collect the bags found that he'd scooped them all up, one in each hand and one under each arm. Nodding cheerily towards the exit he began explaining all the plans he'd made to introduce us to the local area over the next few days as we walked from the station.
Ely Cathedral
At the large sleek automobile parked in front of the station building he flipped open the expansive boot and put the bags effortlessly away before the gleaming lid seemed to close automatically. I found myself grinning at the sight. Typical! Nothing's ever ordinary around this man. A quiet cough brought me from my reverie to find him standing by the open rear door as G took her seat. He closed it behind her and opened the front door, indicating with a look that I should sit up front beside him. The journey from the station took only a few minutes as he explained the rail company had built the station on the edge of his estate and sure enough we were soon to pass through the entrance gates and onto the drive beyond. It was 'unfortunate' in one way explained our host as he drove at breakneck speed through the grounds, as the views were 'somewhat curtailed' by the station but it was frightfully handy for visitors. He went on to explain that the view in the opposite direction took in almost the whole estate and he'd set aside rooms for us on the third floor so we could take full advantage of the scenery. Nothing but thoughtful is Mr Roth.
Windows like these are really hard to see out of.
Putting them them so far off the floor doesn't help either.
He paused at the wide door long enough to punch a few digits into a keypad and once past the secure entrance and into the house itself we were shown to our room and given time to get freshened up. Indigo said we should take our time and when ready he had some refreshments prepared and we could relax and catch up with all the news since we'd last met when he'd come to ours to stay a couple of months before. Later, after a wash and brush up, our host, now sat langourously in a huge wing-back chair with a velvet smoking jacket to replace his outdoor coat, a tassled fez perched on his dark hair and with red velvet slippers on his huge feet, plied us with delicious coffee and petits-four. The coffee, as expected coming from something of a connoisseur, was exceptional. I enjoyed the after dinner snifter that followed a home cooked meal later too. The perfect and civilised end to a days travelling.
Indigo had just completed a challenging month of writing while working on his first book, but the output had been largely frustrating as it had shown him that what he'd hoped to get out as one novel was now looking like three or four. Glad of the opportunity to take a breather, he'd organised the next few days so we could spend time together and indulge in our shared passion for photography and cream teas. Sorry - I mean architecture. He talked us through the architectural delights of some of the coffee houses, tea shops and cathedrals he hoped to take us to before we spent the rest of the evening comparing our camera gear and discussing the pros and cons of digital photography and visualising travel through time and relative dimensions in space until it was time for bed.
York Minster
The next few days would pass quickly as we hurtled enthusiastically from place to place with Indigo behind the wheel of his charabanc. Writing this from home after the event and given the speed of his driving, the memories are blurred. Hopefully, the photos aren't.
York Minster
I got some odd looks lying down to take this.
{but I still enjoyed the snooze too}
Thank you Indigo. Hopefully we can do The Edinburgh Festival this year.
We sit in the large window of the French style bistro and watch the world go by. The bistro is part of a restaurant chain but despite that we like it and its location on one of York’s tiny medieval streets near The Minster is perfect for us. We love York and come here once or twice a year for an overnight stay; to walk its ancient streets and linger in the tiny old quarter under the massive spires of The Minster, enjoying the old houses overhanging the narrow lanes beneath. It doesn’t matter that those lanes are often choked with tourists or that many of the shops are stuffed with items aimed at the same audience. Its just a place that appeals to us. Restaurants, bars and coffee shops can be found every few yards, yet there are sights to remind you that people live here too; the huge market and butchers and bakers shops doing brisk trade in everyday items.
We came this morning from Berwick upon Tweed by train, a couple of hours on the limited stop service through Newcastle and Darlington and on down the coast. The weather has been atrocious and raining non stop - so bad in fact that I’ve come without my camera - but despite that we looked forward to getting here. We know where we want to go on days like this and the best route to get there. Once clear of the station at York it’s a ten minute umbrella-covered walk into town and Café Rouge, past the world famous ‘Betty’s’ restaurant and tea-rooms - too rich for our pockets today - and on down towards the spires that loom over the buildings beside them. A right turn and a hundred yards takes us to the half dozen steps up to the door I hold open to let the Lovely G pass then shake off the dripping umbrella before closing it and following behind her. The waiter takes the umbrella and our damp coats as he shows us the table by the window and tells us he’ll be back momentarily in appealingly accented English. Within a few seconds we have menus to peruse while he fetches our drinks and we settle in to enjoy relaxing in the warmth of the rustically decorated room with its display of fin de siecle French poster art, dark wood and painted walls.
The window has room for three tables of two - one on either edge and one in the middle - ours is at the left hand side of the three with a view up and down the street outside. The window sits perhaps four feet above street level and is decorated with gold edged, red painted letters advertising ‘Plats du Jour’. ‘Sandwichs’, Baguettes’ as well as ‘Boisson Chaud’, ‘Bierres et Vins’ and other temptations for rain drenched pedestrians.
The rain spattered pavement outside is busy with people coming and going at the accelerated pace of people keen to be out of the rain. It strikes me that this view of humanity has been essentially the same to be had here for several hundred years; people passing by in all weathers loaded with essentials or luxuries. The intentions are the same, merely the clothes are different. We smile across our menus and begin to read. I take a large sip of my red wine and enjoy its mellow fruitiness and perfect temperature as I try to decide what to have. This obvious detail is one of the reasons I like café Rouge so much. Too often a glass of red wine elsewhere is served too cold to taste anything other than wet. But, back in the now, we’ve decided on a light lunch as we’ll probably eat later too, so I skip a starter and choose a steak baguette with salad and thin crispy frites while The lovely G goes for fishcakes, salad and frites. The place has become noticeably busier as the rain continues. We were lucky to get this table by the window.
While we wait we talk idly across the table, looking forward to a more authentic French experience when we go to Carcassonne in a week. This overnight break has been postponed several times when we couldn’t match my time off with availability at the hotel we had arranged and now the deal is about to expire so we have to take it or lose it. So, we’re using it to get in the mood for France and I hope out loud that the weather there will be better than outside the window, where umbrellas are the essential accessory. Out there, in Scots parlance, the rain is ‘stoatin’: the heavy drops creating large splashes as they explode on the umbrellas, heads and shoulders of those unfortunate enough to be outside. We smile selfishly and I raise a glass to the smiling G across the table. Jings! - its good to be warm and dry on this side of the glass!
Some time later I smear the last piece of my medium rare steak with Dijon mustard and close a final bit of crusty baguette around it before crunching down on its savouriness for the last time. Wiping my lips with the napkin I sigh contentedly and look across the table to where G is still some way from finished - she’s a more genteel eater than I, especially when famished. I take another gentle sip of my wine and turn my eyes outside again. The rain’s continued unabated and the street has become heavily puddled by the hammering rain and by old gutters overflowing causing walkers to step off the pavement onto the road here and there to avoid an unwanted shower. Time too has marched on while we’ve been here, the light has slipped to the extent that the occasional passing cars now have their lights on, causing the raindrops hitting the ground to dance like a million diamonds in front of them. Pedestrians seek a safe distance pressed against shop fronts until they‘re gone and now seem slower moving and more hunched over than before despite their umbrellas. I muse whether this might be because of the amount of water their clothing has absorbed or dripped into bags of shopping.
Much later after coffee and conversation as warm as the room we both touch the same topic in synchronicity - should we stay or should we go?
You probably know my answer to that already, don’t you?
I recommend the house red - preferably a bottle......….and the dinner menu.
It was late afternoon when my Lovely G smiled at me and said, "Tonight I think we’ll have fishcakes, boiled potatoes and peas for dinner."
I smiled in response to her voice and replied, "That’ll be nice" and returned to whatever I was doing at the time. A couple of hours later I was in the library engrossed in some photography magazine that I had recently purchased and was working my way through some of the free hints and tips CD that had been included when I realised that time was marching on and our normal time to sit down to an evening meal was rapidly approaching. Feeling a bit thirsty I walked across the hall and into the kitchen to get myself a drink. As I poured the water from the tap something registered in my subconscious and I found myself turning and looking around the kitchen.
Hmmmn……...
No quiet hum came from our electric fan oven to indicate that something was cooking inside. Nothing on top of the gas hob either and across the room the dining table clearly hadn't been laid for dinner.
"Strange," I thought,
I walked back along the hall to the lounge where the lovely G was sitting tapping away on her laptop. I stuck my head around the door and she turned to look at me as I asked,
"Are you making dinner?"
She looked quizzically back at me." No, why?"
"It's just that you’d decided what we were going to have and I assumed that you were going to make it. I didn't realise it was an instruction rather than an intent and so I've not done anything. I thought you were going to make it tonight for a change."
She looked at me with one of those pitying looks that women seem to be so good at around men, like they're dealing with dogs or small children who don't have the ability to reason yet, while I mumbled some mixture of confusion, disbelief and frustration back at her before heading off to the kitchen.
As I did I distinctly heard her say she'd be through to help in a moment.
A few moments later and everything was underway. With such a simple meal it's a matter of a moment or two before the fishcakes are in the oven, new potatoes, which don't even need peeling, are bubbling in a pot and I have some peas ready in the steamer. I'd just laid the table when I turned around to find my lovely G had arrived. She snuggled into me and gave me a cuddle with her head on my chest and made some of those contented noises that women do. The ones that are designed specifically to make men feel they are the providers of comfort; of safety; the masters of their universe. It's all rubbish of course but it works most of the time. Not tonight though.
"So exactly what part of dinner were you going to be helping me with - apart from eating it that is?."
Without raising her head {and with absolutely no trace of irony} she squeezed me for a second and purred,
"I'll do the dishes!"
I thought of the two plates, knives and forks, two glasses, one pot and steamer that were all going to go straight in the dishwasher and sighed resignedly.
"Aye, thanks for that love!"
Sometimes a man's got to do what a man's got to chew.
As it's The Lovely G's birthday today - don't ask, I'm a gentleman and a coward - I've taken the day off and we're braving the forecast torrential rain to go to Edinburgh Gallery of Modern Art to look at the Edvard Munch exhibition and then going out for something to eat.
Some pampering has already taken place and much more to come. I seem to have hit a goldmine of brownie points by arranging a microlight flight for her main present.
Don't be so surprised sweetheart - I'm still trying to justify that telephoto lens.........
And you are very well insured.
Have a brilliant day!
And thank you for your permission to finally post a photo of you.
I can't help smiling as I sit here contentedly looking down the lake. The late afternoon sun shines on my face, its warmth comfortable and soothing and on the table beside me I have the choice of a stunning cup of coffee or a glass of crisp white wine from the perfectly chilled half bottle sitting on the white linen tablecloth.
Beside me The Lovely G also sits quietly. We are on opposite sides of a small, circular table here beside the small harbour of Riva Del Garda, which as the name suggests is on Lake Garda in northern Italy. Behind us and the two rows of tables with their attentive staff is the Hotel Sole which has quickly become our place of choice of an afternoon or almost any part of the day on this short holiday. The 20 or so feet between my stretched out legs and the edge of the harbour allows people to pass quietly by, walking or sometimes on bicycle. It's a promenade, a place to see and be seen for the locals and tourists here. Around the corner of the hotel the tables continue, facing the harbour with its small but well fed population of ducks and three or four swans and the town square with its mediaeval plaza and tall watchtower. That too is a favourite spot but more so earlier in the day as by now it's in shade and the temperature in this last week of March cools quickly when the sun has gone.
A waiter passes, nodding a quiet smile of recognition in our direction, weaving through the tables with a tray of coffee and drinks expertly balanced in one hand. The staff here are immaculately turned out in black trousers, white shirts, black dickie-bows and black waistcoats as they bustle efficiently to and fro even though the season hasn't yet started and they lend an extra air of dignity to the slightly faded elegance of the old Hotel. From the tables around us conversations spill out towards the water. English, Italian, German and Russian are the easiest to spot but there are more and I watch a family of oriental origin walk past in front of me. I like this.
It feels great.
My attention is momentarily caught by a squabble between two male ducks down on the water as one fends off a rival for the attentions of his mate and I watch the loser depart at frantic speed as he tries to stop his rival give him the indignity of a hard peck on the behind for his troubles. The water disturbed by their thrashing glints silver and black against the bulk of the water in the lowering sun and flares through my sunglasses causing me to look away and I take the opportunity to savour a sip from my coffee. I glance across at The Lovely G as she sits looking down the lake. Despite the sunglasses masking her eyes I can see a look of utter contentment and I smile and settle myself comfortably deeper into the wicker chair. It may be a long afternoon.
The English Lake District is a three hour drive away from the house and we've just come back from a couple of days down there. The weather wasn't great, which is a shame in such beautiful countryside because the grey skies and low cloud pressing down on the mountains made taking photographs very tricky due to the light levels.
Troutbeck
We stayed at a small private hotel called the Cedar Manor in Windermere. It's the typical kind of hotel we go for; small and family run. The heart of the hotel is an old house next to a church and the house originally belonged to the Minister. The room was small but comfortable and well supplied with all mod cons. The food was fabulous and the price of the stay was negligible thanks to the midweek timing and the lovely G's skill in finding online discount vouchers.
Cedar Manor Hotel
Last month she did the same for us and we enjoyed a few days away in the Pennines, again in a small private hotel tucked away in the hills amongst some fabulous scenery and depressingly with much of the same weather which again put photography beyond my fairly basic skills. The food at the Lovelady Shield hotel was fabulous too, but more expensive due to the accreditation of the chef.
Cartmel Priory - We'll be at a family wedding there next month
The drive to both of these hotels is any car enthusiasts dream, filled with spectacular views, interesting and sometimes challenging narrow roads built for a more sedate type of travel and need that edge of the seat awareness for every corner, never knowing what you'll meet around the bend.
Driving
These hotels are both approximately the same distance south but on opposite sides of the country yet the landscape is very similar with rolling hills, deep valleys full of sheep farms and the ancient dry-stane dykes made without cement. The skill of these ancient dyke makers was incredible and work covers the land, often going straight up incredibly steep hillsides and gives the landscape its unique look.
Lovelady Shield Hotel
This is the third short break we've had this year, all using discount vouchers from the net and all in the kind of spectacular countryside that we love. Downloading the photos onto the computer last night I looked back at some of the shots from the last three months and found myself wishing that I could organise the weather better – at least as far as taking photographs is concerned. Oddly, we don't really mind what kind of weather we have on these short breaks as each kind of weather brings its own additions to the landscape and the views.
The lovely G sits with her legs stretched out in front of her in front of
the full length cheval mirror in the corner of our bedroom. Fully dressed, she has her head cocked to one
side brushing her hair as Jess rubs herself backwards and forwards
across the small of her back. Across the room I have head and shoulders deep in the built-in
wardrobe as I hunt for a T-shirt and a pair of socks, but pull-back when I
realise she's speaking. I've learned after years of tuition that it's better and less painful to pay attention at all times - or at least to appear to. That doesn't mean that I understand all the time of course. I am just a bloke after all.
I look across at her.
She reaches one hand out to touch the base of the cheval
mirror.
"You know, if all I had was just this, the pine chest, the craft
table, my laptop, I-player and my log (I know she's talking about a table - top
driftwood candleholder which I bought her for Christmas, gaining mega brownie points.... ) I'd be quite happy living without
anything else."
Jess sits down and looks at her for a moment before looking
at me.
I look back and then at G.
" And what about us?"
"Well, ah - erm - yes, of course – I mean you and Jess as well."
Jess looks back at me and yawns a wide mouthed catty yawn
that ends up looking like a smile. I grin back.
"I should think so too! Eh Jess?"
Jess stands, turns to G and butts her on the bicep
before starting to rub herself against her again.
A thought occurs.........
"Ummm - Can I bring the bed along?"
Still rubbing herself against G's back Jess is looking directly at me.
Are there any people in the civilised world who haven't seen the blockbuster "JAWS"? If you're like me, you're probably pretty sick of it being trotted out at every opportunity by satellite companies. Like ‘James Bond’ movies, it seems there's never a holiday passes without yet another rerun doing the rounds on one station or other.
Having just said that, I found myself quite bemused a few weeks ago as I pressed the record button on it yet again. I've no idea what came over me. Later, I'd meant to delete it, especially since we were getting a bit low on recording space on our digital recorder, but for some reason hadn't got round to that either until looking through the planner with the lovely G for something to watch. I was just about to delete it when the lovely G volunteered that she'd never seen it before. Considering we've been together for 25 years I was pretty amazed that despite all the conversations about movies we've had and all the movies we've watched together that this vital part of her cinematic education was lacking. The reason? She'd always thought it would be too scary.
That was a surprise too, particularly considering some of the films we've been to see over the years. She's always seemed impervious to me but, having been too young to see "JAWS" when released, she later wasn't allowed to watch it on TV as her parents thought it too gory. Somehow that imprint remained firmly fixed in her mind.
Earlier today we were watching a BBC nature documentary called ‘Earth flight’, a beautifully filmed series following migrating birds. In the episode there was a scene showing seabirds scavenging remains from shark kills. That she was watching this at all was a surprise in itself as she's usually too squeamish for reality like that, yet for the first time she seemed comfortable watching sharks or crocodiles successfully capturing their prey. At the end of the programme she further astounded me by suggesting that tonight we should watch "JAWS" although with the proviso that she would snuggle up next to me on the sofa in case she got scared
“JAWS” is a classic cinematic milestone and technologically it was a marvel in its day. I loved it when I first saw it at the cinema. That first time it was scary, exciting, incredible and ground-breaking. Now having spawned generations of similar stories – “Aliens” was famously described as being “JAWS” in space – it seems simple, clichéd and a bit naive. The acting of the main cast is great but some of the lesser characters leave a lot to be desired, especially through repeated viewings. Because of the countless similar films over the years, the scene set up is highly predictable and those teaser ’scary' scenes are clearly signposted by the absence of the shark’s signature music.
Tonight for the second time, I got to experience it for the first time!
With G tucked up against me, an arm around my waist and mine around her shoulders I got to feel every shiver; every fright; every sharp intake of breath. I shared her excitement; through her reaction it was all fresh, all new. I jumped too when that head appeared through the hole in the boat for the umpteenth time of watching. I left my jaded perception behind and was thrilled anew by a great big plastic shark. It was brilliant! And I got cuddled to bits!
What a shame she’s seen Star Wars………
What movie would you want to see again for the first time?
Blogger pal dbs over in Canada may have invented the 'wordfuse' as far as I know. He takes two words and 'fuses' them together to give added meaning or comical emphasis when viewing some of the anomalies or absurdities of modern life.
This 'wordfuse' occurred while sitting in the car the other day with The Lovely G. I became aware that the conversation was basically a list of instructions from her to me.
I now deem her irrevocably to be my 'SatNag'.
But that's just tongue-in-cheek sweetheart - honest!
{Post title is a vague reference to a track by 'Japan' in case you're trying to make a connection.}
Well, that's the final holiday of the year over and the sad return to cold, damp, rainy Scotland happened on Sunday afternoon. We had a great week of good weather in the Languedoc, with temperatures in the high twenties and low thirties each day apart from the last couple before we flew back. In some ways this actually helped us prepare for coming back to the weather that we heard was covering Scotland in rain and windy conditions.
It was great to be back in the Languedoc again. It's an area we've been to a couple of times now and always felt completely at home there, so much so that we have looked at buying a house in the area (should the finances ever allow) at sometime in the future. For now though we have to make do with renting a holiday home, which this time was in the village of Trauss, just to the north of Carcassonne. The house is owned by a British couple, one of two gites attached to their own house, which they bought when they moved to live in France permanently four years ago. {lucky people}
The house was lovely. A typically French affair with shuttered windows, open beams and exposed stone walls, well kitted out with all mod cons and comfortable furniture. Having a nice pool was a definite bonus, despite advice that it would probably be too cold to go swimming as the temperatures now were a lot cooler than the summer temperatures of a few weeks ago. Of course with temperatures at 30 degrees, hotter than the normal Scottish summer, that advice was largely ignored and I was often grateful to have a cooling dip after a long day out on a hot day, especially if that day had involved a long drive or hoof up a mountain to explore a castle or two.
Lastours
Distant Queribus
We spent our time returning to old haunts, exploring new ones and finding those wonderful, unexpectedly amazing restaurants you sometimes find in the farthest corner of the smallest village. We had some amazing meals at bargain prices and certainly didn't lose any weight while we were there, despite doing plenty of walking. We walked through picturesque villages, drove mountain roads covered in fallen chestnuts whose spiny shells carpeted the road as far as you could see. We were amazed by the incredible colours of autumn that were beginning to come to the fore despite the heat and were mesmerised throughout one unforgettable drive through the montaigne noir which lay close behind the village we were living in.
Minerve
Alet les Bains
We spent time in the World Heritage site of Carcassonne old city with its incredible mediaeval walls and soaring towers, glad that the crush of summer tourists had gone leaving space for everyone and time to take photographs undisturbed. We spent the final night of our holiday in a hotel in the old city and I had the amazing buzz of being able to drive through the narrowest streets to get to our hotel at six p.m. when the curfew on cars was lifted, something I've repeated again in the early hours of Sunday morning when we left to go to the airport. An absolutely unforgettable experience.
One of the entrances to La Citie, Carcassonne.
There's always a cat!
or two!
Although the week didn't seem to go too quickly it was over far too soon and it did rekindle our love affair with the area and make us determined to come back more regularly in the future, to explore the area even more thoroughly and perhaps to look further afield at some of the other areas around the Languedoc too.
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