My sister came from Canada for a family wedding, so we have enjoyed some days out. When she was here last year, we followed a trail around London, looking for garish painted statues. It was unexpectedly fun, so when we saw there is a ‘Tusk Gorilla Trail’ around Covent Garden, we downloaded the map and set off. ‘Setting off’ involves more planning these days, due to train strikes (sooo much I could write here) but the day we chose was lucky for both trains and weather. (English summer weather could be a whole blog.)
We walked from Victoria Station, and avoided the millions of people who had come to see the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. I like walking through London with my sister—she’s a photographer (amongst other things) and she makes me notice things I wouldn’t see otherwise. The trails are mainly fun because they take you to streets you wouldn’t normally visit, so although finding ugly gorillas (they were very ugly) is not especially compelling, the side-benefits are definitely worth it. As we followed the map, we met a few other people (all with children) doing the same thing. We shared hunting tips (some were hidden in squares or shops, so not easy to find) and tried not to notice that we were about 40 years too old. Next time perhaps we should kidnap a child to take with us.
*****
Our next trip was to Wakefield Place. This time we took Husband with us. We knew there was a seed bank there—not the baby-making kind. They keep samples of millions of seeds (2 billion, to be exact) in a huge vault under the ground. Visitors can wander around the centre, which has information boards and glass screens to protect the scientists from the tourists.
Apparently, most seeds can be dried out, which preserves their life and keeps successive generations safe. However, some seeds die if they’re dried, so they need specialised storage facilities to preserve them. It is these ‘recalcitrant’ seeds that the seed bank are researching. When you visit, if you are lucky, as well as seeing the information boards, you might see a rare scientist, complete with white lab coat and gloves, studying things (I assume seeds) under microscopes. It’s not unlike visiting a zoo, though only the brashest of visitors would photograph them.
Underground (where visitors are not allowed) they keep the temperature at -20˚C (with a wind chill—produced by fans—of -27˚C). My sister, who teaches in Calgary, was unimpressed by this, as she does outside playground duty in temperatures of -20˚C most winters. But perhaps the fans are what make it dangerous down there.
After the seed bank, we explored the rest of Wakehurst place. It’s very nice, with lots of different sections to the gardens. I loved the wild areas, especially the ‘Boulder Walk’ which had trees growing over rocks, with their roots displayed. It felt almost indecent, like looking up someone’s skirt. There were some art installations (I am the wrong audience for them) and a very nice teashop. Unlike some properties, I didn’t feel everything was over-priced and designed to fleece the unsuspecting tourist (an annual pass is £35). We shared a pot of tea for £3.50, and sat outside, watching toddlers roll on the grass. If I’d thought about it, we could have come here first and kidnapped a couple to take on our gorilla trail. Maybe next year.
***
We are planning an outing to the beautiful city of Cambridge. I’ll tell you about it in my next blog.
Thanks for reading, have a lovely week. Take care. Love, Anne x
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Went for a run, then a swim. People began to emerge at about 9, we left the house at 10:30.
Drove to Douro Valley, stopped in a little town (Pinhao) and parked somewhat haphazardly on a cobbled street. We found a nice little cafe: Princesa do Douro. Freshly made sandwiches, decent coffee, clean facilities and friendly service. We bought a Pastel de Nata which is a traditional tart, filled with something similar to egg custard. It was very tasty, wish we had bought more. Nice place to stop.
Tiles are a thing in Portugal.
After lunch we tried to wander around the town, but it was too hot and Husband was too antsy, so instead we went to the boat place. This was more complicated than it sounds, as there are several different boat companies and we had booked online. Found the name on a building and went inside. We sat in the company office while they looked for our reservation, enjoyed the air-conditioning, looked at their photos, downloaded their app—then discovered that we were in the wrong company office, so left very quickly! Hunted for the correct company. Found it eventually and waited in line at the little jetty. Worried that people from the arriving coaches might take our places, but all was fine. We boarded the little wooden boat, and sat under a shady awning, looking at the view.
We had a one-hour cruise down the river, looking up at the vineyards on the hillside. Very pretty. The boat had shade, but it was still hot (didn’t need my cardigan). There wasn’t a tour-guide, so we just looked. It was pleasant, but I was happy it wasn’t longer than an hour. Some people were on boats that had come from Porto, and I fear this would be very expensive, uncomfortable and hot. But perhaps I’m wrong.
Drove back. Lots of winding roads, which I don’t feel G particularly enjoyed. It felt like a long journey home. The Douro valley is pretty, and it’s ‘a thing’ so you sort of feel obliged to do it when you’re here, but to be honest, a quick drive would have been enough for me. It was fun to see the tiered vineyards, and to spot the giant signs, like Hollywood signs, marking the different port manufacturers.
I got my mark for my proposal (68). Husband ate a nectarine and then got straight into the pool (these statements are not linked). J and F shared a tiny dessert (we had more, they must have wanted 1 ½ teaspoons each).
Wednesday
We ran to a little chapel, set on rocks at the water’s edge. According to Google, it is open for visitors, but the doors were locked when we were there. As the sea is the Atlantic, which has big waves at the best of times, I can’t imagine how it survives storms.
As we drew close, there were lots of school children arriving, so we slowed down (I am exaggerating) and dodged them as we ran along the boardwalk. Sections of the beach were cordoned off with ropes, and there were little tents where they put their bags. School on the beach must be a thing in Porto. I didn’t see any toilets, but perhaps they have an arrangement with a nearby restaurant.
There were also little tents hired by elderly people. They sat on deckchairs, watching the sea. Much nicer than the ‘meat market’ arrangement that I have seen on Italian beaches, where loungers are laid out with a couple of feet between them and no shade.
The beach here is nice, though probably not great if you like sea swimming, as there are lots of rocks. The sand is fairly soft though, so lots of people use the beach for sunbathing or walking. It has a nice family feel to it. After running, I walked back along the beach, paddling in the sea. There was a lot of sea weed, and a few shells, and some huge black sea-slugs–the size of my shoe–which looked like giant fruitgums. The weather was warm, though most days there was a strong wind coming from the sea, so it never felt hot. Definitely a fun place to have a holiday.
Thanks for reading. Hope you have a good week. Take care. Love, Anne x
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R woke with a headache, which was a shame as today was her choice of activity (port tour) combined with F’s (trip into Porto). She thought she would be okay, so after a slow get up, F and G ordered Ubers and off we went.
We were dropped at the cathedral. Porto reminds me of Rome—lots of pretty squares, old buildings, and music. The cathedral had various buskers, nice atmosphere. Husband suggested he could lead us on a walking tour. After following it for a few streets he was fired/resigned and F took over. We walked across the railway bridge (at the same time as trains, which I found as unnerving as the height of the thing) while M told us how fantastic it is (first ever bridge to double as both a suspension bridge on the lower deck and a sitting-on-a-support bridge on the upper level). It’s not pretty though.
Husband persuaded M to climb a wall, and he grazed his fingers. More blood than expected. I was more concerned than he was. We wandered down to the river, and F suggested a restaurant area, and J found a suitable restaurant on Google, and we sat down for lunch. Patched up M with plasters. Food was really good (I had a cod burger, very tasty). Used the washrooms (because this is often not easy in a city). There was a busker nearby who couldn’t sing, but thought he could. It was painful. G had bites on his hand (I assume a mosquito not R) and his whole hand was swelling. We offered sympathy, but no one had anything more helpful.
Went for a walk. It was hot. M wanted to post a postcard, so went into the Tourist Information to ask where to post it. We were directed to a tiny shop selling trinkets, who had a shoebox-sized box in the doorway. This, apparently, is the box for international mail. It will be amazing if the card ever reaches home.
Went to Calem Port place. Had a tour, which we all remembered from when we did it last time (though it’s actually very well done). Went into the port tasting room. As we are seven people, we asked a couple if they would move so we could sit together. They refused. I photographed them (but family were adamant that I should not post it on my blog). R took some aspirin, which didn’t bode well. However, it turns out that aspirin and port is good for headaches, perhaps I’ll try this next time I’m ill.
We tasted 3 ports: a white, a rosé and a tawny. I preferred the rosé so gave my others away. M ended up with a row of tawnys, J did well with the whites. Husband chatted to the strangers next to him (of course he did). Nice afternoon. Ice creams, then ordered Ubers back to the villa. They arrived in about 5 minutes, it’s a really good service.
Within 3 minutes, at the most, of arriving home, Husband was persuading people into the pool to play a game. ‘Keepy-Uppy.’ It’s a game that’s very noisy and lasts for about 6 hours. They seemed happy, though I fear Husband might have hyper-active tendencies. R and I tried to read, but it’s hard to concentrate with the noise coming from the pool. Sometimes I think nothing has changed in the last 20 years.
Thanks for reading, I’ll tell you more in my next blog.
Hope you have a fun week. Take care. Love, Anne x
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I am writing this in Portugal, in a rustic house near the coast of Porto. I can see a corner of the ocean as I write, a strip of blue glinting over the hedge between the trees and the house next door, and I can hear it, a steady sweep of waves over rocks providing a constant background to the dog barking, and the birds in the trees and the occasional car. In a nearby tree, a pigeon coos, and seagulls wheel over the garden in their screeching search for food, joined by the crow of a cockerel in a nearby garden.
We arrived yesterday afternoon. We should have arrived in the morning, as our plane landed soon after nine, but the owner had an electrician here (apparently) so it was not possible for us to arrive earlier—not even to drop our bags. After a 3:45 taxi, this was somewhat annoying, though everyone was polite (ish) when Husband told them the news. I noticed that he waited until we had landed before sharing.
It actually wasn’t too bad. We collected the hire cars—less hassle than usual, once we realised the system of getting seats in the shuttle bus before putting our luggage in the back, otherwise our luggage would leave without us (they need to rethink their logistics I feel). We drove (or to be exact, Husband and G drove, while J navigated despite his headache) to a fishing village near the villa. It was an exciting journey, with J doing his best to test G’s driving with lots of cobbled streets, and U-turns in narrow roads, and unexpected roundabout exits. (He claims it was due to closed roads and road works, and we believe him.)
We parked in a surprisingly convenient car park right next to the beach, which was guarded by an old woman under an umbrella who was collecting money for a saint. (Not quite sure which saint, or why the saint needed the money, but the old woman was diligent and shouted something foreign at us when we walked past without donating.) The car park was free. We knew this, because we very quickly ascertained that F speaks Portuguese that people here actually understand (unlike my Portuguese with is excellent but sometimes seems to confuse people) and we sent him off to read signs/ask random people whether there was a fee.
We left the cars and all our possessions except for the suitcase containing secret banking information that would cause the economy to crash if it got into the wrong hands, and walked along the prom.
The beach was wonderful—sand and rocks, fishing boats sheltering behind a sea wall while the waves crashed over it, green nets strewn over the sand, and a chimney way down the beach. No idea what the chimney was for—smoking fish? Alfresco dining?
It started to rain, which made things less pleasant. A friendly fish restaurant allowed us to shelter under their awning while they set up ready for a 12 o’clock opening. When they opened, we went inside. It all looked very nice, and possibly expensive, but it seemed we were eating there.
We had a round table between a display of very ugly fish arranged on ice, and a glass cabinet full of exciting-looking desserts. We were given English menus, and chose a variety of meals—sharing dishes between two was a thing, and they were priced differently. They brought bread and cheese while we ordered, and we gobbled it up pretty fast. The meals arrived in metal dishes, which the waiter served onto plates next to the table. Husband wondered if there were seconds (there were) and coped fairly well with having only a modest amount of food on his plate. Made it harder to plan mouthfuls I guess. I ate fried veg served with tomato rice—very tasty. Most people had fish in some form—J and F shared claws and legs and body parts of various sea creatures, which looked like a hassle to eat (one of them resorted to fingers before the end). We shared dessert and had coffee. F, being almost Portuguese, ordered a drink that sounded like Pingu, and he described as being a small white coffee, and it seemed to please the waiters (who probably get fed-up with inept tourists torturing their language).
We drove to the supermarket and parked. (This was not as easy as it sounds, we had a nice detour round the back of the shop.) I had a well-organised list, with difficult words translated into Portuguese, which I divided between the family. They all gave their list back to me, and told me they were going off to explore, so it was all just as chaotic as normal, with random things appearing in the trolley. I remembered to check the dishwasher tablets really were dishwasher tablets (because we washed crockery in de-scaler last year) and tried to look competent when weighing fruit and adding price stickers. M was very distracted by the stickers. We didn’t buy frozen stuff. We didn’t buy water (because the villa details said they had excellent drinking water).
Arrived at the villa. Very pretty, full of rustic furniture with beautiful grounds. The owner told us the water was safe to drink, but in a way that clearly conveyed that she would not drink it herself! Husband went out to buy some water. We allocated rooms—no one was sure about the very pretty room with a balcony because it was lacking doors—though I think we were all tempted. J and F bravely took the murder suite/separate annex. M had no air-con, so kept the door to the hall open. R co-opted the spare upstairs bathroom as her private shower room.
We walked down to the pizza place on the beach. The view was stunning. I was going to photograph the restaurant afterwards, but it looked too much like a public toilet from the outside, so I will wait and take one inside. They were very friendly, and the meals were delicious, though needed more salt. The blokes mainly drank big beers (served in those tall glasses that have a waist so look bigger than they really are) and the rest of us drank sangria (which involved more choices—in Portuguese—than I was expecting). It was delicious, and I could have drunk the whole jug. Very nice evening.
Today, I woke at 6:30, and waited until 7:30 before waking sleepy Husband and dragging him out for a run. We ran along the boardwalk, past several fat men and fully made-up women exercising next to the sea. Very lovely.
After a quick shower, we played tennis, and I learned that Husband is now almost as rubbish as I am. We changed the game to simply trying to get the ball over the net as many times as possible. It was fun, and I rediscovered muscles I never knew I had. Gradually the rest of the family emerged from their rooms. R took up her post lying next to the pool in the sunshine. M swam round the pool for a very long time. G went for a lonesome walk. We waited (for a very long time) while J showered, and then went for a walk with him and F.
The main coast road is fairly busy, and they have painted the pavement red, which means bikes feel free to whiz along them, and pedestrians don’t really have anywhere safe to walk—which seems like a silly idea. Parallel with the road, across the dunes, is the boardwalk (which is probably where pedestrians are supposed to walk). We walked to look at Galo Petisqueira restaurant, then joined the boardwalk. The beach is very pretty, with big waves and lumps of rock (but probably not a great place to swim).
Stopped at the little shop (open on Sundays, which was a surprise). Husband wanted some fresh bread (fresher than the stuff we bought yesterday) and some more water. No one here seems to speak English—it’s not a place for foreign tourists. Luckily, we have F, our secret weapon, who speaks very good Portuguese. He managed to negotiate that there were bigger water bottles in the store room. He also helped out when the woman was confused by Husband’s mime that he wanted 15 bread rolls. (Hard to know what she thought he meant—5 or 10?)
Ate lunch in the dining room. All agreed that we like this villa. Tried to plan whether we should do any excursions—and did not all agree. M want to do expensive cruise down the Douro valley, R fancies a wine tour, F wants to spend time in the city, I want to drink sangria at a beach cafe, Husband wants to build a dam o a river on the beach. (No one understands Husband’s choice, apart from the boys, who also want to. Genes are a funny thing.)
Males played ‘Small World,’ I read, R sunbathed. Then we tried another game of tennis, this time with M and F. I think we need to change the name of the game to ‘Sorry!’ We were fairly equally matched, but this is not a good thing. Dinner was at the pizza place again. We asked to sit outside, and they thought it would be fine to use a table for six and add a seat on the end. It was cramped. But the view was fabulous. People seemed to enjoy their meals better this time—and F chose very well, so we all intend to copy him next time. Three of us shared sangria, and R was the only one able to pour it without spilling it everywhere. This is now the second time I have shared my drink inadvertently with J (but it’s hard to feel guilty given the history).
I will tell you more tomorrow, we had such a lovely time.
Thanks for reading. Have a fun week, and take care. Love, Anne
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A friend of my daughter was married on Saturday, and the bridal party used our house to prepare for the wedding. This was very exciting! We spent the week before the wedding tidying the house and garden (well, to be honest, I more moved muddles into rooms they wouldn’t use than actually tidied, but most of the house looked pretty by the weekend). We ordered some decorations online. Daughter bought some lace bunting, which was very pretty. (Husband muttered about it looking like a chain of thongs, and tried to rename the kitchen ‘the knickers room’ but we ignored him.) We bought big bows, and bunches of flowers, and it was all lovely.
If you know about weddings today, you will know that this involves hairdressers and make-up people, as well as a florist and photographer. As there were eight bridesmaids, the hair and make-up experts arrived about 9:30, for a 4pm wedding. I realised that fainting bridesmaids would not be great, so had prepared pastries and fruit for brunch, and salads for lunch. I enjoy feeding people.
The bridesmaids arrived, and the air filled with hairspray and chatter. The tidy rooms were filled with bags of stuff, and a rail for dresses and a lot of shoes (I am pretty sure there were a lot more shoes than people.) I moved a plant in front of the incubator so the eggs wouldn’t be disturbed. The goose was due to hatch, but it didn’t make an appearance.
The bride has a small dog, so youngest son and partner arrived to dog-sit during the wedding. Husband spent most of the morning washing his car. This pleased me, as he had washed it the day before (apparently) and I hadn’t liked to mention that it was still very dirty. Him and son then fixed white bows and ribbons on the front. This took them longer than you might think, but it looked good by the end. All the blokes then went off to the pub for a long lunch.
I cleared up my bedroom and bathroom for the bride to change in—how exciting to see a wedding dress hanging, and a veil spread over the bed. They had a steamer, and set to work steaming the dresses to remove the creases. This is new to me, and I was terrified it would end in disaster, so left the room.
Mostly I kept out of the way, letting the young women discuss hair products and beauty tips (I know more about animals and babies). The flowers arrived—always beautiful—and we put them into the garage to keep them cool, and I prayed they wouldn’t fill up with spiders. The bouquets were in small pots of water, so before the wedding party left, I dried the stems on old towels.
A baby arrived to be fed by one of the bridesmaids. Later, I saw another bridesmaid holding her, and suggested that as she was full of milk (the baby, not the bridesmaid) she should beware of vomit. Bridesmaid clearly thought I was mad, but took the tea-towel I offered anyway. A few minutes later, I helped her to wash baby-sick off her gown.
There were a few photographs, and then it was time to leave. The bridesmaids drove off—I found their bouquets where they had left them, and put them in the boot to take to the venue. The bride and her sister sat in the back of Husband’s car, and it was all very lovely. Husband wore a nice suit, my mum was stationed by the roundabout in town ready to wave, the sun was shining, and my part was finished. I travelled with Daughter and her fiancé—and the bridesmaids’ bouquets.
The wedding was at Hever Castle, which is a beautiful venue. I felt they could have done better at keeping the castle visitors separate from the wedding party, but no one else seemed to mind. There were lots of flowers, and a string quartet, and the lake shimmering in the sunshine while the couple said their vows. Two people promising to love each other, and be faithful for the rest of their lives, is always moving. There is something distinctly right about a wedding.
I hope you have something lovely this week. Thanks for reading. Take care. Love, Anne x
No duck-poop in sight!
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Hello, and how was your week? I thought I would give you a quick update from my house. This isn’t really what I want to write about, as really I want to tell you about what I plan to write for my thesis. But I can’t. I’ll explain why in a minute.
Firstly, if you had Mother’s Day last weekend, was it lovely? I had lovely gifts from my family, and no one forgot this year. (I never assume…) I cooked dinner for my mum and mother-in-law, and it was all very pleasant.
I used it as an excuse to use the last of the turkey dinners from the freezer. Due to various off-spring changing their plans/announcing they no longer eat birds/incompetence on my part, I ended up with several turkeys, of different sizes, this Christmas. They all went into the freezer, and the last one has now been defrosted—which always takes longer than expected—and cooked.
Last Sunday was busy, because it’s also the day my daughter and her fiancé moved back home. They are currently between selling/buying houses, and they are living here for a while. Mostly this is brilliant. It’s the first time since Kia died that the house hasn’t been horribly empty. When I pop out, I now can shout through a bedroom door to my soon-to-be-son-in-law and tell him that I am leaving. And when I am home, I shout that I’m back. He probably can’t hear me, because he’s busy working, but I like having someone to tell. To be honest, Kia probably never understood when I told her these things, but I just liked telling her.
They did move back with more stuff than I was expecting, even though all their furniture has gone into storage. My house is rather full. But I like having a full house, empty rooms feel wasteful.
The cage by the pond is also very full at the moment. When Kia died, the local fox soon realised the garden was accessible again, and started to visit, so I have kept the ducks shut away (even thought they could be back on the pond now). They seem quite happy, but the cage is incredibly muddy as they spend all day transporting wet mud from the end with puddles to the rest of the cage. Ducks are mucky creatures. There are a couple of nests, in corners where they think I won’t notice them, and I think they must be almost ready to hatch. Depending on how many hatch, the cage will definitely be too full. And I can’t bring the ducklings into the garage this year, as that is full of daughter-stuff. Ah well, I shall decide on a plan when I know how many hatch.
Last year’s hatch.
I don’t have a huge amount of time for duck or daughter sorting, as I am preparing the proposal for my thesis. I want to tell you all about it, but I have to be careful—apparently ‘self-plagiarism’ is a thing. If I write and publish something, I cannot then put it into the thesis. So I can only tell you snippets, and nothing in academic language. Basically, I want to look at why the Leviathan, which is clearly not a crocodile (because it breathes fire/smoke) changes Job’s attitude in the Book of Job. What does it represent? I’m reading lots of books by scholarly authors, and have discovered ‘monster theory.’ Who knew that was a thing! Apparently, all cultures have monsters, and you can learn a lot about cultures, and what they valued, by examining their monsters. In a time/place of physical uncertainty, the monster might be extreme weather-monsters, or lions; before medical advances, the monster might represent disease; when there were warring nations, the monster might be violent. I wonder what our monsters today might be—loss of control? Racism? Mental disorders that result in unpredictable violence? The films/books we read seem to have lots about psychopaths and historical racism at the moment. When I was a teenager, there was lots about evil spirits/demon-possession (with films like ‘The Exorcist’). You don’t see so much about that now, maybe our monsters are changing.
The other thing you don’t see so much of now are—complete change of subject coming, so brace yourself: some of the sweets I ate as a child! My mum is doing a jigsaw, and on the back are photos of sweets from the 40’s, 50’s, 60’s and 70’s. I will leave you with them—how many do you recognise? Fruit gums have always been my favourite, though I am also keen on a bar of Cadbury’s milk chocolate.
1940’s1950’s1970’s1960’s
Hope you have a good week, that has a manageable amount of stuff, and no monsters. Maybe there’ll be some sweets too.
Arrived in Malta. The Airbnb is a 20 minute drive from the airport. Staying in Valletta, which is pedestrianised, so parked in multistorey car park and wheeled our suitcases through the city. Rain was forecast but never appeared, so felt very thankful.
Dumped bags in the apartment and went to McDonald’s. Sometimes, when you’re very tired, you just want something very easy/familiar. It hit the spot. We were the only people, including the staff, who were over twenty!
The apartment is weird. It’s all on one level except for the bedroom, which is reached via a steep spiral staircase. The bedroom contains a bed—nothing else. We left our bags in the sitting room, changed in the kitchen. Very odd.
Monday 21st November.
We woke early and went for a run. (Well, ONE of us woke early, and then had a hard job waking the other—but we did both go for a run.) The apartment looks better in daylight. It’s right in the centre of Valletta, and has two balconies that overlook the city. The bedroom, whilst odd, is also wonderfully light and has a view of the sea. Husband carried up a small set of shelves, so I can put a few things up there.
We had breakfast in Eddie’s Café in Republic Square. They didn’t serve croissants, so I tried a Maltese pastry—which was flakey pastry (quite greasy) filled with cheese. I wasn’t a fan. Husband had Eggs Benedict, which was much nicer, so I ate some of that.
It then basically poured with rain all day. The bedroom has a tin roof, so I read an Ethics book while the rain rattled above me. The sea turned from blue to grey and then disappeared from view. We walked to a little Italian restaurant for dinner: Papannis. Great food and wine, with friendly service. Returned to the apartment feeling happy.
Tuesday 22nd November
Not raining. Brilliant! We ran through the Victoria Arch, along the coast, then up the hill to the apartment (one of us walked up the hill). Showered, then had coffee and croissant at Caffé Cordina in Republic Square. Perfect.
We can see a big dome from the apartment, so we walked there (it’s a big church, rebuilt after the war. A LOT of Malta needed to be rebuilt after the war.) We found our way down to Boat Street, and had a lovely walk next to the coast. As we passed the imposing city wall, we could see where the bricks had been cut from the rock. When the knights arrived in Malta, they must have cut the rocks into bricks (thus lowering the base) and built the wall right there (hence not needing to transport the bricks very far). Clever. The wall is now weathered, but I still wouldn’t fancy having to climb it to attack the fort.
The weather was windy (needed my woolly hat) but sunny. When we sheltered from the wind, it was very warm—tee-shirt weather—but mostly we needed a jumper and coat. This was unexpected, I had assumed Malta would be warmer in November.
Returned to apartment and I read more of my Ethics book (quite heavy-going). Fell asleep while reading, and woke up to feel the bed shaking—thought it was Husband trying to wake me—realised it was an earthquake! It didn’t last very long, but there was quite a lot of movement. I checked Twitter (which is always the fastest way to confirm an earthquake I have learned). The earthquake was measured at 4.4.
Dinner at Papannis again. Lovely.
Wednesday 23rd November
Lots of wind and rain (and church bells) during the night, so woke up tired. It was grey and windy, but not actually raining, so we went for a run. I love running next to the sea, there’s something that makes me feel like a child again.
Breakfast at Caffe Cordina again. Today the pigeons were annoying. They’re very aggressive, and as soon as they see food they try to fly onto the table. If people leave uneaten food when they leave, the table is instantly swarmed with pigeons. Not very hygienic. I don’t like city pigeons much (they’re like rats).
Went back to apartment and I tried to read more of the Ethics book. Managed to not fall asleep. Gave up, and we went for a walk along the south eastern coast. We could see warships and a cruise ship and more of Malta across the inlet. Malta is distinctive, with its cities of golden stone and steep walls rising up from the coast, and so many churches—domes and steeples in every direction. Which means lots of bells. The bells near the apartment were fairly random in when they rang, and some of them rang throughout the night.
Dinner at Papannis again—we will have to eat somewhere else tomorrow as they shut on Thursdays.
I will tell you more about our trip in my next blog. Thanks for reading. Take care. Love, Anne x
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Today has been a mix of highs and lows. Mostly highs, so I will start there.
As you know (if you read my blog regularly) we had booked a house in Italy for the summer, but popped home after a couple of weeks to attend my niece’s wedding. After the wedding, we returned to La Thuile for the rest of August. It felt like coming home as we drove from the airport, past ‘our river’ that races through the valley, to the view of ‘our mountain’ with the glacier that reflects all the moods of the sun.
Anyway, today I suggested that we should go to a café for an espresso (which is one of my favourite things about Italy—sipping a coffee in the sunshine, somewhere beautiful). Husband suggested that rather than walk to the nearby café (‘our café’) we should try somewhere new, on the other side of town.
He directed me along lanes, through the park next to the river, up narrow streets. We arrived at a pretty building next to the river, with a family sitting in lounge-chairs in the garden. At our arrival, they all jumped up, assured us that they were open, and the man showed us to a table in the shade. He then disappeared.
I looked around. On one side was the river, on the other was mountains—all very pretty, perfect for a leisurely coffee. The man then reappeared, carrying cutlery and glassware, and a basket of fresh bread. He smiled welcoming as he set our table. Lots of eye-contact between Husband and I, neither of us spoke. The man hurried away.
Now what? The man was so welcoming, the bread looked freshly baked, dare we say that we only wanted a coffee? Husband said we should just order something small (we already had dinner reservations for the evening at ‘our restaurant’). The man reappeared with the menu, and we chose a couple of dishes. Neither of us understand much Italian, so it was a bit random. What arrived were platters of cheese and meat, which went perfectly with the house wine. We finished, an hour later, with the espresso that we had come for. It was all very unexpected, and very lovely. A good time.
After our lunch, we discussed what to do, as I have hurt my leg and can’t walk far. Husband suggested we went ‘up the mountain on the cable car.’ I knew this was something he really wanted to do, and we had just enjoyed a lovely lunch in the sunshine, so I agreed. I hate heights. It was even worse than I imagined.
The ‘cable car’ is not a cable car, it is a chairlift—designed for skiers in the winter, and mountain bikers in the summer. I watched the chairs as they flew down the mountain, turning at the bottom, slowing for passengers, then continuing back up the mountain in a continuous loop, never actually stopping. I saw a few people nearly getting bonked when they stood up but didn’t move out of the way quickly enough, and I tried to learn from their mistake as we joined the line of young men with bikes. We fed our tickets into the machine, and stepped forward. A man appeared from his cubicle and hovered near the emergency-stop button. We stood in place, the chair arrived behind us, we sat back, a bar was lowered in front of us, and we rose towards the sky.
I decided it would be best to keep my eyes shut. This worked fine on the way up. It felt like flying, I could hear birds and smell the pine trees, and the temperature grew gradually cooler as we rose. We reached the top, Husband yelled at me to let go of the safety-bar, a man hovered near the emergency-stop button, I leaped off the chair, remembered to hurry to the side, the chair sailed past me and I was on solid ground. All great. I felt rather pleased with myself, and enjoyed looking at the views and watching the young men as they raced down the mountain on their bikes. Then we decided to go back down. Then it all went wrong.
As we fed our tickets into the machine, the man emerged again to hover near the stop-button. Obviously we looked incompetent. The chair swept behind us, I sat, the bar was lowered, I shut my eyes and pretended I was flying. Then Husband (who I have now forgiven) mentioned that the safety bar was raised and lowered by the passengers—in other words, him. That felt very unsafe. If you have a fear of heights, you will know that the fear is connected with falling, and the belief that somehow you might fling yourself over the precipice. I am not scared in airplanes, because I cannot fall out. I am terrified on cliff edges because I might fall over. Now I was being told that if I lifted the bar (yes, I know that this was entirely in my control and wouldn’t happen, but fear is not rational)—if I lifted the bar, I would plummet to my death. I took deep breaths. Then Husband mentioned something about the view below, and fool that I am, I opened my eyes. I was not flying. I was suspended on an insecure chair, miles above ground, with nothing but a moveable bar between me and certain death. My heart stopped, I thought I might vomit (pity the mountain bikers below!) and I started to shake all over. I think I whimpered.
For the next few terrifying moments we sailed through the air. I shut my eyes and prayed very hard and tried not to think about how it would feel to fall. Then we arrived. The same man hovered near the emergency button (they didn’t seem to do that for anyone else!) and I managed to stand, to move out of the way, to walk to the nearest bench. I didn’t speak. Somehow, I survived. But it was bad, very bad.
Enjoying the top of the mountain.Me, having a heart attack.
I hope your day is full of good things, and that you cope with the bad things calmly. Take care. Love, Anne x
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We went to Italy for a couple of weeks. It was a variation of the trip we planned for 2020, when we rented a house in the Italian Alps for a few months, just to see how it would be to stay somewhere beautiful for a while. That trip was cancelled—another victim of the Covid lockdowns—so when the same house was free for the beginning of August, we booked it.
I arrived exhausted, mainly due to the last days of July. It had been busy—much too busy to call the wasp man, so I told Husband that we had a nest, and he said he hadn’t seen any wasps, so neither of us phoned the wasp man. Which was a mistake, but we’ll come to that later.
Sisters
You will remember my sister was staying? Well, she returned to Canada on the 30th of July, so we all met the night before for a barbecue at my brother’s house. To say goodbye. I hate saying goodbye to my sister, she’s a part of me, there’s some strange physical bond, and Canada is much too far away. When we returned from our family trip to Cromer (see an earlier blog) I had to make lots of scones, because all the ones I had made previously were eaten by my sister, and me, and various relatives who came to see my sister.
The dog also had to go into kennels, and I hate that now she’s so old, just in case…
Anyway, I survived saying goodbye to both of them again, and there was no time to think because the 30th was a whirlwind of making beds, cleaning the house, preparing meals for stray children (who aren’t children any more, but you know what I mean) when they arrived. In between time, I flung items of clothing in the general direction of a suitcase.
At about 2pm, my eldest son arrived from Vietnam. He’d been working there, managed to dislocate his leg, and had to be collected by taxi from the airport (because no one else was free). He hobbled in on his crutches, looking all tired and relieved to be in England, and thin. I don’t think he’d eaten much and he’d done a lot of trekking through jungles. When confronted with a tired thin son, mothers like to cook. I was busy, so cooked a frozen pizza (but the thought was there). Younger son carried the suitcase upstairs, I put a load of Vietnam-dirty clothes in the washing machine, then smiled a welcoming smile as our first visitors arrived.
At about 2:30, all my in-laws arrived for a cream tea to celebrate my parents-in-law’s diamond wedding anniversary. We had put up bunting, and decorated tables, and it was sunny so we could sit outside (with the wasps—you remember them?) Everyone seemed contented though, and it was a happy celebration.
At 4pm, people left, and I had time to clean up (mostly) and then fold the clothes that I had thrown towards the suitcase, packing them properly. I cooked dinner for the family (they all came back for the wedding anniversary and to come on holiday). I was asleep within minutes of going to bed. But only managed a few hours because the taxi arrived at about 4 am. Then off to the chaos of Gatwick.
I will tell you about the joys of travelling with someone in a wheelchair in a later blog. Italy will have to wait too, otherwise this will be too long. We returned yesterday, ready to attend my niece’s wedding (another fun celebration I expect) and I will leave you with a few pictures of Italy, simply because it is beautiful.
Hope your week goes well. I will tell you about the very best place in Italy next week. Thanks for reading. Take care. Love, Anne x
A storybook place…there might be dragons…The water is silver, and fast.View from my window.Such pretty houses.There are always mountains, silently watching.
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I went on holiday with my siblings. It’s the first time in decades that we have all been together, without our spouses, for a few days of reminiscing. If you follow my blog, you will know that Uncle Frank died a few weeks ago, and my cousin wrote to say that she was taking her mum to Cromer. My other cousins all agreed we would try to be there at about the same time, and on a hot July weekend we met in Cromer.
Cromer is where my family always went on holiday when I was growing up. Set on the North Norfolk coastline, I have many memories (not happy ones) of horizontal rain and wind that was always cold. Always. The sea was rough and grey, and I learnt to swim in it, gulping salty mouthfuls as the waves washed over me. It’s a wonder I didn’t die of typhoid. I believe it’s a lot cleaner now.
We used to camp, which is not my favourite thing. This time my siblings and I stayed in a hotel—The Cliftonville—with Mum and Aunty Margaret. What fun! The hotel looked on the website rather like an old people’s home, but it was cheap, so we booked it anyway. When we arrived it was under renovation by new owners, and it was all rather lovely. I thoroughly recommend it if you visit Cromer, very comfortable and the staff were amazingly helpful.
My relatives however, camped. Some were in caravans or motorhomes (the older generation) and some were in tents. We all met up each day on the beach in Runton, at the bottom of the ramp behind the big black rocks. The weather this July was hot—I don’t think I have ever been in Cromer when it is hot. The beach was full of families, and dogs, and old ladies in deckchairs. You could tell the regular visitors, because they sat behind windbreaks, a tradition borne from experience. But they didn’t need to, any breeze was a welcome break from the sun.
We sent the days simply talking; remembering past events and people, reliving happy moments. Cromer hasn’t changed much, but there were a few new things—like goats (bagots) which now live on the cliff edge, and the steps to Granny’s caravan have now washed away, and so have the steps to the picnic field, so the routes down to the beach are fewer, and people willing to walk can have a private pitch between Cromer and Runton. The military pillbox on the beach has sunk, we used to be able to go in there when we were young (it always stank though). The boating lake has gone, and most of the shops have changed owner, and Banksy has painted a picture on the concrete wall. But our own graffiti was still there—we carved our names in wet concrete 40 years ago, and you can still see the shape of the letters, though Bessie’s[1] footprints have worn away over time. The slot machines were still there, and many ice cream shops, and the painted beach huts, and the fishing boats, and the pier.
A Banksy picture, a bit washed away but still pretty cool!Look carefully and you can spot the beginning of ‘MARK’ and ‘ANNE’ written in the cement.
We popped in to one of the many antique shops, and found shelves of old books and stacks of papers from before we were born. I bought some from 1936, but my brother did better because he found some from the war which describe the liberation of the camps. They were only £2 each, and I wished I’d bought more. There were commemorative mugs, and medals which were shockingly cheap—only a few pounds for a medal marking 15 years in the red cross during the war.
We ate fish and chips, and ice creams, and walked along the pier—because you have to do those things in Cromer whether it’s sunny or raining. It’s nicer when it’s sunny. Actually, everything was fun, especially the talking. There we were, three pretty-old-now siblings, reliving our past. Not something that happens very often, but definitely worth making time for.
Then I returned home, to find out how Husband had coped with the chickens and ducks and cats and dog. All was well, and I tried to thank him, and to explain what we had done for the weekend, but I couldn’t really, there wasn’t much to tell. We had just talked.
Thanks for reading. Hope you find something nice to talk about today. Take care. Love, Anne x
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[1] Bessie was the family collie dog, and she ran all over the wet cement when we wrote our names. She died in 1985.
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