England, the Jade Kingdom.
Gatwick was at last able to show its long makeover results, England being too proud, one presumes after what Romney said, to receive the Olympic visitors with cardboard make- shift walls, endless round-about tours of stairs and redirections, and was now spruced with waiving flags and gleaming floors, bidding you welcome. So did Lorna and Keith who stood there smiling!
Mind you, as it wont with Norwegian Airline, we had landed way too early, but waiting for the luggage took its toll and made me rather late. As one irate passenger put it as we stood waiting and leaning against pillars, “ The flight was shorter than the time I have been standing here. And that was an hour!”
I fell in to dreamless sleep at my friend Lornas house, where she has a delightful guestroom, with your own bathroom, facing the garden for me every time I come. Its almost like home!
Must tell about Margaret that I met in Lincoln. Lorna had wanted to visit her aunt Doris, 92 for a while, but did not want to drive there on her own, and asked me if I would mind coming along. Of course! We had a wonderful drive, stopping along little country lanes off the motorway for lunch, either in a field with sandwiches or in a small pub and then getting lost! The 4,5 hours flew and we were welcomed to Lincoln by her cousin Andrew and his wife Eileen, who were utterly charming and plied me with so much wine I felt like those riff-raff found in the “Widow Cullens Well” pub, a reputable old Inn on the Steep Hill. Along with having real “kiss-me-and I will turn into a prince-frogs” in the garden, Andrew had a collection of 12.000 records! In the dark of evening he took us on a night tour, (or wanted to make sure we went to our hotel) around the Cathedral, lit up like a honey comb, and I asked after the flying buttresses, which he proudly pointed out to me along with that dreadful hotel just beside them, something of the worst left over from the 70`s epoch. You could hear the Cathedral groaning…
His mum was of course Doris, whom we met at the Retirement Home, a wonderful old lady. Clear as a bell, read poetry to us without glasses, written by her son, and took us out to lunch. “Now girls, have what you like!”
Then she introduced us to her friend next door, Margaret, who was 102. Intelligent, clear, a talented painter, writes poetry and read some aloud to us with all the body language intact. What treasures these ladies were. When Margaret was introduced to me and I told her I was from Norway, she said straight away “Now, would you possibly be from Bergen or Molde? You see, King Haakon was rescued from Norway during the last war in the ship my brother was captain of, from Molde…”
As Andrew said, they dread the day when one of them will die. They are the only ones at that place capable of holding an intelligent conversation, and will be bereft if left all alone. At 102, as Margaret said, “..its good to have friend to check if you are alive or not in the morning!” Hopefully they will fade away together.
You can see why I loved these ladies. Wish I will be like that when reaching my 100th birthday.
The B&B was lovely, and me and Lorna loved our stay there, watching the Cathedral lit up at night, against thunder clouds, and in the early pink dawn as the bells started to chime again.
Wendy, a friend from nursing school days, invited us for supper, dear soul has moved from Hastings back to Lincoln, and loves her life here in Burton Mews, a 10 min walk from the Cathedral, in a 3 story house, newly built, where she has two gay guys as neighbours and they apparently chat with Wendy like two Spanish housewives across the balcony! She and Lorna got on very well, which was nice, and we had a wondrous evening with plenty of wine, stories down memory lane and delicious food. There is nothing like old, old friends from the years when your heart beat with hope for any of your dreams to come true…
Back in Bighton we went to one of the neighbours wedding drinks. Angela, 40, was getting married for the first time, and had her hands and feet done by Jo. We got dressed in the dusk and for the first time Lorna walked down the lane in party gear, our high-heels carried by Keith in a plastic bag we deposited in a rubbish bin after changing shoes. In the field, by the farm, was a huge marquee tent, and to get to it, one had to climb over a hoo-haa. One of those things its impossible to lift your legs over without hitching your skirts well above your thighs! Well knees anyway. Quite fun watching the different methods employed, and it kind of brought the guests from along the lane together.
It was a real country do, the attire being sensible shoes, dresses several sizes too small, exuberant hairdos, dangling babies on your hips or as an alternative big bags, milling around with 2 pint sized plastic tumblers full of beer, being happy and hugging everybody in sight! “Oh, its our Keith, look at you!” As 3 chaps engulf him. Lorna was enveloped in many beery embraces, I just kept a slight distance, not being born and bread here. Angela was so sweet, looking like a hen-party girl in a short skirt and high heels sinking into the mud (as were ours) carrying her tie-like train under her arm, while the groom had more decorum and had only removed his vest. The DJ hit the quiet countryside with blaring music and under the changing neon-lights the couple danced their first dance together, as the Hampshire sky darkened and the stars came out, and people piled their paper plates full of pies and black pudding, sausage rolls and chicken legs. It was beautiful, and I loved every moment.
As night fell and we were attacked by a myriad of midgets, Keith retrieved our shoe-bag and we trotted back along the dark lane, home.
Lornas birthday was celebrated with song and presents and visits, with cream teas and a wonderful lunch at a country house hotel Les and Pam, both over 80, invited us to. Superb food, glorious wines, fun conversation about cruises and all the troubles a wheel-chair causes them in life. The sun was warm, the birds sang and Lorna had a lovely birthday.
Jo gave as a present to her mum an evening class of Glass Fusion, which I joined, and it was fascinating to learn about something I had not the foggiest about. “Make a simple design.” The instructor said, and I understood why when I had actually to cut the glass from this big sheet! Lucky we could practice first, but still I made mistakes. If the pressure was not totally, but totally even, the glass shattered instead of breaking into the bit you wanted it to. Even my simple design was hard enough! But I persevered, fingers in shreds from glass powder, and look forward to seeing it one day. It takes 2 days to burn and fuse in the kiln. Exciting!
What else happened? Walks along the River, sinuously winding its way, the clear water looking so inviting with river-grass wafting its tentacles over pebbles and under bridges. We met some River Wardens, cutting the grass with scythes, dressed in long trouser- boots. They had this wonderful Hampshire burr and I recorded a bit of it as one of them explained what he was doing. We walked Molly in rain and fine weather, I have a set of boots and trousers and muddy-walk gear permanently at Lornas so I don’t have to bring it along from home. And of course stopping in pubs is a major delight, the English are so lucky to have them!
A soft rain is falling here at home again, instead of the violent howling storm of last night. Back to Real Weather. All that moaning the English do about rain, they have NO IDEA! But to be fair, this nature we have is made for rain, it just runs into the sea, into the eternal cycle of clouds and rain, not really causing much damage.
Back to Travel Doors
Mind you, as it wont with Norwegian Airline, we had landed way too early, but waiting for the luggage took its toll and made me rather late. As one irate passenger put it as we stood waiting and leaning against pillars, “ The flight was shorter than the time I have been standing here. And that was an hour!”
I fell in to dreamless sleep at my friend Lornas house, where she has a delightful guestroom, with your own bathroom, facing the garden for me every time I come. Its almost like home!
Must tell about Margaret that I met in Lincoln. Lorna had wanted to visit her aunt Doris, 92 for a while, but did not want to drive there on her own, and asked me if I would mind coming along. Of course! We had a wonderful drive, stopping along little country lanes off the motorway for lunch, either in a field with sandwiches or in a small pub and then getting lost! The 4,5 hours flew and we were welcomed to Lincoln by her cousin Andrew and his wife Eileen, who were utterly charming and plied me with so much wine I felt like those riff-raff found in the “Widow Cullens Well” pub, a reputable old Inn on the Steep Hill. Along with having real “kiss-me-and I will turn into a prince-frogs” in the garden, Andrew had a collection of 12.000 records! In the dark of evening he took us on a night tour, (or wanted to make sure we went to our hotel) around the Cathedral, lit up like a honey comb, and I asked after the flying buttresses, which he proudly pointed out to me along with that dreadful hotel just beside them, something of the worst left over from the 70`s epoch. You could hear the Cathedral groaning…
His mum was of course Doris, whom we met at the Retirement Home, a wonderful old lady. Clear as a bell, read poetry to us without glasses, written by her son, and took us out to lunch. “Now girls, have what you like!”
Then she introduced us to her friend next door, Margaret, who was 102. Intelligent, clear, a talented painter, writes poetry and read some aloud to us with all the body language intact. What treasures these ladies were. When Margaret was introduced to me and I told her I was from Norway, she said straight away “Now, would you possibly be from Bergen or Molde? You see, King Haakon was rescued from Norway during the last war in the ship my brother was captain of, from Molde…”
As Andrew said, they dread the day when one of them will die. They are the only ones at that place capable of holding an intelligent conversation, and will be bereft if left all alone. At 102, as Margaret said, “..its good to have friend to check if you are alive or not in the morning!” Hopefully they will fade away together.
You can see why I loved these ladies. Wish I will be like that when reaching my 100th birthday.
The B&B was lovely, and me and Lorna loved our stay there, watching the Cathedral lit up at night, against thunder clouds, and in the early pink dawn as the bells started to chime again.
Wendy, a friend from nursing school days, invited us for supper, dear soul has moved from Hastings back to Lincoln, and loves her life here in Burton Mews, a 10 min walk from the Cathedral, in a 3 story house, newly built, where she has two gay guys as neighbours and they apparently chat with Wendy like two Spanish housewives across the balcony! She and Lorna got on very well, which was nice, and we had a wondrous evening with plenty of wine, stories down memory lane and delicious food. There is nothing like old, old friends from the years when your heart beat with hope for any of your dreams to come true…
Back in Bighton we went to one of the neighbours wedding drinks. Angela, 40, was getting married for the first time, and had her hands and feet done by Jo. We got dressed in the dusk and for the first time Lorna walked down the lane in party gear, our high-heels carried by Keith in a plastic bag we deposited in a rubbish bin after changing shoes. In the field, by the farm, was a huge marquee tent, and to get to it, one had to climb over a hoo-haa. One of those things its impossible to lift your legs over without hitching your skirts well above your thighs! Well knees anyway. Quite fun watching the different methods employed, and it kind of brought the guests from along the lane together.
It was a real country do, the attire being sensible shoes, dresses several sizes too small, exuberant hairdos, dangling babies on your hips or as an alternative big bags, milling around with 2 pint sized plastic tumblers full of beer, being happy and hugging everybody in sight! “Oh, its our Keith, look at you!” As 3 chaps engulf him. Lorna was enveloped in many beery embraces, I just kept a slight distance, not being born and bread here. Angela was so sweet, looking like a hen-party girl in a short skirt and high heels sinking into the mud (as were ours) carrying her tie-like train under her arm, while the groom had more decorum and had only removed his vest. The DJ hit the quiet countryside with blaring music and under the changing neon-lights the couple danced their first dance together, as the Hampshire sky darkened and the stars came out, and people piled their paper plates full of pies and black pudding, sausage rolls and chicken legs. It was beautiful, and I loved every moment.
As night fell and we were attacked by a myriad of midgets, Keith retrieved our shoe-bag and we trotted back along the dark lane, home.
Lornas birthday was celebrated with song and presents and visits, with cream teas and a wonderful lunch at a country house hotel Les and Pam, both over 80, invited us to. Superb food, glorious wines, fun conversation about cruises and all the troubles a wheel-chair causes them in life. The sun was warm, the birds sang and Lorna had a lovely birthday.
Jo gave as a present to her mum an evening class of Glass Fusion, which I joined, and it was fascinating to learn about something I had not the foggiest about. “Make a simple design.” The instructor said, and I understood why when I had actually to cut the glass from this big sheet! Lucky we could practice first, but still I made mistakes. If the pressure was not totally, but totally even, the glass shattered instead of breaking into the bit you wanted it to. Even my simple design was hard enough! But I persevered, fingers in shreds from glass powder, and look forward to seeing it one day. It takes 2 days to burn and fuse in the kiln. Exciting!
What else happened? Walks along the River, sinuously winding its way, the clear water looking so inviting with river-grass wafting its tentacles over pebbles and under bridges. We met some River Wardens, cutting the grass with scythes, dressed in long trouser- boots. They had this wonderful Hampshire burr and I recorded a bit of it as one of them explained what he was doing. We walked Molly in rain and fine weather, I have a set of boots and trousers and muddy-walk gear permanently at Lornas so I don’t have to bring it along from home. And of course stopping in pubs is a major delight, the English are so lucky to have them!
A soft rain is falling here at home again, instead of the violent howling storm of last night. Back to Real Weather. All that moaning the English do about rain, they have NO IDEA! But to be fair, this nature we have is made for rain, it just runs into the sea, into the eternal cycle of clouds and rain, not really causing much damage.
Back to Travel Doors