I went down to Sussex for the weekend prior to a meeting in London on Monday. For some reason Horsham is full of 16 year olds. They are everywhere: in all the shops, on the train, blocking the pavements in gaggles and forcing me to walk in the gutter. I listened in fascination to many of their conversations. It is like listening to aliens. I would transcribe them here but I fear I would get repetitive strain injury from typing ‘Oh my God!’ that number of times.
We had curry and watch the rugby. Both were good.
On Sunday we set off in a convoy to complete the biannual exercise that is moving Jenny’s stuff to and from my parents’ garage. She always has one or two really random articles among the crates of pink books and seemingly identical pairs of unworn Dorothy Perkins jeans. This year there was her collapsible pole dancing pole (yes, really) and a ‘paint it yourself’ miniature cow parade cow (unpainted).
It’s a real pleasure to wander round the garden. These visits make me wish I had a garden, even though I know that if I did it would in no way resemble the Eden-like cornucopia of my mum’s domain and would instead consist of some paving slabs and the occasional pot of basil. At this time of year there was a particular abundance. We had apple, blackberry and raspberry crumble with some of the fruit and helped ourselves to tomatoes. Elsewhere, kale, courgettes and beans were raging out of control. Very tasty. Oh, and there were some, like, flowers and stuff too.
My London meeting was in Smith Square, unlike previous gatherings in Farringdon. This brought me close to where I used to work in Millbank. I wandered in the general direction of the river from Victoria and was pleased, if a little surprised, that my brain had in some far-flung corner stashed the directions I needed. Past the branch of Next where I bought my beloved black boots, only now falling apart after five years. Right I turned by the incongruous old pub flanked by glassy office buildings. Past the Laughing Halibut and its excellent fish and chips. Past the school where I used to go for orchestra rehearsals. Past the Speaker pub (a sure sign I was getting close to Westminster) and past St John’s.
The meeting was surprisingly useful, and they fed me cheese.
Then it was on to Westminster tube station to get to the airport. Over the road where I once shared a zebra crossing with William Hague. Along the river, past Parliament – where the concrete barriers that appeared after my second week of work, on 11 September 2001, have been replaced by shiny black permanent versions with luminous yellow stripes – past the exit where I was once nearly run over by John Prescott. Past some particularly smelly Brazilian students.
I was fully back in to London mode, hurrying along looking important and tutting inwardly at the bumbling tourists blocking my way (once, and only once, did I try to jog across Westminster bridge). To be fair, the tourists too were fulfilling every possible stereotype: Japanese with cameras, Americans with burgers, Brazilians without deodorant. Then two things happened: first I tripped on the edge of a paving stone and had to slow down and look a lot less important, whilst feeling foolish. Then the guy selling tube tickets asked me if I knew which line I needed. Obviously I no longer qualify as a Londoner.
I love getting on the Jubilee line at Westminster, it is like the interior of a space ship with grey and steel pipes and stairs everywhere – like an Escher drawing. The DLR out to City it pretty good too, with views of the Dome (or O2 or whatever it’s called now), the Thames barrier and the Tate and Lyle factory with the enormous tin of golden syrup on the outside. Just think of the flapjacks you could make with that!
My flight was delayed, then made up time so I arrived at Edinburgh airport before Al had left to pick me up. He suggested I call him from the bus when it got to Haymarket and he would meet me. I agreed, while secretly planning to call when it reached the zoo as it always takes him six minutes to leave the flat and get to the car. The bus driver punched my return ticket and said welcome home, and I was.
Mid-week, I did something I always think about doing but rarely carry out: took a flexi day to go surfing. I had loads of hours owing and the waves looked good, so I borrowed Morag's board (really must get mine fixed) and hit the road with Al. After driving up and down the coast for ages we settled on Seacliffe, which I had taken against after being repeatedly dumped on my head there. However, the sand has shifted, the rocks are covered, and Seacliffe was producing lovely regular sets of 3-4 foot waves. I had a great time, catching loads. Only once did I nosedive and get whacked on the back on my head by the Bic - ow! Those boards are so heavy, it's still sore five days later. Still, that taught me to lean back just before popping up, so it wasn't in vain.
Weekend number 2 was in Duror, a collection of approximately three houses near Ballachulish. We drove up in Norman the van, arriving in time for a late dinner of spag bol prepared by Al's friend Darren. We were staying in Darren and Jane's little lochside house, along with them, Clova the baby, Topper the dog and two other couples. Quite a houseful! We were sleeping in the veranda-conservatory where two walls of glass meant we had great views in the morning (once I'd put my glasses on).
On Saturday, after consuming vast amounts of bacon, but no egg because Al ate it all before I could get any, I joined an expedition across Loch Linnhe. Darren had recently bought a large open canoe, to which Al, Callum and I were assigned. Daz had his sea kayak and another couple had brought their little river kayaks. We had no trouble paddling to a beach on the far side, where we built a fire from tons of driftwood and cooked and ate sausages. As we were doing so, the wind got up and it was decided that Cal would be better off returning with the friends who had driven and walked to meet up with us. That left Al to do the hard work of not letting our canoe turn side on to the not inconsiderable wind swell, while I paddled desperately but ineffectually at the front. The waves were nowhere near as big as I would tackle when surfing so I wasn't really worried (plus we were wearing life jackets, obviously). Only afterwards did the reaction of the others, in their more manoeuvrable craft, reveal that we could quite easily have capsized! Luckily by then we'd drunk all the beer so that wouldn't have been lost.*
Back at the house, I'd offered to cook dinner so spent the rest of the day peeling and chopping and covering everything in goose fat. Periodically the others would come in and do bits of washing up or potato peeling, hoping to get their share of chores in before the rugby! We had pumpkin soup and roast lamb with all the trimmings and it was great. Sadly the rugby was less great, but I thought the Springboks deserved to win.
Sunday was spent reading the papers and eating more bacon and playing with Clova, who can do the most amazing aquarobics moves whilst lying on her back. She has also just started to acknowledge Topper, who patiently puts up with her grabbing handfuls of his fur.
We headed back via the Real Food Cafe at Tyndrum. I love this place, where the fish is always fresh and they have the great idea of offering half portions: just what a greedy girl like me who will eat everything on her plate needs. And they sell ginger beer and amazing tray bakes as well.
That's me more or less up to date. Aquarobics yesterday with the girls: only six or seven in the class so Small French Instructor obviously decided we were hard core and worked us like maniacs. We did some new moves and I felt happily tired afterwards. Luckily Ray was put to work making delicious tartiflette to revive us. Also made a pact with Mo to make running dates - we're both useless at doing exercise unless we have the pressure of meeting someone else so we've decided to start with a gentle loop around the Links next week. Of course, the hour changes before then so no more light evenings: boo. Might try and do a run or gym session tomorrow, anyway.
*The canoe wouldn't have sunk as it has floatation devices. But it would have been difficult to drag to shore.
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