Today
Lovely weekend at the flat in Brighton with my brother & his wife. We stopped at the Half Moon at Midhurst and had a pleasant if unremarkable lunch. David took advantage of his senior citizen status and had a set 3-course lunch.
Pubs continued to feature over the weekend. We tried 2 or 3 pubs in North Laine in Brighton before we were all happy. The William VI was too smokey, the Waggon & Horses too full. Paul was rather bursting by this time so into The Office. Not too much smoke and an easy Thai-inspired snacks menus. David & Joan wanted hot chocolate and I persuaded the staff to make them some, even though it wasn't on the menu. Too much "background" music for Joan so we had our lunch break in a tiny, rather down at heel courtyard.
In the evening before our supper at Terre a Terre we popped into Hotel du Vin for a cocktail. D&J professed to some ignorance about these delights but plunged in.
On the way home on Sunday David said that we are "pub dabblers" and that he rarely goes into one.
In My Day
As children we were not taken into pubs. In the 50s in London there was a definite feeling that they were for grown-ups only and Daddy was opposed to much drinking.
Once I reached my late teens, I and my colleagues at school began to visit pubs. a half of cider was probably what I drank, feeling rather wicked, especially if it was the lunch hour at school.
At college there was some pub visiting, but it was really Paul who introduced me to the idea of them being a proper place to go.
Our first date was at the Plough & Harrow in Littlington. Paul had so little money that he had to ration my intake.
Since then I've lost count. I've met dozens of friends for drinks or meals in pubs, popped into pubs on long journeys, had quiet drink at the local (wherever local was at the time), had Sunday lunch, evening meals, bar snacks, enjoyed classical concerts, folk and jazz. I've walked, driven, been driven. In Kilcrohane village life centres around Eileen's. Don't go there and you miss out on what's going on.
We've met people, made new friends, happened to see old ones. One thing about a pub for meeting friends is that there's no pressure on any individual to prepare food, clean the house wash-up etc.
I'm looking forward to the smoking ban, though, I must say.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Friday, February 23, 2007
Fish out of Water
Today
Yesterday I actually managed to kick myself along unaided in the water for a few feet, albeit with a huge polystyrene tube wrapped around my middle and holding a float in my hands. This was on my 3rd swimming lesson.
I'd put in the "Please Santa" blog that I wanted to have swimming lessons for Christmas and Lizzie obliged by buying me 5 session with her swimming instructor friend Ben.
And I must say, he's very good and reassuring. Don't think that 5 sessions will quite do the trick, tho'
In My Day
As I may have said in earlier blogs, we were not a sporty family, so swimming didn't really feature on the family menu, so to speak. Mamma occasionally went swimming, usually in Summer, to the Brockwell Park Lido. She sometimes took me and attempted to teach me, but I was too frightened and physically awkward.
We also went swimming with the school to Thornton Heath Baths. This experience was quite frightful. The teacher, who never got in the water, was a very elderly lady called Miss Brockhurst. (I mainly remember jokes made about the fact that she clearly wore no type of bra)
She didn't get in the water. There were 35 girls in the group, the baths were old and cold with green tiles that reminded you of a public toilet. and had a strange echoing, hollow quality. Changing rooms were shared between about 5 girls and I remember my embarrassment at the fact that, at age 12 I was wearing a bra. I took as long as possible over getting changed and nervously got into the water.
Teaching me how to swim took the form of yelling imprecations at me because I wouldn't let go of the sides. Girls were splashing and yelling all around me. Some tried to get me to join in, which resulted in the ingestion of a good deal of vile smelling water.
I decided that I was a very talented person who just didn't need to add this one to the list
Synchronised Swimming champion in the making?
Yesterday I actually managed to kick myself along unaided in the water for a few feet, albeit with a huge polystyrene tube wrapped around my middle and holding a float in my hands. This was on my 3rd swimming lesson.
I'd put in the "Please Santa" blog that I wanted to have swimming lessons for Christmas and Lizzie obliged by buying me 5 session with her swimming instructor friend Ben.
And I must say, he's very good and reassuring. Don't think that 5 sessions will quite do the trick, tho'
In My Day
As I may have said in earlier blogs, we were not a sporty family, so swimming didn't really feature on the family menu, so to speak. Mamma occasionally went swimming, usually in Summer, to the Brockwell Park Lido. She sometimes took me and attempted to teach me, but I was too frightened and physically awkward.
We also went swimming with the school to Thornton Heath Baths. This experience was quite frightful. The teacher, who never got in the water, was a very elderly lady called Miss Brockhurst. (I mainly remember jokes made about the fact that she clearly wore no type of bra)
She didn't get in the water. There were 35 girls in the group, the baths were old and cold with green tiles that reminded you of a public toilet. and had a strange echoing, hollow quality. Changing rooms were shared between about 5 girls and I remember my embarrassment at the fact that, at age 12 I was wearing a bra. I took as long as possible over getting changed and nervously got into the water.
Teaching me how to swim took the form of yelling imprecations at me because I wouldn't let go of the sides. Girls were splashing and yelling all around me. Some tried to get me to join in, which resulted in the ingestion of a good deal of vile smelling water.
I decided that I was a very talented person who just didn't need to add this one to the list
Synchronised Swimming champion in the making?
Monday, February 19, 2007
Be Mine
Today
Which just goes to show that, while lavish celebrations are lovely, it's the love that matters.
Well, actually, a few days ago now, Paul took me to Ston Easton Park Hotel for a lavish Valentine's day celebration and night in the "Chinese" room. We took the Bentley and very nice she looked too, with several of her nieces and nephews in the car park.
We had tea and seed cake by the fire, acompanied by the longing glances of Sorrel the resident spaniel. We drank probably more Champagne than is strictly necessary, had a lovely meal and were very happy. Paul gave me yet another Valentine's card and behaved in all the ways that were appropriate to the day.
Given our recent history, this was really 2 Valentine's days rolled into one and I enjoyed every moment.
In My Day
If my parents celebrated St Valentine's day, I never knew about it. (There was a rumour that my Brother David, who was due to be born on 14th Feb, was scheduled to be named Valentine, but he wisely hung on for a day, thus escaping this fate.) Certainly there were no romantic candlelit suppers in expensive country house locations.
A few years ago I took on the responsibility for storing all my mother's papers. We sifted through all sorts of things. And, there, among letters, diaries and adverts for my Mother's lecture tours, were the Valentine's cards, faithfully kept, with loving messages from and to Mamma. Even more touching were the hastily written notes when Daddy was doing a late sitting in the House during the war and Mamma couldn't be there when he got home: "Supper is in the kitchen, back 11.00 ish, love Ali". Nothing unusual, but kept for 40 years.Which just goes to show that, while lavish celebrations are lovely, it's the love that matters.
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