More English Tradition

If I don’t do this extra entry I won’t remember all the things I did this week at the weekend, when I do my usual entry.

 

Sunday I went to meet my cousin Colin ,at the 21st Annual Netherton Boat Festival. I bet most people don’t know Netherton, as proved by the fact I am writing this in Word and it thinks it’s a spelling mistake!

 

Netherton was a small village, in the heart of the Black Country, near to where my ancestors lived for centuries. It has a huge industrial heritage, mining and the iron trade being at the forefront, which explains why the area is criss crossed with canals. On a canal interchange is where the festival takes place.

 

            

            Yes that really is the name.

 

I went for the first time last year and wrote about it in my Journal then. This year I decided to take photos, it's a colourful event and again I was blessed with beautiful weather .

 

Hard to imagine this is so near to the centre of Birmingham and even harder, what a filthy dirty place this would have been 100years ago.

 

A lovely couple who really entered into the spirit of things, they had come on their own Narrowboat from Stourbridge.

 

Some of the local ladies eager to show off traditional Black Country dancing..... Joke!! Not sure what Belly Dancing had to do with it but they were very good.

 

I still haven’t been in the loft to find the video ‘Howard’s End’ I have watched it but not since I found out Colin had a very small speaking part in it. I must brave the cobwebs and dust soon before the VCR gets pensioned off.

 

 

Sunday night I had a call from Catherine. She was expecting my Mum & Wilf to fly into Cologne at 10pm. Flo had already set off to collect them, it’s and hour and a half drive. Mum had phoned to say the flight had been delayed 2 hours. Two hours later I had another call to say the flight was not now leaving until Midnight and poor Flo hadn’t got to Cologne yet as they were having a huge thunderstorm , the water on the roads was up to the number plate.

 

Flo finally dropped them at their hotel at 5am, exactly 12 hours after they arrived at Birmingham Airport for a one-hour flight.

 

I’ve spoken to both Catherine and Mum on the phone.

 

Catherine says Mum keeps crying at her great granddaughter, as she is choked with emotion.

 

I asked Mum what she thought of her great granddaughter and she said, “Oh, she’s lovely and she keeps laughing at me”

 

Yes, that sounds like my family, crazy mixed up emotions!

 

Monday was my first time going with Year 4 for their swimming lesson. What a start to the week that’s going to be.

 

We are supposed to board the bus at 9.30 but some hadn’t brought their swimming kit, others still hadn’t brought in a signed permission for them to go. In the end we had to leave eight behind, as there wasn’t time, or spare kit to get them all sorted.

 

I don’t have to go in the water, thank god. I can’t believe all 52 of them manage to refrain from weeing in the water in a one hour lesson and anyway, I don’t show my cellulite off to just anyone these days.

 

At the end of the lesson we have to hurry them up as much as possible and help removing swimming hats etc.

 

We’d just got them all lined up to get back on the bus, when a child took a pair of underpants to the teacher.

 

“Who’s forgotten to put their underpants on?” she yelled.  Of course it was David, well it would be. So we all had to wait whilst he went and redressed himself. How can you not know that you haven’t put your pants on? Especially if you are a boy!

 

Monday afternoon Mike and I tried to return our jungle to a garden, I’m still too ashamed to take any photos. I shredded tons of branches and trimmings for my compost heaps. We also climbed ladders and picked all the James Grieves apples, which are huge this year.

 

When we finished Mike realised he’d started with his glasses on but finished without them. We’ve searched everywhere but it’s a big garden and they haven’t turned up yet.

 

For the second time that day I found myself asking, “How can you not notice?”……….Men!!

 

The Horn Dance

 

 

 

 

Monday was a very sad day and I spent quite some time reading tributes to victims of 9/11, as well as writing one to my own namesake, who died on Flight 11.

 

   

 

But Monday was also an annual event that I have wanted to go to for ages. It was The Abbots Bromley Horn Dance.

 

Abbots Bromley is in Staffordshire and just about an hour’s drive from my school. So, as it was a lovely day, at 12.45pm, Mike picked me up and we went straight there.

 

We had lunch first, well we would, wouldn’t we, we like our food .The Goats Head was our pub of choice from the five in the village, which was lovely; I had the fish pie, it had several types of fish in it and was topped with cheese. Mmmmm…..there goes my diet.

 

  

 

Outside the Goat's Head.

 

I thought I’d better wash it down with a pint of Real Ale, absolutely essential, if you are going to see Morris Dancing.

 

As soon as we sat down I spotted the farmer that showed us round his farm in Gloucestershire a couple of weeks ago. I knew he was thinking of going but fancy bumping into him and then we found ourselves sitting at the same table having tea in the church hall later on. I think our paths are meant to cross at present. He ‘s invited us to his Harvest Home next month….lots more Morris Dancing.

 

The tradition of the dance is recorded back in August 1226. Recently one of the horns had a piece broken off and it was sent for Carbon Dating.  (No, it wasn’t looking for a partner!) It was found to be from 1065, a year before the Norman Conquest and from the time before Reindeers became extinct in this country!

 

  

   

The Horns are kept in the local church and are collected at 8 in the morning, the dancing is then carried out at various venues throughout the day but even a casual observer will notice that the five village pubs feature largely in the progress through the day. If you want to see more follow the link below.

 

The Horn Dance

 

Its English Tradition at it’s most quirky and best, probably utterly meaningless but more than likely related to fertility. Long may it continue.

 

I had thought maybe after going to see ’The Horn’, I might get lucky but no. The fresh air had worked it’s magic and Mike was asleep before I got into bed.

 

        

 

First full week back at school,. Thank God I only do mornings! I’m exhausted. Each morning is 4 hours of non-stop activity.

 

The final hour each day is Maths and due to falling pupil numbers, we have now dropped from 3 classes per Year Group, to 2. This means that instead of having 3 sets for English and Maths, which would work out around 25 in the top set, 25 in the middle and10 in the less able, which worked very well, we now have 30 in each set. You don’t have to be too bright to work out that that just doesn’t work. The difference in ability in a group of 30 is vast.

 

There’s me and another TA in our year group and we have to support the teacher taking the less able half, in each subject. Ideally there would be a TA in each class but the less able group’s size now means it takes both of us.

 

I have four children, aged 8 that I take to a separate table and work with. I drew theshort straw and have the 4 least able of the entire year group. If you try to imagine teaching a barrow load of monkeys Maths, then you’re somewhere close.

 

Three of my group are girls and theyare Travellers. Near our school is a Traveller Site; in the ‘Old Days’ they were called Gipsies, or worse. They tend not to move around the country so much these days. In fact they will probably only hitch up their vans and go off site for their summer holidays. So it’s not that they are away so much, they just don’t bother coming in all the time and mostly they skip the Nursery and Reception years, so they are always way behind the others.

 

They are undisciplined, talkative, cheeky, adorable children and they drive me to distraction.

 

Friday, as a nice wind down to the week we played Snakes and Ladders. It took ten minutes to actually get them to put all four counters on the board and stop hiding the dice before we could make a start.

 

The twins (identical) like hiding things in their lap and then asking where the items have gone, all ‘Butter wouldn’t melt in their mouth’. I’ve sussed that one out and make them stand up, so whatever it is falls to the floor.

 

They like to swap hair bands to try to fool us by swapping identity. But again I’m one step ahead, one has  some freckles on her nose, the other doesn’t. That has really given me some respect, as they can’t understand how I have got them worked out so quickly. In fact from the looks and mutterings, I can see that they’ve got me down as a Witch. Not a bad thing if I want to keep one step ahead of them. Anyway, as my children could tell them, I am a Witch and can sniff out skulduggery at ten paces, or even from the other end of the country!!

 

They like me and we have lots of fun when we finally get going and as long as I can keep my temper and their respect, we should get somewhere.

      

 

Wednesday I came home to find that, after a week since the completion of my Gas Mains renewal, the hole was still at the top of the drive. Mike can’t get his big car over the flimsy plates they put down to cover the hole and I’ve had to ask children to stop messing in the hole, which has exposed pipes.

 

I phoned the number on the letter I had and politely told them I thought a week was long enough and we had been told, by the hole diggers, it should have been filled in last Saturday. So why wasn’t it?

 

Within an hour two lorries arrived with a team of men and equipment and the hole was filled.

 

  

 

There's a hole at the top of my drive and the Gas Board are looking into it. Boom , Boom!

 

The next morning I saw the hole diggers walking up and down outside my house and one of them said “ Yes, it looks like it’s here”, pointing to my newly filled hole. When I returnedfrom school there were red paint marks either side of my nice new tarmac.  This is a bad sign and I have a feeling I’m about to be dug up again! Does anyone remember that old song by Flanders and Swan called The Gas Man Cometh? Hmmmmm!

 

Going back to quirky dancing, the thing that has amused me most this week is a video clip a friend sent to me. It’s of the Swedish Band, OK GO, dancing to their song ‘Here It Goes Again’. If you’ve never seen it do have a look. I just adore the two skinny guys doing the skating movements and the little bald guy, well, who dressed him? Follow the link and just click on the play button, bottom left. Treadmill at my gym was never this much fun!

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pv5zWaTEVkI

 

PS. I forgot, I lost a pound. Must try harder, could do better, sounds like one of my school reprts! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Linda George, a victim of Flight 11.

I couldn't let this day pass without making some small tribute to those innocents who lost their lives on 11th September 2001. There is one person in particular I would like to mention, she has been in my thoughts for some time now.

First my memories of that day.

I will never forget that Tuesday afternoon. I was sitting at my desk at work and the phone rang. It was my daughter, Catherine, she was home watching the television. She said, “Mum, a plane’s crashed into the World Trade Centre.” She didn’t know any more at that time. I assumed it must be a light aircraft piloted by some drunk, or nutter, as the chance of a commercial flight hitting one of those towers seemed unlikely.

As the afternoon progressed she kept ringing back with more and more unbelievable information. I know for a fact very little work was done that afternoon.

One of the girls I worked with had a call from her partner. He worked shifts, arrived home after 2pm and put the television on for company while he ate his lunch. The first channel had some disaster movie on it, he changed channels, again and again. They were all showing the same disaster movie. He thought there was something wrong with the television but then realised, this wasn’t a disaster movie, this was real life. He was one of the many family members, who stayed on the phone for most of the afternoon. No one wanted to be on their own while this horror unfolded, they needed to be able to talk about it.

At 4.30 I finished work and went straight home, to see for myself the shocking news reports.Hoping that somehow it wasn’t as bad as I’d been hearing but of course it got worse.

Mike rang me at 5pm, he’d been out all afternoon doing something for the radio station and hadn’t had the car radio on. When he returned to the studio, he’d walked straight to his desk and phoned me, without speaking to anyone else. He said “Hi. Anything happened today”. I thought he must have been joking but replied ”Haven’t you heard?”  And as I started to tell him, he said “ I know, I can see it” he’d just started to realise what he was seeing on the tv monitors.  

It was really odd but I was angry that he didn’t know. I can’t explain that reaction.

There were hurried calls, as soon as we could get through, to all our relatives in Massachusetts. They were able to confirm they were all safe but one family member had got stuck in another part of America, as all flights were grounded. A minor inconvenience in comparison.

My sister’s partner’s son had been in New York at the weekend and I was worried for his safety but it turned out he had arrived back in Britain just before the planes hit. He had been at the top of the World Trade Centre during the weekend. What a strange thought for him, remembering that view and knowing two days later it was all gone.  

So those are my memories of that day.

The implications lived with me for longer. My son had just completed 8 months of his 4-year artifficer apprentiship, in the Royal Navy. At that point they are assigned to a ship for a year's practical training of engineering on board.

The ship he was assigned to was HMS Southampton, which was on its way for a nice safe training mission in the gulf. Of course, as things unfolded in the next few weeks this rapidly changed to a war footing with Bush and Blair chasing Bin Laden and his cronies.

By the time Simon was supposed to join his ship, he couldn’t. There were threats of attacks on the ships and so they couldn’t put into the normal ports. All their movements now had to be secret. Instead of going out on a commercial flight, He was to be flown out by the RAF to a secret location, from there they would be transported to wherever the ship could briefly stop to pick them up. It was November by the time he could go.

He rang my on his mobile to tell me they’d arrived safely and was being whisked through the desert somewhere to join his ship.

He was 21 and never been out of the country on his own before. Although he seemed OK, I know it was a worrying time for him. As for me I could be seen crying in the supermarket whenever I walked by the Christmas goodies, wondering if he would be home safe for Christmas the following year.

Of course he did come home but my feelings during his absence makes me feel even more for those who lost their loved ones on that horrific day. Fear and worry were my constant companions during those long, winter months. 

On this the fifth anniversary of those atrocities against humanity, i would like to remember one of the victims of flight 11.

I first found out about this young woman when i did a Google on my own name. I was shocked to find it in a list of the passengers of Flight 11.

                        

Below is some of the information I found about Linda. I have also read postings on message boards and know she was a much loved young woman.

Linda George was 27 when she died. She was from Westboro, Massachusetts and was a buyer for TJX Cos., The off-price retailer of apparel and home fashions. She was on her way to California on a buying trip with a number of her colleagues. Her Father, Mother, Sister and Brother survive Linda.

She was engaged to be married within the month. She would have had a wonderful life before her.

Here is information about a memorial set up in her memory.

Linda George Memorial Scholarship

The Linda George Memorial Scholarship is awarded to students from St. Peter Marion High School who will be attending college. St. Peter Marion High School, Grove Street, Worcester, MA 01605.

Today Linda, 11th September 2006, another Linda George, in Worcester, England, will be saying a prayer for you and your loved ones.

Body Parts and Holes in the Road!

It was back to school this week and after three days I'm still quite happy, so that's good. There are some really nice children in my class, I know this time last year I was ready to strangle a couple of them, so I'm fairly confident we have a better behaved bunch. Hopefully no condom modelling in the toilets!

 

At home it's been very annoying. The National Grid are replacing our gas mains. Now call me stupid but I thought the National Grid did the pylons that carried our Electricity........This could explain why they are making such a pig's ear of it.

 

I've had a large hole in the pavement outside my house for more than a week. This means some of the flowers in my garden have been flattened. I'm not too happy about that.

 

The men come for an hour or two and then they go away again. They say they are working on another job. Why? Wouldn't it be better to complete one job at a time, the work wasn't that urgent.

 

Then they dug a big hole at the top of my drive, about four feet deep, they have put two yellow plates over most of it but some of it is not covered. They assured me it was safe to drive over. I can assure you it isn't. Mike tried yesterday and the resulting cracking noise brought two of the  neighbours running out of their houses. His car is staying on the road now, I'm just thankful he's not been blown to smithereens because if the car had gone in there, onto the exposed gas pipe, I don't think the scenario would have been too good.

 

This afternoon I spent an hour in Marks and Spencers trying to find ‘the right bra’. This always drives me crazy, as finding what I like and have it fit is never easy. I’ve reached an age when I know what I like; it has to conform to certain criteria.

 

First of all, I want the sheepdog effect….. you know, rounds them up and points them  in the right direction, so it has to be underwired. When I was younger and was a pert 34B I often didn’t bother wearing a bra and I most certainly looked better than Charlie Dymock, who put me off gardening shows forever.

 

After years of weight gain, followed by some weight loss, I seem to be stuck at a 36DD. My once pert boobs are now in need of support. But… there is a very important feature I now require in a bra. First of all I don’t want seams, as they spoil the look under tee shirts etc but what it really, really must have is light padding. I am a firm believer now that when you have reached the age of a matronly bosom, what you don’t want, on cold mornings, is for your chapel hat pegs to be standing to attention and visible to all.

 

I watched a TV programme a couple of weeks ago, it was about a local couple who wanted to move house but couldn’t find what they wanted. An irritating pair of presenters went round local estate agents to try and find the house of their dreams and then showed the couple what they had come up with. The woman, who was older than me did the whole programme looking like she had a couple of marbles in her bra, WHY didn’t someone tell her to change her top?

 

Anyway, I couldn’t find what I wanted in my size, so tried squeezing myself into some 36D’s. I looked like a badly poured pint of beer, instead of fitting in the glass with the head just coming nicely to the top, I was flowing everywhere, you wouldn’t think an extra D would make such a difference. Hardly any of their range was in a DD cup and those I had seen were unlined.

 

When I handed the bras back to one of the assistants I told her of my dilemma, her colleague said, what about that new range that came in this morning they do DD right up to GG. (I think we’re talking Jordan implants here) So off she went and returned with the bra I was looking for and I am sitting here now typing, with my boobs sitting nicely just below my chin and nota chapel hat peg in sight.

 

I remember my mother once asking me if the bra she was wearing was alright with the top she had on, You can’t see my middles? She queried. Life was like that in our house; bodily parts were not to be mentioned, not by their anatomical name, or any sort of pet name. They were to be skirted around with vague terms, as in middle, meaning nipple and my sister and I had front bottoms and back bottoms. Thank goodness she never had a boy, I’ve no idea what she would have called that, although I have a horrible recollection that she referred to my cousin’s as a tail! You see even now I have trouble saying the P word. 

 

 Life was a nightmare when I grew up and had to start going to the doctor’s on my own, I had no vocabulary to discuss intimate matters. Oh well, I got by but I think Mum would have a fit if she knew I’d mentioned nipples on the Internet.

 

This week Mike and I went to the farm I mentioned a few weeks ago, where I found his family were farming in the 1841 Census. The present owner is a delightful man who spent two hours showing us round. He’d dug out some paperwork which gave the date Mike’s 3 x great grandfather, Richard George had taken on the tenancy, which was in 1820, for an annual rent of £140. That was a heck of a lot of money in those days. 

 

They were still there until the 1851 Census but by 1861 Richard was retired and was living with his son William who was just an Agricultural Labourer. I don’t know why William didn’t take over the tenancy; it may be they were finding it difficult to make enough to pay the rent.

 

We had a lovely time there and the view from one of the fields must be just as it was when Richard George walked across those fields. Mike felt quite emotional and I felt a little envious, as all my family farms, even my bizarrely named Ramrod Hall, were demolished long ago.

 

These are two of the wonderful characters we met

 

 

This lovely chap is about 17 years old and is bigger than he looks. That fence top was my eye level and I'm 5 ft 7 tall. He had the biggest head I ever saw on a horse and I think he's a Belgian.

 This beauty is a Shire and they both have to have specially made shoes as they are soooo huge.

 

Below are some of the Gloucester cattle, now a very rare breed. They have distinctive white rumps and they are what the original Double Gloucester was made from (No, I'm not going back onto bra sizes!)

   

 

 

Don't be silly, the one in the foreground is the farm dog!!

 

This is the view everyone loves and we were no exception.

 

 

And finally, Mike reflecting on what might have been, if the farm had stayed in the family.

 

 

I've decided to defer my weigh in until next weekend as I know I've been very naughty this week, while I was still on holiday but I will definitely tell the truth, no matter how painful next weekend.

Amazing Success!!!

Well! How impressed am I? My first week of doing my online diet and what happens? I put on 2 pounds! 

 

What a stunning success! I can see this is going

really well.

 

To be fair to myself it turned out to be a difficult week to diet in as I ended up eating out nearly as much as I did at home, So I suppose, all things considered it could have been a lot worse.

 

After the unplanned trip to Plymouth I seem to

have lost the week. I think Wednesday I was just

exhausted and mostly played about on the computer.

 

Thursday evening we went to Wolverhapton to see someone I don't know do a charity Firewalk.

 

I seem to spend a lot of time lately going to see

people I don't know. It's all because of my family

history research.I chat to people via the Internet,some of them relatives, others people from the old village my family originated from, then I end up meeting them.. The funny thing is, most of these people are men! Happily Mike doesn't have a problem with it, he knows it's all quite innocent.

 

The Firewalk went well and nobody got injured,

which was good. How they do it without the slightest mark on them is amazing.

 

I had a lovely day out on Friday with my friend Sue, We went to Warwickshire and had lunch at a

beautiful pub/restuarant called The Saxon Mill. For decades it has not lived up to it's potential but is now a lovely place to eat.

 

But my favourite part is still outside the building, sitting looking over a wide expanse ofthe River Avon, surrounded by tall, gently swaying, trees, which in summer obscure one of the most beautiful, romantically evocative ruins in Britain......Guys Cliffe House. The first time I saw the ruin the hairs stood up on the back of my neck. I had very strong feelings of having some connection with the place. It was probably just my imagination running riot but I try to get there every year, if I can. I find The Mill a very special place.

 

 

 

 

The waterwheel is still turning and there

has been a mill on the site since Saxon times.

 

After lunch we went to Packford House and

Baddesly Clinton, both National Trust properties

and of course, we had to have tea and cake. That

was the best carrot cake I've ever had! It's no

wonder I've put on weight!

 

Once again I've been dismayed by the news that 14 of our brave servicemen have been killed in

Afghanistan.My heart goes out to them and their

lovedones.

 

It's all very well the Government saying it's one ofour safest  aircraft. As far as I'm aware there was never an explanation for the Nimrod that went down in a Lake in Canada in September 1995. It hadjust completed a display at an air show. 7 men from Kinloss were killed in that crash..

 

My son in law had a disappointing time on Friday. He and his band were playing in Koblenz. They were one of the headline bands and were playing to a crowd of around 4,000. There were even some TV cameras there.

 

They'd just played their first number and were

twenty seconds into the next. Flo suddenly realised that only he and Mike were playing. The drummer and two guitarists behind had stopped and someone was shouting. He turned round to see that Thomas's head had exploded. There was blood everywhere and I do mean everywhere.

 

Apparently Seb had got a little excited and was

waving his guitar around while he was  playing

and had crashed it into Thomas's head. The

resulting injury meant they had to leave the stage and Thomas had to have urgent medical treatment. Even the back of Flo's shirt had blood on it.

 

I'm pleased to report Thomas doesn't seem to have suffered any permanent damage, although I expect he will live with the scar for the rest of his life.  

 

Has anyone noticed how all the Journalists on

telly these days wave there hands about like

demented windmills. I have been told they are

actually trained to do it. Why? It drives me mad, I

can't concentrate on what they're saying, I'm

mesmerised by them demonstrating how things are going up, whereas others are going down and the majority (big expansive arm waving) are on the right as opposed to the minority (small, palms together, hand gesture) are on the left.

 

STOP IT! You look silly.

One Line Alert for Mixed Blessing.

In case Mixed Blessings was too long for an Alert, here's a little one!

Mixed Blessings

Monday morning saw me at Bristol Airport collecting Simon and Tori, who had just returned from a two week holiday.

 

The first thing I’d heard on the radio when I got up was about the bombs in Turkey.

 

I had been concerned when he said he’d booked a holiday there, I knew there had been bombs previously but what can you say, when it’s already booked?

 

The thing that worried me in the radio report was that it was a bus that had been hit at midnight, around the time I would expect them to go to the airport. I had no idea what resort they were staying at but it could’ve been the bus taking them to the airport they often call at a number of resorts on route.

 

Strangely, I felt quite calm about it and went to see what further news the television could offer. I then became fairly confident from what I heard that they couldn’t have been involved.

 

I feel so sorry for those and their families who were.

 

I picked them up on time from the airport and Simon then had to answer calls and texts from other worried friends and family.

 

Having left Turkey without being involved in the problems there, he then started, what he called, the day from hell.

 

He wanted to leave my house asap, as he was taking Tori to London and then driving on down to Plymouth, where he had a lot of post and paperwork to catch up on. But Tori wanted a cup of tea first.

 

Come on ladies, how many of you know THIS male trait? My son definitely has it, as does my husband, ex husband, son in law, brother in law and step father. It can't just be my family. 

 

You’re going somewhere and we all like to look our best, so it takes us a bit longer than them. This means they have to wait a while. They then get agitated waiting and when you start to make a move downstairs, that’s it! They’re off. Like a rat up a drainpipe, in the car, ignition on and drumming the steering wheel with their fingers.

 

While they were waiting for you ,did they……..Lock the back door? Check the pet’s water and food bowls? Let the dog in, who had wandered off to investigate some bushes and could have spent four hours crying at the unlocked back door? Get the babies feeds together? Switch on the Answerphone? Pick up those vital documents that he is going to need at the Bank/Solicitor/Building Society, where you are going? Of course not! Far more important that he sit in the car, with the engine running, picking his nose.

 

It’s therefore no surprise that as Simon had to wait a few minutes whilst Tori had her tea, a sandwich and a cigarette. they had to come back twice. Once for Tori’s handbag and then  for Simon’s mail!

 

Having got to London Tori wanted to get some food in and Simon drove her to the shops. Trying to park quickly he caught the kerb and split the tyre. He was very lucky to find a back street garage, which he persuaded to fit a replacement, even though the man was just closing. At 6pm on a Bank Holiday I think he was very lucky.

 

At 10.30pm , I gave him a ring to see if he was home yet. No, he was at Exeter, as he had stopped for a break and something to eat.

 

At midnight the phone rang. Where are you I hissed, trying not to wake Mike. He was at the flat. Unfortunately, in his haste he had picked up the spare set of keys to Catherine’s flat in Germany, rather than his own.

 

Simon managed three hours sleep in his car and we had to get up at 6.30 am to drive down to Plymouth with his keys! Thankfully the security guards on the gatehouse are friendly and said he could use their toilet if necessary.

 

Anyway, we had a pleasant day out, apart from all the driving. Had lunch at Cremyll, in Cornwall and went to visit Mike’s father’s grave in Ipplepen, Devon. It was the first time we had got back there since his stepmother’s funeral.

 

The church is 15thC but is covered in a strange rendering, which I think may be Victorian, it doesn’t look right. But there are some lovely old features, including the Rood Screen. There is a royal coat of arms above the door and it’s a big joke in the village. It dates from George I’s time. He upset the locals, I think it may have been to do with the Oath of Allegiance and possibly they were made to display the coat of arms. I forget the exact story. Have a look at the photo and see if you can spot the ‘extras’ the village people added.

 

I’ve told Simon to stay home and have a quiet time for the next day or two, he returns to work next week and I think he needs a rest before then. I know I do!!!