Ah, the best-laid plans . . .
I always take a look to see when I last post, and then usually pull out my diary to see what’s happened since so I can capture the highlights/lowlights. I was disappointed to see that the last time I’d posted was 9 April—a full three weeks ago. The disappointment comes in my wanting to post more frequently, yet I can’t seem to find the time to simply sit down and do it. I should ask my friend Taron, a frequent blogger on a fantastic site called Mind, Body & Scroll, how she manages to find the time! She works full time, has just recently been married, and has an active social life. Perhaps the trick is to simply get into a routine; I seem to find time for my tennis lesson, and now play twice a week when my colleague Sarah is free. I recall when my friend Beverly was writing her first novel how she would get up a few hours early each morning and poise herself in front of her computer/notepad/writing instrument and get to it. So I suppose I need to just do it. And I suppose, too, I need to play a bit of catch up since the 9th. Work has been very, very hectic (which is my current excuse for not writing more often, though truly it’s more about making it a habit where nothing will get in my way), and owing to a few “bank” holidays we’ve had some short weeks. The weather has been beautiful, and the longer weekends in Cowes have been blissful—sleeping in a bit, taking long walks to Gurnard, just west of Cowes, or watching the boats float along from the roof terrace—it’s been those kinds of weekends. Well, except for the one where Tim’s brother Peter joined us with two of his children, Imogen and Ludovic, for some sailing.
And by that I mean still blissful, just in a different way!
The visit was also Easter weekend, which meant that Tim and I had the Good Friday and Easter Monday as holidays. We set off to the Isle of Wight on Thursday and made the place ready—not exactly kidproofing (Gini and Ludo are 7 and 9, or something along those lines) as the house in Cowes is not filled with breakables, but getting beds ready and putting anything remotely dangerous (like the charger for the boat’s VHF radio) out of reach of small hands. We also shopped for kid-friendly food—or at least what the German contingent was used to having—muesli, yogurt, chicken, milk, and (from Uncle Tim) small chocolate Easter treats and hot cross buns. We were expecting them for a late dinner on Friday, to be followed by a day of sailing on Saturday and, weather permitting, more on Sunday.
Ludo was keen to get on Tim’s boat, but Gini was less inclined and so the females were relegated to the beach—not a bad thing given the warm sun and very light breeze; in fact, the weather was a bit too mild, wind-wise, for a good sail. But the boys made the best of it while Gini and I picked stones and small spiral shells from the pebble beach, taking time to clean them in some sea water (with the help of rubber measuring spoons Gini simply had to have from a high street shop). We also spent quiet hours back in the house, much to my surprise; I expected to be run a bit ragged! Gini is quite content playing on her own, perhaps because she has two male siblings who I suspect don’t care to have a tea party with her stuffed friends. I was genuinely amazed at how she managed to find things to both amuse and enjoy—she simply opened drawers and cabinets, collecting bits and bobs. The basting brush, with its lime-green, flexible silicone bristles was a hit. Gini also found pretty Oriental bowls, my small glass sake cups, all of the teaspoons, and two empty plastic milk containers from the morning’s breakfast to set the scene for her afternoon tea.
I worked around her, cleaning up the breakfast dishes, tidying up beds, and doing laundry while Gini rearranged the nested wooden tables for the tea party setting. I cautioned her, nicely, to be careful not to spill water on the wood; she immediately found all the dish towels (I have just three) and used those as tablecloths. When the party was over we headed to the pebble beach and combed through endless rocks for tiny spiral shells and shiny glass bits whose edges were well worn from the sea. We carried the booty back to the kitchen, where Gini set to work washing up all the stones and shells, using generous squirts of antibacterial soap and then putting them out to dry.
And the sailing, it would seem, was successful. Despite a lack of strong wind, the boys did manage to get the sails up and get on with it, though after the first day Ludo did complain that they hadn’t gone fast enough (and fortunately there was a bit more wind for their second outing). I think a good time was had by all, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a return to Cowes and Coh Karek in their future. And, having pouted through the purchase of appropriate deck shoes, Ludo was not willing to give them up at the end of the weekend!
We ended the Easter afternoon after a late lunch of bread and cheese, farmer’s pickle and cold chicken with a long walk uphill to look at the Solent from Castle Road, and then took the winding stairs, half hidden by trees, back down to the beach where rocks were skimmed, seaweed was tossed, and we all gazed contentedly at the sea as sailors returned from their day’s outing back to the harbour. It was a delightful weekend and I was most pleased that the weather stayed warm for our visitors. Gini took some lovely snaps on my mobile phone that I only recently remembered to look at, almost a week later, and I must say they did make me smile in recalling the weekend. Here’s one of Gini’s creations on the beach—quite a good photo!
I have another photo to share with you . . . this from another weekend, before Easter, when Tim and I joined our friends Pauline and Chris to take the annual sonnet walk. The walk is sponsored by Shakespeare’s Globe and is held near his birthday—23 April—each year. (He’d have been 447 this year, born 1564.) We chose the walk that begins at St James’s Park—future site of the beach volleyball when the Olympics come to London in 2012—and winds its way through different areas of the city before ending at the Globe on the Thames Path.
You may recall that last year I was accosted—LOL—by one of the sonneteers who professed his life on bended knee and kissed my hand. Well, Tim was the “God of Love” this year, where many of the female sonneteers chose him from our group of 10 to recite their lines to. And, as with last year, it was wonderful—it was a lovely, warm day filled with sunshine and poetry. We went through several gardens, some of which I didn’t even know existed, in our two-and-a-half-hour walk. We found ourselves at the Embankment Gardens and the Temple, anticipating a sonneteer.
Fourteen lines each, 154 sonnets . . . well, sonnet 99 apparently has 15 lines . . . all lovely when spoken by these actors. They require the delivery of someone who can interpret the phrase, provide some context by their gestures and dress. The sonneteers were all wonderful—a range of ages, all in modern dress, performing to our delight. If you are in London in mid-April, it’s worth the £18 to be a part of it—it’s always quite fun to watch the reaction of onlookers who have no idea what’s going on when suddenly there’s an argument on the street or a woman wearing a bright red tutu-like outfit (albeit under a demure grey coat) sidle up to Tim . . .
. . . notice the smile on his face! ;) (And the onlooker in the background—this is at Victoria Embankment Gardens.)
After the walk we had a lovely, leisurely lunch at Tas Pidi, just off the Thames Path, and caught up with Pauline and Chris—they’d been to Borneo since we last saw them, and we met friends of theirs recently at Taron and Neil’s wedding, so we had lots to chat about. And as if the day wasn’t filled enough, we headed to Soho in the evening for dinner with Tim's brother and his wife at Yauatcha, an upscale Chinese dim sum restaurant that I’d been wanting to try. I was hoping it was a good choice, and it turns out they’d been before though not in years. We ordered several rounds of different dim sum delights and shared across the table, though we let our guest enjoy the chicken feet on her own . . . they didn’t look that unappetising, but, I suspected they’d be bony and wasn’t keen to give it a go. It was all quite good—a bit pricey, as dim sum can be, but given we had two bottles of wine and some sparkly water, the bill was £45 per person and we certainly had our fill. Afterwards we strolled a bit and found ourselves in a pub sharing a bottle of bubbly to continue the evening, with talk of their upcoming trip to China and our developing wedding plans. Always a treat to spend time with them and a good excuse to try a restaurant on the list!
Yes, I did watch the Royal Wedding . . . I honestly hadn’t intended to though I was curious about Kate’s dress. We were in Cowes, where there is no television at Number 12, so Tim headed off to the local pub where it was being shown rugby-style on the large flat-screen TV while I tidied myself up to join him. I arrived just as Kate was leaving the hotel for her trip to the Abbey, and we stayed until their coach pulled into Buck Palace—yes, I declined waiting for the anticipated “kiss” because the commentator said it would be an hour, it was a lovely day in Cowes, and I wanted to walk along the sea, have some lunch, and enjoy the day. I did go to CNN when we returned and watched it . . . or shall I say them . . . and declared them a bit, well, ordinary!
And no, I didn’t get any ideas. I loved Pippa’s elegant dress, far too dressy for The Other Wedding This Year, but quite beautiful. I was imagining Kate in something a bit more modern, rather than “classic,” though the dress was lovely—it flowed beautifully and while I was originally pouting about the train, well, it wasn’t outrageous. I had to laugh when I went on Facebook later in the day and read a few comments about how Alexander McQueen would have never designed something so . . . well, I saw the word “ugly” used. Frankly, I’d envisioned something a bit more updated, fitted at the waist and then in a mermaid-style silhouette . . . but then I had to shake myself back into reality—this is the Royal Family, LOL!
I enjoyed it, I did; I didn’t cry, but I oohed and aahed at the event; what splendid pageantry. The coaches were gorgeous. The crowds were wild! There is nothing like this in America; it is a pure, true, British phenomenon, and I was glad that I did in fact perch on a bar stool with a Buck’s Fizz (aka a Mimosa, courtesy of the Fountain Inn) to celebrate the occasion.
Yes, I know you want to know: the drink is named after London's Buck's Club where it was invented as an excuse to begin drinking early, and first served, by one of its barmen, McGarry, in 1921. The Mimosa cocktail, invented four years later in Paris, also contains sparkling wine and orange juice albeit in equal measures to each other. (Thank you, Wikipedia.)
In the evening our neighbours Wendy and Walter threw a small party, just steps from our back door, which were were delighted to attend. Our friends Kim and Mark (also Contessa owners) were coming, and I wanted to meet some of my neighbours whom I’ve seen but not spoken to. It was quite fun—Walter was busy chatting and carrying around three or so bottles at a time to top up his guests’ pleasure—prosecco, rose, etc—while Wendy offered trays of finger food. She finally relaxed for a few minutes to sit with Kim and me and talk about the wedding—we all agreed that Kate’s brother James did a wonderful reading, that Pippa outshone her sister in some ways, and that Eugenia and Beatrice looked a bit out of place where their oversized fascinators (which is what those silly hat-like ornaments are called) and odd outfits, looking a bit bored with mouths slightly opened as they sat behind the Queen.
We did have our own pre-wedding excitement, Tim and I: a trip to the town hall to officially announce our intention to marry to the registrar. Having secured my Certificate of Approval from the Home Office (which, by the way, will no longer be required come mid-May), Tim and I had to bring the certificate to the town hall and be interviewed—separately—by a registrar before they’d let us tie the knot. The questions weren’t difficult—partner’s full name, current marital status, and relationship to self (which should be none)—more just a formality for us, and to ensure someone will show up on the date at the appropriate venue and time and help us exchange vows and sign the register. For £400. We were both a bit shocked by the fee for what is essentially 20 minutes of work on a late Saturday afternoon for the registrar—the cost of renting the town hall is separate. Having said that, Tim still whipped out a debit card and paid . . . ahh, true love has no cost! So, it looks like we’re going through with the plan. Next big purchase: appropriate attire. I have a few ideas from browsing on line at a few designer (NOT wedding) shops.
It’s the Sunday of the second four-day weekend here in Britain (Easter having been the first, with Good Friday and Easter Monday being “bank” holidays) and I’m getting ready to take a long, leisurely walk while Tim and Dominic are out giving Coh Karek her final run before she races next week at Itchenor—sans its captain: we’re off to America for a trip to Texas to visit with David and his family, and then continuing with a whirlwind five-city, five-day drive across 1142 miles of the great west to see the Grand Canyon at sunset, the Rat Pack’s hang out in Vegas, Death Valley at dusk, Yosemite at sunrise, and, finally, the Golden Gate Bridge. About 20 hours of driving, averaging five each day. I promise to write; the question is, will it be during, or after?
I hadn’t planned on bringing a computer . . . but I will at least jot down the highlights and post some photos and commentary as soon as I can. We have a new camera to capture the sights, a rented Oldsmobile Alero queued in Phoenix where we start the journey, and, with any luck, good weather and smooth sailing ahead.
Until the next time, then, enjoy the longer, warmer days and the cool nights that remind us it’s still spring, though the May flowers are blooming and we anticipate those lazy, hazy days not far off in the future.
Shall I leave you with a sonnet? Well, perhaps just a few lines:
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date . . .
You can find them all, with wonderful explanations of the meaning of the sometimes obtuse language, here. Do enjoy.
