Out with the old

Don't you love it when a plan comes to fruition? 

We'd hoped and prepared for a family gathering and, lo and behold, the six of us actually managed to join together for a few days to celebrate Christmas.

Despite the ongoing challenges here and, I'd have to admit, low expectations, the traditional schedule was smoothly (so smoothly I was convinced I'd forgotten to do something crucial) followed and it all proved to be highly enjoyable. 

And highly calorific.  I had to keep my apron on the whole of Christmas Day as, by the evening, I'd indulged so much (I ate most of the box of these and refilled my plate far too many times from the suppertime buffet) the zip on my trousers refused to fasten.

On Christmas Eve, with the youngest of the group finally fast asleep,  I reclaimed the Scrabble crown (it was actually a medal) after too many years of coming fourth (aka last).  I know it's wrong to blow your own trumpet but I was ON FIRE!

The now 6 year old littlest was his usual entertaining self throughout, keeping us on our toes, delivering his verdict on every aspect of the festivities ('Granny, that soup looks like sick'), challenging each of us to games of darts and table football and Silly Sausage.

After he and his parents returned home to Manchester on Boxing Day,  the Boy (he stayed here a week) and I played several rounds of Exploding Kittens (I was well and truly trounced) and managed to squeeze in a night walk along the beach and an afternoon stroll through the woods, both short but good for blowing away a cobweb or two.  We also managed a trip to the recycling centre, the first of many, hopefully, but that's part of another plan.

Many gifts were exchanged (mine included tickets to see this and enjoy a meal here) and all were seemingly well received.   Well, I haven't been asked for any receipts.  

Now, the cake, mince pies and Boy-made gingerbread house (those windows!) have all been demolished, decorations have been packed away, the tree is on the drive awaiting collection, the sizeable chocolate stack has been stored in the cupboard, there's a pile of new reads to dip into and Christmas 2021 has been locked in the memory bank alongside all the ones from preceding years.

I'm feeling surprisingly optimistic about the new year, determined to enjoy, to savour, to appreciate, to accept as I navigate a way through what I know will be an increasingly testing situation.   There'll be no making of resolutions or setting a guiding word for the year, more a sense of reassessing, I think.  For starters, yoga and meditation used to be such a big part of my life and now they're not.  I intend to change that.

And on that note I wish all of you lovely people in my laptop a happy and healthy 2022.  Your visits, comments and emails are so very much appreciated.

 

Time out

It really happened.

After much planning and jumping through hoops, I managed a short break, the first time away from home in two years.

Right up to the last minute, cancellation looked inevitable but, with the mister, dog and cats miraculously placed with their respective carers, me and the Boy boarded the London-bound train for a few days of just simply enjoying.

To say this was much needed time out is something of an understatement.  Settling into the journey with a novel and the Christmas edition of Good Housekeeping, there was such a sense of release I ended up with a soggy face mask (no, you're a crybaby).

Arriving at Kings X and being too early for the hotel check-in, cases and bags were dumped in left luggage. We had a wander round Coal Drops Yard before a most delicious lunch and festive cocktails in Dishoom, followed by a visit to the British Library.  It was a very good start to what promised to be a fun time.

After a mooch around Spitalfields and a nosey here, that first evening was spent strolling along the river before a relaxed dinner, then ending up here for a couple of glasses of champagne, spectacular views and indulging in a favourite activity of mine, people watching.

 

We'd pre-booked some tickets including ones for the Alice in Wonderland exhibition at the V&A which I'd been very keen to catch and which didn't disappoint.

Avoiding the underground because it seemed the appropriate thing to do, we travelled the city using black cabs and Uber cars (and sometimes Shanks's pony).   Yes, it's a more expensive way of getting around but you do get to see sights you'd otherwise miss.

London was looking fabulously festive.   As we weren't staying there this visit (we were based here),  we popped into the Ritz for a gawp at the Christmas tree. 

On the way out, I somehow managed to end up on hands and knees on the red carpet at the bottom of the steps.  In my defence, there was no champagne involved.  I'm blaming the steamed up specs.

A night at the theatre was on the cards and, after a spot of shopping in Old Compton Street and several bookshops, we settled down for three hours of supercalifragelistic entertainment.  

I love wandering cities at night and London surely has to be one of the best for doing just that. 

 

A trip to to the capital is never complete without a visit to Borough Market.  We arrived early as the stallholders were finishing setting up, allowing easy unhurried browsing and prompting much deliberation of what to buy, what to eat. When it was time to move on,  I was amazed to realise we'd spent three hours there.

The weather was glorious as we walked south of the river, hopefully shaking off at least some of those market calories and heading towards the Tate Modern.

This free exhibition was fascinating.  (I've tried to add a video of these floating machines but Typepad isn't playing ball.)

 

We did all of this and so much more, packing as much as we could into this visit whilst never feeling rushed.

Returning home to pets and snow, there were still a couple of days to catch up with family and slob on sofas with takeaway pizzas before normal life resumed, though with batteries well and truly recharged.

 

 

Socially distanced celebrating

Me and the Boy drove to the beach, the first time in a long time despite it being such a short distance away. 

It felt good to connect with the real world for a while, a welcome break from life in the twilight zone.

We splodged along the shoreline, maintaining the advised distance, scanning the sand and rock pools for what the littlest would term 'treasure', wondering if a dead jellyfish, one of many washed up and looking for all the world like a purple flower encased in gloop, would have made the final cut.

The forecast had warned of heavy rain all day and, like every man and his dog, we'd dressed accordingly. 

Predictably, grey skies turned blue, the sun shone, waterproof jackets became an encumbrance and the Boy's head (sporting a radical number 1 haircut) turned pink.

The steep steps to the top, where the car and our picnic lunch were parked, had had another hundred or so added to them since last scaled. 

Or maybe it was the impact of Post Lockdown, Still Doing Far Too Much Sitting And Face Stuffing syndrome.

Whichever,  I stopped for a breather on the half-way bench whilst the colour of a certain head moved up the pink intensity scale.

Back home, there was a chocolate, rose and pistachio cake and a bottle of bubbly, accompanied by some rousing singing over the phone from an enthusiastic littlest, who was somewhere at the southern end of the country, suitably pumped up (as, I'm sure, were his parents) for a visit the next day to Peppa Pig World.

There were cards and gifts to open – books, posh chocs, Turkish delight from a stall at Borough Market (I'm addicted), a selection of spices, a scarf, flowers, plant, candle – which truly couldn't have been chosen better.  My people know me well.

I'd started the day not feeling in a particularly celebratory mood.  The Boo had been ill the previous week which had led to an afternoon with the emergency vet for various tests, a scan and injections (he was given methadone and tramadol; I was trying to work out how I'd fund a dog with a drug habit), with follow up scans at our usual surgery the next day.  He's doing well but the vets' bills are his Christmas present for the next 25 years.

Then there was a scarily high number knocking on my door and the omnipresent spectre of The Virus.

Not the ideal ingredients for a day of merrymaking. 

But, you know what?

I love birthdays, me.

Edited to add:  For some inexplicable reason (problems with Typepad? Virgin Media? Who knows?),  I'm now unable to respond to comments via email.  Apologies for this and, as always, thanks so much for taking the time to visit and leave a comment on my ramblings.