My dear family & friends
I’ve not that much to report. All is domesticity and hard work. Lucia is the one working incredibly hard and I’m doing the domestic bit. She is fully into her new position at MillwardBrown which entails the reintegration of a slice of the business which had previously been spun off into a separate company. But she also has to keep a grip of part of her previous roll until the person slated to take over comes back from maternity leave in mid-August. All this means she has been working twelve, thirteen, and fourteen hour days, plus weekends.
But she has managed the odd break. This past weekend we met Ann, Richard and daughter Polly at the nearby Charlecote Park on Sunday for a stroll around the 16th century manor house now owned by the National Trust. Afterwards we continued on to Ann and Richard’s house near Shipston-on-Stour for a late afternoon barbecue which got later and later as the weather refused to play along. Still it was a most wonderful dinner with all the vegetables coming fresh out of their garden. The leg of lamb, which Richard eventually had to cook in the oven, was sublime.
The weekend before that we went to lunch at the Fosters, the parents of Lucia’s former boss in South Africa and who are also acquainted with Lucia’s parents. As Lucia got chatting with one of the other guests, Jill, it struck her that Jill’s description of the places she stayed in South Africa sounded remarkably similar to those of a young girl Lucia had employed in Cape Town. So Lucia asked her: “Do you know Nikki Cunliffe?” and Jill said “Yes, she’s my niece.” We all remarked at what an unbelievable coincidence this was and what a small world we live in, except Jill’s husband, Richard, who noted that: “It’s not so much a small world we live in, but the small circles we move about in.” I liked that. It’s probably a far more accurate reflection on the nature of coincidences.
We also had dinner a couple of times with Lucia’s colleague Monica, husband Sayure (pronounced SY – as in Simon, YU – as in you, and RE) and daughter Cecelia before they returned to Spain. Monica had been in the UK on a year-long secondment from Madrid. On the first occasion they joined us for dinner after a walk across the fields to The Saxon Mill. You can see the pictures in the usual spot at http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/llewellynijones. Well, when I say they joined us for dinner, what I mean to say is that they brought all the ingredients to our house and cooked it. We should find more guests who are as accommodating as that. What I found truly remarkable though, was how much their six-year-old daughter Cecelia sound like a proper little English girl after just a year of living in this country – so much so that she was speaking largely English at home with only a few Spanish words thrown in when she didn’t know the English equivalent. Cecelia also just loved Hazel, our Otterhound, Retriever, Terrier cross. When she was asked at some point what she was going to miss the most of England, she said Hazel and Edgar. We never had to entertain her for a moment, and Hazel being Hazel just lapped up all the attention.
What else?
I went to Malvern one day to take the dogs walking in the Malvern Hills. I forgot to take the camera so no pictures to show for it. I did take a few with my phone, but I had it on the wrong setting and they were all out of focus. I walked more-or-less straight up the side of the hill to the beacon, which at 425m, is the highest point in The Malverns, or just about as high as the King’s Blockhouse on the slopes of Devil’s Peak in Cape Town. What is interesting is that I used to walk up to the Blockhouse three or four times a week without breaking stride. Now I am clearly not as fit as I used to be because I was fairly shagged out when I got to the beacon. I lay down, told the dogs not to wander too far, and rested my eyes for ten or fifteen minutes. When I woke up the dogs were nowhere to be seen, but my most piercing whistle had them instantly racing back to my side through the long grass. Walking back down the hill Hazel kept a constant vigil for rabbits which she only ever chases as far as the nettles. She’s learned to keep her snout away from the stinging green stuff.
Hazel has also turned out to be a bit of a fox hunter. She goes mad every time she hears them in the field on the other side of the fence. One night, when I took the dogs up the road for their bedtime wee run, a lone scrounging fox made the mistake of barking when s/he saw the dogs. Hazel instantly bolted after the fox in attack mode – sprinting low down with a high-pitched I’m-going-to-kill-please-send-for-reinforcements bark/whine. Edgar looked on in confused amusement, or perhaps that was bemused confusion. I whistled my loudest come-back whistle. The fox run up a neighbour’s driveway and around the corner into their garden with Hazel in hot pursuit. It took a few more whistles and calls before Hazel obeyed, but by that stage neighbours were already looking crossly out their windows to see what all the commotion was about. We’ve already had one neighbour complain to the council that we let our dogs wee on the grass at night. I ask you!
What more? I have discovered – quite by accident, don’t ask – a new personal cure for hayfever: inhale water. I don’t mean breath it so that it goes into your lungs, but just so that it covers the sinuses. It’s just like when you go swimming and you get water in your nose; it sort of burns for a second, but probably clears out whatever was bothering you.
And finally, Lucia was lazing in bed one weekend morning when she suddenly leapt up and whipped her night dress off. A bit like Edgar I looked on in dazed confusion. In explanation Lucia breathlessly blurted out that there was something on her. On closer inspection and with due consideration, I replied that she could have fooled me.
Love, light & peace
Llewellyn
