To Kent
A trip to Kent with Lorraine and Beth off to Lorraine's parent's home on the edge of Ashford. Met her brother, disconcertingly called Kenny Peter, and his two daughters, his partner and her mother. As Lorraine and Beth entered the front door, Beth turned to me and asked if I'd brought my pepper spray, which was funny. We all sat down to a proper English Sunday roast of beef and potatoes and parsnips, and beans and cauliflower cheese. This was followed by the triumphant bread and butter pudding Lorraine had prepared the night before.
I have had a conversation with Lorraine to clarify that there are only three legitimate puddings: apple pie (which of course is proverbially nice: "as nice as apple pie") bread and butter pudding, and lemon meringue. Other than the unimpeachable Christmas pudding (at Christmas), liking other puddings, with their fripperies and foreign stylings, betrays moral laxness and ought not to be encouraged, especially among children and one's servants.
Then quite a bit of sitting about chatting. Talking with Beth in the back garden watching sparrows and blackbirds scarf crumbled digestive and rich tea biscuits. She said that they were studying how to cry in her acting classes. Turns out it is not about remembering some dismal event. Instead you recall what your body does when you cry, and re-create those physical feelings. This allows you to cry without being taken out of character.
Lorraine's mum and dad Maureen and Pat showed me photos from their recent trip to visit their other son in Finland. Looks a very interesting place, and made me think of Marja.
Then we all watched the culmination of a golf tournament on TV, and I drew some scorn when I mentioned I couldn't see this birdy they were all on about. Pat, who is Lorraine's father, with a chess-based quip explained that there was a gathering of bishops this weekend at nearby Canterbury, but they kept moving sideways.
Then a drive home through a beautiful countryside, lots of massy mauvish clouds but full of sunlight too, making everything that wasn't green take on orange and gold. Then, after being dropped off, a quiet and blameless evening in the Twitten.
A trip to Kent with Lorraine and Beth off to Lorraine's parent's home on the edge of Ashford. Met her brother, disconcertingly called Kenny Peter, and his two daughters, his partner and her mother. As Lorraine and Beth entered the front door, Beth turned to me and asked if I'd brought my pepper spray, which was funny. We all sat down to a proper English Sunday roast of beef and potatoes and parsnips, and beans and cauliflower cheese. This was followed by the triumphant bread and butter pudding Lorraine had prepared the night before.
I have had a conversation with Lorraine to clarify that there are only three legitimate puddings: apple pie (which of course is proverbially nice: "as nice as apple pie") bread and butter pudding, and lemon meringue. Other than the unimpeachable Christmas pudding (at Christmas), liking other puddings, with their fripperies and foreign stylings, betrays moral laxness and ought not to be encouraged, especially among children and one's servants.
Then quite a bit of sitting about chatting. Talking with Beth in the back garden watching sparrows and blackbirds scarf crumbled digestive and rich tea biscuits. She said that they were studying how to cry in her acting classes. Turns out it is not about remembering some dismal event. Instead you recall what your body does when you cry, and re-create those physical feelings. This allows you to cry without being taken out of character.
Lorraine's mum and dad Maureen and Pat showed me photos from their recent trip to visit their other son in Finland. Looks a very interesting place, and made me think of Marja.
Then we all watched the culmination of a golf tournament on TV, and I drew some scorn when I mentioned I couldn't see this birdy they were all on about. Pat, who is Lorraine's father, with a chess-based quip explained that there was a gathering of bishops this weekend at nearby Canterbury, but they kept moving sideways.
Then a drive home through a beautiful countryside, lots of massy mauvish clouds but full of sunlight too, making everything that wasn't green take on orange and gold. Then, after being dropped off, a quiet and blameless evening in the Twitten.
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