An evening with Richard and Jane
A poor night's sleep for both of us. Lorraine having a stomach bug today, and I felt a little weird in the stomach too. Lorraine slept this morning, and I went to visit my grandparent's grave. I popped into Brouards and was sold a few sprigs of local freesia to put on their grave. I enjoy visiting their grave, and it is not at all morbid. A convention of magpies broke up as I stepped into the graveyard, which has several people I knew when I was young. My Grandfather David's parents, David and Zelia (who was known as Toots) and his sister Peggy share one grave, its stone is an open book which now looks quiet ancient, quite a strange thing to see mouldering stone when I remember them so vividly.
Then back to the hotel where we had a very relaxed afternoon dozing by the pool. I listened to Laughing Stock again and splashed about for some time, and chatting with some of the other residents. Later Lorraine and I bussed off into into St Peter Port where a sun-bronzed, black shirted Richard collected us in the van, an Italian flag in one of the side windows.
Jane in a kitchen full of herby aromas. Lovely to see them, sit in their beautiful little garden, and then moving indoors to strap on the nosebags. Jane cooked up some mouthwatering food. Starters featuring toasted walnuts and hot pears, an amazing Italian chicken and chickpea stew, followed by summer pudding and lashings of wine.
We celebrated Richard getting some flash fiction placed in a Pennine Review competition, to be published early next year. We heard all about Italy, the epic journeys, and the amazingly lucky choice of place to rent, which opened up to the equivalent of a stately home, the rose and oleander filled gardens they were free to roam about in. Richard had gone there with a cream linen suit, inspired by Italian film, that this would be the very thing to wear in Italy. Weirdly though, the place they were staying they had to dress down not to stand out. Jane able to practise her excellent Italian skills.
Jane has also been working on lace, which boggled me with the fine nature of the weave, and the fourteen pairs of bobbins required in the process. She also read us some poems over supper, by Ann Gray and cried reading them. All in all a top night with dear friends.
Eventually a taxi arrived for us, near impossible to source as it had started to rain. Fond farewells with Jane and Richard and we legged out into the rain.
We found the taxi driver a man of opinions. The new free bus service they are going to introduce next year is a stupid because there are no bus shelters and no Guernsey person would want to walk a few yards to get wet at a bus stop when they had a car that they could be charged to pay exorbitant amounts to park in town with instead.
Below Gwen and Dave's grave.
Then back to the hotel where we had a very relaxed afternoon dozing by the pool. I listened to Laughing Stock again and splashed about for some time, and chatting with some of the other residents. Later Lorraine and I bussed off into into St Peter Port where a sun-bronzed, black shirted Richard collected us in the van, an Italian flag in one of the side windows.
Jane in a kitchen full of herby aromas. Lovely to see them, sit in their beautiful little garden, and then moving indoors to strap on the nosebags. Jane cooked up some mouthwatering food. Starters featuring toasted walnuts and hot pears, an amazing Italian chicken and chickpea stew, followed by summer pudding and lashings of wine.
We celebrated Richard getting some flash fiction placed in a Pennine Review competition, to be published early next year. We heard all about Italy, the epic journeys, and the amazingly lucky choice of place to rent, which opened up to the equivalent of a stately home, the rose and oleander filled gardens they were free to roam about in. Richard had gone there with a cream linen suit, inspired by Italian film, that this would be the very thing to wear in Italy. Weirdly though, the place they were staying they had to dress down not to stand out. Jane able to practise her excellent Italian skills.
Jane has also been working on lace, which boggled me with the fine nature of the weave, and the fourteen pairs of bobbins required in the process. She also read us some poems over supper, by Ann Gray and cried reading them. All in all a top night with dear friends.
Eventually a taxi arrived for us, near impossible to source as it had started to rain. Fond farewells with Jane and Richard and we legged out into the rain.
We found the taxi driver a man of opinions. The new free bus service they are going to introduce next year is a stupid because there are no bus shelters and no Guernsey person would want to walk a few yards to get wet at a bus stop when they had a car that they could be charged to pay exorbitant amounts to park in town with instead.
Below Gwen and Dave's grave.
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