With the greatest respect, Ma'am

I've read and listened to so many thoughts of people, famous and unknown, those who knew her, met her and those for whom Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II was a lifetime institution no more tangible than God. Do I have the right to put my thoughts into words or am I, like so many others, just more flotsam and jetsam on the sea of mass grief? Well, I'm going to do it anyway because, like so many others, she mattered in my life and perhaps because most of all, I'd like my children and maybe grandchildren to know this. 

To find the roots of my feelings towards the Queen, you have to dig deep and far back. It begins, I suppose, with the abdication of Edward VIII in 1936, not that I was alive then, by the way. This act of defiance, of personal desire over duty, is probably the single deed that forged the monarchy as we understand it now and the three subsequent generations of the House of Windsor. My mother told me that when my grandmother, the formidable Nana, listened to the abdication speech on the radio, she wept inconsolably. Edward VIII was the rock star of her age. It was unthinkable that he could choose Wallace over the Crown. And yet, as mum would remind us, had he not abdicated, we might all be speaking German now (her view). 

My parents were massive Royalists. I once pointed out to my father when I was learning Civil War history, that he might have fought for Oliver Cromwell instead of the rather underperforming monarch of the time, Charles I. It was unthinkable for him. Their's was the generation that had survived the Second World War when the Royal Family refused to leave London to safer Royal homes. My father who was in the Army once guarded the then Queen (the Queen Mother latterly) and the two princesses during the War. We have a photograph of my father sitting with all three of them. Their unselfish role counted for so much and bound them to the majority of our parents' generation more than mere words could ever have done.

Then comes my near-brush with the Royal Family. When I was a teenager and Prince Charles, now King obviously, was still unmarried, the great and good were invited to the Royal Garden Parties and were encouraged to bring along their single daughters of a suitable age. King Charles must have thought yuk and my thoughts on him were not dissimilar. However, just the possibility of it all made my mother's heart beat a little faster. My memories of those occasions are confined to the wonderful flamingoes in the lake at the bottom of the garden and the massive crush in the tea tent. Ungrateful child! 

Both my parents were honoured by Her Majesty - my father was knighted which made him, and us, very proud and brought my mother a level of status she never forgot. My father was not a popular choice of husband for my mother as far as Nana was concerned, being quite a bit older with two children already, but he promised he would make a lady of her and he certainly made good on that. My mother was later honoured with the CBE. I sat at the back of the ballroom at Buckingham Palace with Daddy whilst my mother stepped up to receive her award. My father, not prone to being emotional, wiped a tear from his eye. He was so proud of her. 

So Monday was, as well as saying goodbye to the greatest head of state this country has ever known, another small farewell to Mum. She would have been devastated by the Queen's passing and would have been rooted to the television for the past week. 

And now we go forward and the sheer brilliant Britishness of the funeral (who could not be proud?) will be quickly forgotten and our attention overtaken by rising fuel bills, a plethora of strikes and the sad but brave status of the Ukraine. Let us in our farewells, remember that she would have wanted us to give King Charles a fair crack, both here and in the Commonwealth. She'll be a tough act to follow. 

God bless you, ma'am. 

Well and Truly Grounded

Making sure they're doing the right one!

For the second time in my life I am well and truly grounded. 

Just over two weeks ago, I was pacing the hospital room waiting to be taken down. Why does that sound like something from the script of a courtroom drama? Anyway, taken down for surgery rather than a more severe sentence though as I sit here it does kind of feel like the latter. I had spent the five hours between being dropped off by my beloved at the hospital and the aforementioned downward journey wondering why I was putting myself through this. Elective surgery requires a mindset that I haven't tested before. 

Previous surgery discussions a few years ago were based on the principle that if I didn't do anything I might die. That makes the whole decision-making thing remarkably easy. This, however, was something else. A year ago I pushed my knee once too often too far. For the next six months, lots of stuff got tried to see if I could avoid what turned out to be the inevitable. Broadly, the net result was that I could continue my life as normal and accept the consequences which was: night pain that stopped me sleeping, limping, walking with a stick, wearing a knee brace and not knowing from one day to the next how much I would be able to do. This is liveable with. There are lots of people with much worse issues than me and I am so fortunate in so many ways that this seems like a small price to pay. Except that it isn't. Long term. 

So, despite my desire to cut and run before reaching the operating theatre (running quite slowly, obviously),  I didn't and now I am two weeks into a six week stint of Being Good! This, it turns out, is quite hard too. Despite being told that the first bit post-op is very painful, I was working on the theory that I've had 4 children and cancer so I can cope with most stuff. Two lots of painkillers were provided on discharge but it turned out that the stronger one did not agree with me. In fact, a few hours after arriving home, I had my head in a plastic bin in my son's room. Just for reference, the rather robust bin was in his room rather than his sisters' for the same reason that I was using it now. Except he had more fun getting that way! Anyway, I'm not taking any more of those pills so soldiering on without is now the order of the day.

I have absolutely brilliant friends. Either that, or I have guilted them all into visiting because I can't go anywhere. After two weeks, I am now the lucky recipient of more gossip, funny stories and anecdotes than I have been in a long time. Two of my four children have been home, one of them helpfully asking "When did you get so old?" as I perambulated slowly up the garden. But at least I am perambulating and I can now make it to the cattle grid and back with the little dog who thinks we've all gone mad. One point with regard to Darcy, the small dog. I have been the centre of her universe for the last four years but it turns out her affections are all too easily bought! She is now following my beloved's every move and is all over my guests like a rash. Just saying...

The lovely physio suggested on Monday (our first appointment of many, probably) that, having told her I could walk round the garden with my sticks, I should walk to my next door neighbour's. I didn't say that was over half a mile away, as I was so grateful that I could move beyond the confines of the sofa that I was almost giddy with excitement. Did I remember to ask her any of the questions that had cropped up over the last week and a half? No. I am now writing a list as I go along of stuff to ask her next time. I shall be better prepared in future. 

Meanwhile at home, my beloved is whirling round like the proverbial dervish doing many changeovers in the Barn (busiest time of year, of course), washing (though there was nearly an underwear crisis this morning), feeding me and trying to stop the entire garden from dying. He is doing a sterling job but I must be well enough to get my bulbs planted at the end of September. I'd like to think all this hyper-activity means he is losing weight ...we shall see. 

So hopefully I have at least achieved a tiny dent in the rehab mountain and despite me and 'him indoors' being cooped up together far too much, we have not killed each other yet. I'll keep you posted. Now where's the carving knife?!

Darcy finding the whole recuperation thing exhausting!

Another Weekend in Auld Reekie

I wake up on Saturday morning and look out of the window. In the far distance, a commercial airliner is cutting its way across the sky and the trick of perspective makes it look as if it's flying at the same height as Edinburgh Castle's steep escarpment. No, I'm not on drugs (yet!) but I am in that very special city.

Our relationship with Edinburgh goes right back through the Fringe where number 1 child had her first big theatre hit (going on eventually to the National in London), via a splendid 50th birthday weekend with a big team from our home village, through two children who had cumulatively seven brilliant years at university here to the dim and distant annual trips to the Scottish Schools Lacrosse Championships and a very dear and rather eccentric aunt and uncle. Yes, it's been a lifetime of fabulous weekends, short breaks and much more. Love it! 

This time we are here to enjoy my beloved's Christmas present (from me so I'm enjoying it too) which is a night at the Castle with Deacon Blue, one of our favourite and very Scottish live bands. So... a great band playing with an iconic backdrop in one of our favourite cities. 

Friday night and we are installed in our little flat near Grass Market which is excellent in all respects except for the three flights of steep, winding stairs required to reach it. I'm good with this despite the dodgy knee but my beloved less so. He's carrying heavier luggage, I guess. 

We've already booked Dusit https://www.dusit.co.uk which is a superb Thai restaurant where the food and the service is off the scale. Delicious and at least we have three flights of stairs to help us walk it off! Also this is a good thing because we have planned breakfast early - we're outside the doors when it opens - at the belly-busting Southern Cross just off the Royal Mile. We have fed all our team there at one time or other and breakfast is always enough to keep you going till mid-afternoon. Plus I have a great photograph of us there with number 1 showing off her brand new diamond engagement ring with her brand new fiancé. Happy memories. 

Because we've been here so many times it isn't easy to find somewhere within walking distance that we haven't already visited. At this stage I'm not counting out going to Holyrood Palace again because I love the stain on the floor where Mary Queen of Scots' secretary Rizzio was murdered before her very eyes. Actually she's one of my two favourite beheaded queens - the other being Anne Boleyn of course. There's very little doubt that the bloodstain on the floor is artificially enhanced but I just love the drama of it! 

Anyway, not Holyrood this time but the Royal Botanic Gardens https://www.rbge.org.uk which are situated in Stockbridge and you can take the charming and shady Leith river walk to get there away from the city pavements and bustle. And on a beautiful sunny day the Gardens are perfect and peaceful. In various shady glades on our walk round there are chairs set up for weddings - I am so happy for the brides and grooms that they have this glorious weather and fabulous setting. 

After a bit of a sit-down in front of Wimbledon on the telly as we are a bit longer in the tooth than we once were, we head out for a cheapo supper in Grass Market and to join the queue to go into the Castle. The staging and seating which are put up every year for the Tattoo (which we've also been lucky enough to attend courtesy of the Intrepid Granny) is amazing and this year a whole host of bands have been booked to ensure that the auditorium is full for plenty of nights before the Tattoo comes to town. 

Deacon Blue is the musical equivalent of the Saltire - the only other band we have heard live which is so intrinsically Scots is The Proclaimers. This is our third Deacon Blue concert and we are instantly immersed by the glorious harmonies of Ricky Ross and the incomparable Lorraine McIntosh. These are anthems for the place and time and so filled with Scottishness (yes, a real word) that I have to subsume my Englishness for the duration of the concert. But this is exactly why we wanted to see the band in Scotland rather than south of the border. And very special it was. 

Finally just before we head home, we visit another of our favourite breakfast spots, Victor Hugo in the Meadows. Sadly this has completely gone to pot and after an hour of waiting having ordered and paid for pastries and coffee we give up and get a refund. Such a shame that this once-lovely place is no longer a winner. But if that is Edinburgh's only disappointment it's a small blip in a very fine weekend. Now feeling jealous of folks going to the Fringe this year. 

Postscript: My knee which has caused a fair amount of discomfort over the last year is finally going under the knife in a couple of weeks so no more gallivanting for a bit. But I plan to try to do some more proper writing whilst I supervise domestic matters from the sofa. We shall see...

Tresco - Being Silly in the Scillies - part 2 (This one is actually about Tresco!)

Finally our destination is in sight (and it's only two and a half days since we left home!). It's a short hop by small boat from St Mary's to Tresco via Bryher and excitement is mounting. For me perhaps in a different way from the others because although some of the party have been here before and already love it, the last time I came was on an Intrepid Granny holiday and it was, without doubt, one of my favourite ones. 

We stayed, back then, sometime between Mum's first knee operation and her second one, at the Island Hotel where lobster was a nightly feature on the table d'hote menu and the whole place was a delight from start to finish. Ferried about by golf buggy (the Intrepid Granny) and me on foot for the most part, we explored this beautiful island with its stunning garden. https://www.tresco.co.uk/enjoying/abbey-garden

Now there is no hotel but many, many holiday cottages on this tiny dot in the ocean, everyone of them charming, incredibly well equipped and beautifully furnished. Our's, Raven Cottage, is no exception and we are a spit, literally, from the beach - and, as it turns out, a very nice eaterie! 

There is, to be clear, no budget element to this holiday. Everything you consume pretty much is being brought in on the ferry (apart from the veg which is grown in the Abbey Gardens, I believe) and prices are, to quote someone else who's been here, like Fortnum and Mason. Everything is owned (or rather leased from the Duchy of Cornwall) by the same family so whether you purchase from the little grocery shop or the gift shop at the Gardens or anywhere else, it costs the same. But it seems a small price to pay for everything this island offers. 

I could wax endlessly about the incredible views at every turn, the white glistening sand, the crystal clear waters and so on but that's only part of its charms. The birdlife here is so tame that eating a biscuit or sandwich whilst sitting outside attracts a gang of sparrows, a song thrush or blackbird and even, worst case scenario, a seagull. They eat from your hands, nest close by the back door with complete confidence and the rabbits have developed a level of cheek beyond that even at Crow House. I am starting to feel like Saint Francis of Assisi! And watching sparrows polish off sugar lumps from our al fresco coffee is so lovely/hilarious - it feels like Hitchcock's The Birds low-budget b-movie version!  Seals pop their heads up to look at us and disappear sleekly under the waves. Best of all, red squirrels are here in numbers, without fear of terrorism from the grey variety who are, in my view, just rats with good pr (sorry, picked that one up somewhere!). 

The first night pizza and wine takeaway was an eye-watering price, and the ice cream we had enjoyed earlier that day would have given our one-time-only ice cream purchase by the Trevi Fountain in Rome a run for its money price-wise. But swallow hard (and slowly!) and realise you're paying for what makes this island so special. 

In my memory the weather on this island is always good. The reality is that the weather ranges from foggy and damp to driving rain to brilliant sunshine with remarkable speed. But when the weather closes in, the helicopters cease to operate. And of course, the logistics of getting folks on and off the island on the various changeover days when the Scillonian (the ferry from the mainland) only runs once a day to St Mary's must call for some super-high levels of efficiency. 

Regular readers know that winter or summer, sun or moon up, I like to get up early and once I've gathered myself, take the dog for a walk. (Just to be clear, the dog is not here despite my having a pocket full of empty poo bags.) There are a plethora of paths and tracks to take along the quiet coastline, across something reminiscent of Bodmin Moor, past castles built by both sides of the English Civil War, cutting through walls of rhododendrons, waist-deep bracken and gorse (fell and am still picking the thorns out!) and with views of the sparkling sea visible almost everywhere. So early morning yomping sans chien is the order of the day for me, sometimes alone and sometimes - if other folks are up - in company. No worries about getting lost - the island is only 2.5 miles long! 

Apart from the friendly fauna and birdlife, the wildflowers here are present in epic numbers, not harassed by pesticides and farmers' understandable need to make the land profitable. And beyond the ragged robin, foxgloves, honeysuckle and other lovelies, there's a whole range of succulents that definitely wouldn't grow in Yorkshire - global warming or no. The Abbey Garden, of course, is at this time of year a riot of colours and scents. A year ago we were inadvertently driving the NC500 in Scotland and went to Inverewe Gardens on the West Coast. Striking similarities with brilliant and powerful giant plants staking their claim to light and soil. 

It would be so tempting to include here the stuff that made me cry with laughter and I can truly say I have laughed more this week than cumulatively in the last two years. Falling back into the easy friendship and humour of many years is something that better writers than me perhaps can pull off. I know that if I write it, I will only erase it when I edit. But my children - and the children of our friends if they happen to read this - may remember the levels of silliness we used to reach in Salcombe. And yes, children, nothing has changed! We sing loudly, tell the same jokes (with a few additions) and crack up at the priceless memories we have of each other and of you all. 

OK enough slush! Let's get on to stuff to do here! 

My morning yomp has taken me to amazing, deserted beaches and across both moor and wetland. The best beach, viewed early one morning was Apple Tree Bay - a stunning crescent of a beach which is actually overlooked by the heliport meaning that whilst we are beachcombing for shells, the helicopter rises like Apocalypse Now but without the Ride of the Valkyries playing as a soundtrack. 

Other yomps took in the wetland in the middle of the island prompting our wildlife expert to stop at regular intervals at some obscure birdsong or other. "Look, look," he'd stage-whisper as his wife and I search the surrounding greenery, reeds, trees and brambles, "it's the ...." something I've never heard of,  usually followed by me saying, "You're making up names again..." I'm fairly sure he wasn't but there were a lot of LBJs which is apparently twitcher-code for 'Little Brown Jobs' ie any unrecognisable small brown bird. 

We made two trips to Bryher, a neighbouring island just a few minutes (phew!) by boat from Tresco. The first was to the Crab Shack which turned out to be literally a shack in a field with a gazebo attached which comprised the kitchen. Scallops and crabs made up the entire menu which was not so good for my beloved who doesn't eat crab (almost the only thing he won't eat) so he had scallops, followed by scallops. I'd like to say it was the best crab ever but that would be bending the truth but we had an absolutely top time and the staff were wonderful. And the wine definitely flowed meaning that we were last on the boat back to Tresco. I did apologise for being late to the rest of the passengers, probably loudly and perhaps slurring my words just a touch. As my beloved usually says after any of my impromptu speeches - "Mercifully short." Mysteriously this was followed by visit to the New Inn for more beers and I was so happy to be walking rather than making a perilous way home on a bike. 

Short detour here... we hired bikes - 5 for the so-called 'fit folk' and an electric bike for the other one. At the time of writing I have one bruised and scraped knee and one cut calf now healing. Note to self: cycling is a dangerous sport though I also fell over twice out walking so perhaps it's me, not the bike! 

Our second trip to Bryher was by a smaller and noticeably more sober party the following day. The reason for our trip was to go the Island Fish shop for lobster for dinner, to see artist Richard Pierce's gallery and to have a walk round the island taking in Hell Bay. The Island Fish shop is not only excellent quality and well-priced (rare in these parts) but also staffed by a very handsome chap - just saying... Again stunning views at every turn (including in the fish shop!) and coffee outside at the Hell Bay Hotel was accompanied by many sparrows who sat on the table and ate the sugar lumps! Richard Pierce's paintings are so beautiful. Sadly I suspect they would look out of place in landlocked Burton Leonard but very tempted nonetheless. 

Our other adventure took us to St Martin's which is another of the 5 inhabited islands. St Martin's has a different, less touristy feel to it with incomers making way for cars and tractors. It also has a seriously top pub, the Seven Stones Inn where the lobster rolls were sublime. And an artisan jeweller, Fay Page who creates stunning pieces based on the local shells found on the beach.  I managed a third and best swim of the week from the beach here. There is a brief window, I have now discovered, between being absolutely nithered to the bone as you get in, with the added bonus of brain-freeze, and getting so cold you have to get out of the water before you develop hyperthermia. The brief window of joyously swimming in crystal clear waters really does make the arrival and departure pain worthwhile! 

Finally, I can't finish without mentioning our local - literally outside our front door on Tresco - the Ruin Beach Cafe. Delicious food, superb welcome, great service makes this a fabulous place for a treat. Hold your breath when the bill comes and remember that there are very few places in the UK where the view, the ambiance and the food is at this level. 

Our final treat was to go home on the helicopter. I had so wanted my beloved's first view of this island paradise to be from the air but sadly our journey outbound had to be the ferry. But it was a spectacular clear sunny day for our return (don't you just hate it when the weather promises to be perfect for the next lot of guests?) and the views as we bade farewell from the air were absolutely show-stopping! 

I know that you can get to most places in the world in the time that it took us to reach Tresco and possibly a stay at some pretty glitzy hotels would come in at a similar price but it is an incredibly beautiful place. Don't think it's just an extension of the Cornish coast - this is something else and definitely worth a place on your bucket list. 

https://www.thebeachguide.co.uk/south-west-england/isles-of-scilly/apletree-bay.htm

https://www.islandfish.co.uk

https://www.hellbay.co.uk/dining-with-us/crab-shack

https://www.tresco.co.uk/eating/new-inn

https://www.hellbay.co.uk

https://www.bryherartist.com

http://www.sevenstonesinn.com

https://www.faypage.co.uk

Tresco - Being Silly in the Scillies - part 1

When Covid waved its nasty little wand and sent us all to our homes like the bad fairy in Sleeping Beauty, much time was spent bucketlisting and planning for the day when someone - anyone please! - might release us. Plans made at that time had a dreamlike quality, a sense that they might - or might not - ever happen. 

One such plan was hatched involving ourselves and three couples - old and dear friends who used to holiday together in Salcombe every summer when our children were knee-high or barely anything more. Bigger plans had been offered up involving all four families, our combined 14 children, their spouses and children and so on. Totally unworkable and a logistical nightmare. Start again. So we booked a house on the beautiful Scilly Island of Tresco for just the eight of us and as I write, we are here and it is perfect. But back to the start of our journey when we, from North Yorkshire, had the furthest to come. 

We set off early Friday morning to begin our holiday with an overnighter in Bath staying with my oldest and most dear childhood chum, Alps. She's Alps and I'm Stigs. Don't ask! We always say we'll go to Bath and do a touristy thing or two but actually we hunker down and chat and it's so, so good for the soul. Up and off early the next morning with just over 200 miles to go down the M5. It was deliciously quiet southbound and bumper to bumper northbound, this being the end of the half term/Jubilee holiday. We try not to say out loud how quiet the roads are/how brilliant not to be in a queue/how well the journey is going etc because that ALWAYS ends in disaster. But I must own up to some moderate patting on the back that we weren't at an airport queueing for hours, but I did do it silently! 

We arrive in Penzance first and in time for a very nice crab lunch at a little cafe near the front. Then on hearing that two of the other couples (couple 4 not arriving till Monday) had just landed (not literally) at the heliport we joined them in the departure building.  Actually there's only one building, arriving or departing. There's rather a lot of folks in there already and definitely more than one helicopter-load. Hmmm? Greetings exchanged amid much laughter as it's a lot of years since we've all been together. Then one lot of passengers are ushed out to the helicopter and take off.... And ten minutes later they're back. Tresco is fog-bound! 

We wait, drink coffee, chat and hope for a window in the weather. But increasingly it's looking like no one is going anywhere - on or off the island. Ahead of the game, my beloved starts to look for places to stay nearby because the fifty or so people looking disconsolate in the waiting room are all going to need places once the nice feller from Penzance Helicopters gives us an update. By the time the inevitable happens we are already booked into a holiday cottage in St Erth that looks half decent and is only a few yards from what proves to be a rather nice pub. 

So night one of the holiday - or rather night two for us - is spent in a pretty cottage in St Erth and we feel lucky to have found somewhere to stay. By the time we've had a few wines and a nice supper it feels like a good result all round - except that the alternative transport brilliantly organised by Penzance Helicopters on Sunday is not a 15 minute flight but is a 2 hour plus ferry to St Mary's and then a smaller ferry onwards to Tresco via Bryher. Not being a good sailor I know that I will be staying on deck throughout, regardless of weather, which turned out to be damp and cold for the majority of the voyage. But as we pull into St Mary's the sun breaks through and having hopped on another, smaller boat, finally we arrive less than 24 hours after originally planned. 

To be continued...

https://www.corkandfork.uk

https://www.thestarsterth.com

https://penzancehelicopters.co.uk

Spotted these three teenagers on their phones on the ferry! 

Coming into St Mary's at last! 

Walking the Walls - Finally!

It seems funny having lived in this beautiful part of North Yorkshire for our entire married life (38 years and counting!) that we are still discovering great places to visit and enjoy within an hour's drive of our home. We believe that part of our latter-day careers as hosts of our beautiful holiday home in the converted barn next to our house is to check out local attractions that we can recommend to guests. What we also realise now is that we are often pretty busy at weekends with such excitements as cleaning and bed-changing so we try to make time midweek for a little light tourist activity of our own. 

Most of these excursions are an absolute joy and we sometimes kick ourselves that we haven't been before  - new discoveries include Nunnington Hall, and Gibside which is rather further afield near Newcastle but was an add-on to a suit delivery to number 3 child who had a wardrobe emergency. Other times we've headed back to favourites like the Seven Bridges Valley Walk, Brimham Rocks and Thorp Perrow to remind ourselves just how lovely these places are.

On our longtime bucket list has been walking the York Walls - these being the "most complete example of mediaeval city walls in England", but it gets busy so we wanted to avoid weekends and school holidays to get the best possible experience. And yesterday we finally managed it and it certainly lived up to expectations. 

To put this in context, the jaunt was in large part a result of my gorgeous goddaughter gifting us a night in a boutique hotel in York which we had to postpone from my beloved's birthday in March where, instead of a conventional gift, I gave him covid. Oh dear but at least it was yet another shared experience, though less pleasant than most. 

So on a fair Tuesday morning we parked close to Lendal Bridge and walked through the Museum Gardens (which are worthy of a visit any time) and found our way to the walls at Bootham Bar. The first part of the walls which run around two sides of the Minster at this point are the most spectacular in terms of catching a glimpse of the beauty and history of the City. With the gift of hindsight, we should have gone anti-clockwise and saved this best bit for the end. However, looking down into the gardens and glorious historic buildings inside the walls at this point was truly a treat. 

The whole walk took us a couple of hours and there are a lot of steps to be climbed up and down but there are gaps where the Wall no longer exists and this is, of course, the perfect time to step off for an early lunch. A tapas bar in Fossgate proved irresistible, particular for my foodie other half. But we were surprisingly sensible because I had booked a fabulous dinner in celebration of the covid-infested birthday. Back on the Walls and we completed the circuit with only one more big break which is close to the Barbican and Clifford's Tower which we elected not to clamber up to on this occasion. I've done it before with various children who were always less impressed than me (I think views don't do anything much for small children...?). Finally over Micklegate Bar through the part of York I know best by the railway station and back to Lendel Bridge and another stroll through the Museum Gardens - though this time with a vanilla and tinder toffee ice cream cone! 

Despite having walked a proper distance during the day, we actually walked from our hotel to our dinner date at The Star Inn the City which was absolutely fab! We did manage to stop on the way at a bar for a beer - him, and a cosmopolitan - me, but frankly the latter which came with a great river view was the worst cosmo I've ever had. Anyway, The Star well and truly lived up to billing and we had a really - dare I say it? - romantic dinner for two to celebrate the birthday of himself. 

York has so much to offer and it is a great historic with lots to discover. Walk the Walls and see for yourself. 

https://www.york.gov.uk/CityWalls

http://www.starinnthecity.co.uk

In My Life - My Beatles Tribute

"There are places I'll remember

All my life though some have changed

Some forever, not for better

Some have gone and some remain

All these places have their moments

With lovers and friends I still can recall

Some are dead and some are living

In my life I've loved them all

But of all these friends and lovers

There is no one compares with you

And these memories lose their meaning

When I think of love as something new

Though I know I'll never lose affection

For people and things that went before

I know I'll often stop and think about them

In my life I love you more

Though I know I'll never lose affection

For people and things that went before

I know I'll often stop and think about them

In my life I love you more

In my life I love you more"   John Lennon

In 1963, The Beatles played the Coventry Theatre and Beatlemania came to the Midlands city close to where I grew up. I feel like I can remember, though I was very small at the time, the images on the local news. The screaming girls, literally crying out their black and white eyes on our tiny television screen in our Leamington Spa home. Barely at school, I can remember the some of the impact of this unique cultural wave. "Love Me Do", "Please, Please Me", "I Saw Her Standing There" - I knew the words back then and despite all the other stuff that rattles about in my skull, I remember them now. 

Fast forward to this week and I am paying homage to the voices and lyrics of the ultimate pop group in their home city which is now also home to Number 1 child and her growing family. Number 1 kindly organised for my beloved and me to join the Magical Mystery Tour in the city which is forever honoured through the soundtrack of the sixties. 

I came to Liverpool the first time - not this time as we've paid a few visits in the last twelve months - with the preconception of 'another Northern city'. Another Leeds or Manchester, industrial with modern gentrification round the edges and too many chain stores ripping the soul out of the city. I'm a country girl and it takes perhaps too much for me to see beyond that. But climbing on the big yellow (and slightly psychedelic) coach at Albert Dock took me on so much more than a tour of Liverpool. This bus tour takes you on a tour of the lyrics of those amazing and unforgettable songs - a reminder that many of The Beatles's songs were a love song to the city. 

I hear you thinking Penny Lane and Strawberry Fields but it's more, so much more.

But first, you should take a seat on the bus with folks from all over the world and the far-flung regions of the UK because the appeal is literally universal. And the folks are young, middle-aged and as old and older than us. The guides, Dale and Charlie, love their subject. Nothing sounds like a lazily repeated anecdote, though every part of this tale is told daily on an hourly basis. Their chirpy dialogue combined with, yes!, songs as appropriate, was simply a joy. 

As soon as the bus cruised down to the banks of the Mersey, I was humming away - not to John, Paul, George and Ringo - but to Gerry and the Pacemakers, another of the Merseyside greats, with Ferry Across the Mersey. 

The tour takes us to the childhood homes of all of the Fab Four - two now owned by the National Trust and two very much homes to other folk. We pass Brian Epstein's rather posh pad and are reminded of the pivotal role he took in steering the band from skiffle group to the international phenomenon they became. We gaze at the gates of Strawberry Fields (a girls' orphanage where John Lennon unsurprisingly liked to trespass in his teens) and we stand by the oft-replaced Penny Lane road sign. We pass the barber's shop and the number 86 bus stop "in the middle of the roundabout" and we look at the bank where "the banker never wears a mac in the pouring rain - very strange". And between the commentary we sing along to the tracks that are a tapestry of growing up in Liverpool in the 50s and 60s. 

Our last stop is, of course, the Cavern Club which has been rebuilt in recent years having been demolished but it stands on the same site (or rather under!) and has been lovingly restored. It's tiny with a stage smaller than the one in our village hall. Imagine standing at the front to hear The Beatles or the Quarrymen as they were in a previous incarnation. 

So that's my Beatles tribute and as I write I can confirm that yes, I bought the t-shirt. Or rather Yeah, Yeah, Yeah! 

https://www.cavernclub.com/the-magical-mystery-tour/

The House in the Green Country (Part 2)

It's my birthday clickety click! And what better way to start the day than going to the Buddhist temple for a blessing. While we're waiting to go in, we watch coconuts being cut down from the towering palms. This involves an incredibly agile stick-like man wrapping rope round his ankles and climbing the trees at speed carrying a machete to send the coconuts crashing to the ground. Keep your distance! One of these would definitely take you out - permanently! 

A young monk dressed in an orange robe blesses each of us and ties a cord around our wrists. We put our hands together and bow in thanks. Then we make our way through the grounds to the holy places including the various statues of the Prophet and a 2,000 year old tree where the Prophet found enlightenment. It is a peaceful place and it is right to be respectful. 

It's a special day for everyone (not just me!) as it's Independence Day in Sri Lanka and a bank holiday so the staff at the Boundary House are having a holiday too but not before they treat us to the traditional Sri Lankan breakfast complete with rice hoppers and egg curry and many more things that I can't remember the names of! Seriously, everything is delicious and now we definitely want a cookery lesson! 

We have a blissfully chilled day by the pool, swimming and reading by turn and no one is hungry after the huge breakfast we have put away. But we are required to be dressed up (I'd forgotten what that's like!) to go out to the Why House for dinner and dancing for my birthday. Our hostess and fellow aquarobic enthusiast, Hen, joins us and the company and the fab trio who play great covers make for the most fun evening. We tuk-tuk home to bed. Such a special and unforgettable Sri Lankan birthday. 

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Surprisingly, we are up for aquarobics the following morning with a few folk who have grooved round the dancefloor with us the night before. A full crew from the Boundary House including the Fantasia boys and number 4. Breakfast tastes so much better when you've earned it. 

We are having a relaxing day with nothing more stressful than a manicure (look at me!) before we travel half an hour away for dinner. A rather fraught journey, partly because there are six of us in a smallish car (number 4 on various knees but mostly mine) but more significantly because we have to stop the car whilst an enormous snake crosses the road. We are assured it is harmless and won't bite but it is a constrictor of sorts and it looks so huge. It must have swallowed a very large 'something'! We wait whilst it makes its way across the road and I try not to think of snakes for the rest of the evening. I'm not good at reptiles, and snakes in particular give me the wobbles. Another beautiful villa, this one by the side of the river. For the first time, number 4 and I get bitten. Itchy! 

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I want to give you a flavour of the early mornings here. I am habitually an early bird - winter and summer, sun up or moon up - I am a six o'clocker shocker. Here in Sri Lanka, once my body clock has recalibrated itself into our five-hours-ahead mode, I am up early to swim lengths before I reward myself with a cuppa. A mist hovers over the pool and the paddy fields beyond, the monkeys rush from tree to tree and back again playing tag with the senior monkey hooting crossly. It probably isn't cross at all but the call sounds parentally firm. Kingfishers and woodpeckers and a host of small brown and black birds and pigeons (half the size and less arrogant than our own) swoop down to dip in the water or stand on the edges of the pool. They are oblivious - or nearly - to my gentle breaststroke. I'm hardly Adam Peaty! Peacocks, often three together, stroll around the garden before flying up to the roofs of the single storey buildings. Usually two males and one female, all young and so with only half the length of impressive tail feathers, strut their stuff across the tiles. The little squirrels genuinely take no notice of me at all and busy themselves running across the grass and up the trees. 

Beyond the garden, a fully-grown majestic peacock may call imperiously to any passing female before displaying his entire array of tail feathers like a Las Vegas showgirl. There are a couple of raised mounds in the paddy where they like to stage their performances, turning round and round with their feathers on full view. Early morning dogs bark, particularly when the bread tuk-tuk passes. It plays Beethoven's Fur Elise like an ice cream van and clearly the dogs as well as the local residents know that fresh bread lies within. I now know that the van is red so am thinking Postman Pat! And in the background is the distant chanting of the monks at the temple, softly rhythmical in the morning air. 

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Today is another surfing day and we stand and watch on the beach whilst number 4 child is put through her paces by a Malinga look-alike (Sri Lankan bowler of some repute). We are unwisely in the sun for over an hour on the beach and although it's only 10 o'clock, we will be paying for it later. 

It's a blissfully lazy day by the pool, reading, snoozing and chatting. Old, dear friends together. I am trying to absorb and remember as much as I can of the sounds, the sights, the scent of jasmine by the pool, so I can take it back with me to Yorkshire. If only you could bottle it...

We have a fabulous barbecue under the trees strung with fairy lights and lit by torches. Prawns on skewers, chicken satay, pork with smokey barbecue sauce. Delicious! And sticky toffee pudding to top it off. All cooked by Delan who positively - and rightly - glows at our enthusiasm for his cooking. Bed early as we are off for an adventure tomorrow. 

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The alarm goes at 5.30 but, as ever, when I know I HAVE to get up early, I am awake well before then. We gather our things together and Vinod is parked up and ready to take us to Mirissa where our boat awaits. I am a bad sailor. I have upchucked or felt like doing so on more boats than I care to remember. I'm better when we're moving than stationary but even the ferry to Dublin requires me to stand on deck regardless of weather. I take the seasickness pills I am offered and hope for the best! 

The boat in question is a fast speed boat as we are going whale-watching. By 7.00am we are on the water and heading at speed out to sea. There are plenty of other big tourist boats but the advantage of being smaller and faster means that when we spot a whale, we can be there well ahead of the following posse. We spot our first whale early on - the sheer size is incredible and we wait for the final flick of the tail as it glides back into the water. 

Nearly three hours of whale watching and we've been so lucky to see a blue whale and a pair of whales together as well as turtles and the spectacular spinner dolphins in pods close to where the fishermen are pulling big tunafish out of the water. Whales travel along the coast about three miles out to sea at this time of year. We have been fortunate enough to see whales before in South Africa before but this is such an exciting way to spot them. 

Back on land, there's more surfing and then we head up into the hills to the amazing Malabar Hill which is a brand new hotel created with beautiful Indian styling and it makes the most of the amazing views across paddy fields and forests to the sea. This is the moment for a Cosmopolitan, obviously. And folks who've been on holiday with us know that a Cosmopolitan with rooftop view is always on my to-do list. We take a tour of the hotel after lunch and this is at the very top end of luxury. Highly recommended. 

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Today is the last of our out-and-about days but we start with aquarobics. Unfortunately my knee feels very sore after my morning swim and though I attend, I don't last for long and find myself poolside taking pictures instead. 

Sensibly (rare for me) I stay with number 4 by the pool whilst the others go off to a tea plantation and factory. We join them for lunch at another beautiful hilltop hotel Kahanda Kanda (KK) for another fabulous lunch (great food and now no exercise = diet ahead!) overlooking the tea plantations. 

Somehow having burned not a single calorie (probably) all day, we manage dinner and movie at home. The latter proved far more entertaining than watching England play Scotland in the Six Nations earlier in the week - Eurovision Song Contest - The Story of Fire Saga. Very, very funny. 

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Our last few days are, for me, largely limited to lying by the pool (ooh what a trial, I hear you say) but holidaying with a nurse, even a daughter nurse, means resting the poorly knee under her close supervision. That doesn't, however, mean that other folks are not going to aquarobics, surfing and, after a shopping trip for spices in Galle, my beloved is now sous chef to Delan, making amazing hoppers which I hope will be added to our breakfast repertoire in due course. 

We visit Galle at sunset to watch the sun slowly and spectacularly hiss into the sea from the Fort, taking in the view along with lots of locals and an increasing number of tourists. Both our outward and return flights were more populated by Sri Lankans than by British tourists but without doubt numbers are slowly increasing. Meanwhile there are a lot of Russians here and two gigantic yachts in the harbour which are most definitely from Eastern Europe. Even the surf instructors say nine out of ten folks wanting lessons are from that part of the world. Dinner is at the Fort Printers which is stunning and the courtyard dining area is reminiscent of the riads of Marrakech. 

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Our last night and we have guests for dinner. Two other couples from Blighty who own houses here in this paradise. We envy them their escape to this green country where we are treated with such courtesy and kindness. We will return - I hope - one day. 

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One final postscript on our journey home. We collect our car at Heathrow after an 11 hour flight with Air Sri Lanka (extra legroom recommended - the flight was rammed!) only to discover that the supersensitive in-car computer is showing a flat tyre. Experience tells us that it may just need a bit of air to put it right. Wrong. We have a fully fledged flat tyre and need a new one to be able to drive back to Yorkshire. Green Flag are very efficient and helpful and an hour and a half later we are on our way North. Not quite the ending we had planned but a truly wonderful holiday. 

Thank you more than I can say to Mr A and the Boss (who hopefully still like us!), Suranga, Prabat, Delan and all the Boundary House team, Hen at the Why House, Vinod and everyone we met along the way. Such a very special trip with very special friends. 

https://www.boundaryhousesrilanka.com

https://whyhousesrilanka.com

https://www.udawalawenationalpark.com

https://www.whale-watching-mirissa.com

https://malabarhillsrilanka.com

https://www.kkcollection.com/kahanda-kanda

https://www.thefortprinters.com