Hula Hoop!

I had so much to write about, so many travels and trips and what am I obsessed with this morning? – A badly bruised thumb. I sent away for a hula hoop, as I was so inspired by John’s sister Rosie’s expertise. She made it look effortless,

and even though we all had a go, and failed miserably, I thought it was something worth pursuing. The hula hoop is weighted (1.5kg) and if you do 100 spins to the right and 100 spins to the left you should have a wasp-waist in weeks. Your core muscles will be toned up and everything will be wonderful.

So – out I went to the company of the terns and seagulls, and tried and tried, and kept whizzing it around to get the momentum before it flopped down to my ankles with boring regularity. Finally I managed 20 swirls, and I was nearly worn out with the effort. Still, I persevered and gave it an almighty whizz again, and it smacked the base of my thumb and I screamed.

Ice, ibuprofen and swelling. Didn’t bode well. This morning more of the same. I shilly-shallied about going to wait 4 hours in A&E, and decided against it. John reassured me that he had many horrific shunts on his thumbs in his karate days, and it should be ok. So I am being careful and avoiding all pincer-like activities. Luckily it’s my left hand.

The last few weeks have been filled with Gerry and Darcey and Dylan, and walks and sunshine and eating ice creams in Princes street Gardens.

We did a fabulous walk up in the Angus Glens, in Glen Prosen.

The day was hot, and we tramped through woods, up a hill and past a forgotten cemetery. The scenery was a mosaic of colour, with green and buttery-yellow fields and paths lined with wild blue geraniums and pink willow herb.

Out of nowhere we came across a monument dedicated to Captain Scott of Antarctica! There he was with his friend and companion, Dr Wilson, and all their huskies. It was in Glen Prosen that they used to train for their great endeavour.

John’s son James and his partner Christine and her 3 kids came up to stay, as they had promised to do when we were in Hong Kong together. Edinburgh with all its history and bustle kept them entranced, and it was fun being tourists with them and revisiting the wynds and alley ways and seeing it all through their eyes.

After they left John and I meandered over to Falkland Palace. The day was hot, the delphiniums were all about six feet tall in the high walled garden, with not a breath of sea wind to disturb them. I tried not to covet them in an envious way. Retired schoolteacher guides shared the secrets and stories of the palace, and we stood entranced listening to their practised oratory skills. There was a child’s highchair in one of the rooms, with one leg deliberately shortened to make it shoogly. Apparently if the royal child had been naughty, the nannies were not allowed to reprimand him so they would put him up on the chair and he would bellow with rage and topple out and bang his head. Enough said. They got good behaviour after that!

Last weekend we flew down to the boiling hot south of England, and went first to Chichester cathedral where we saw the tomb from Arundel, where the Lord and Lady were lying hand in hand in stone. It reminded me of the Chris de Burgh song.

John drove me around to visit his old haunts and homes, and punctuated everything with, ‘We used to cycle here on Sunday mornings, that’s where my friend, Willie Wiles used to live, that’s the barn that I converted, and so on.’ We couldn’t actually see the barn as trees and hedges had grown so high, so we drove round to the church. Imagine our horror when we came across a man sitting on the steps with his head covered in blood. I told him he looked terrible, and he said, ‘Thanks a lot.’ He had been coming round the corner and a speeding car came at him full throttle and swerved, the driver got out in a rage and started punching the cyclist (about 58). His ear, and mouth and head were covered in blood. I think he may have been concussed as he had fallen on the ground. He was waiting for the ambulance to come. It was quite sobering.

We left him, vaguely reassured that he had rung up all the right people, and we drove on and met up with all of John’s kids.

That evening we had the best barbecue ever and the next morning, it rained, and rained and rained! There was nothing else for it, but to gamble madly in the amusement arcade on Worthing Pier. Those two pence machines are evil; they entice you to play and play, and I had to laugh at Matthew, who is MD of his own finance company, pouring in the money in order for an elusive £5 note to fall over the precipice. Becky was chuffed that her husband won a giant Peter Rabbit for their coming baby, due in October! We drank tea in Arundel, and browsed through the antique shops. Such a quaint, pretty place, even if they did refuse to take a Scottish five pound note!

The next day the rain did disappear and we enjoyed the Lanes of Brighton, and mingled with the crowds in hot sunshine. We ate pizza beside The House of Correction (from William 4^th time, not a parlour dominated by dominatrix ladies wielding whips and chains!).

And we were amazed at how many tattoo parlours there were. Christine had her tarot read, and seemed very impressed with the results.

Then we farewelled the family and drove east, along the Sussex lanes and highways with the beautiful Downs on our left and came to Bexhill-on-Sea. The day was like the water colours that Rosie loves to paint, blue skies and soft greens and a panorama of fields with brown cows. The line of the hedges meander down to the sea in the distance, and we could see the English Channel with boats dotting the horizon.

Rosie and Pete took us to the site of the Battle of Hastings. It conjured up a dusty classroom of long ago, rather like a sepia painting, and I remembered the lesson and the famous date of 1066 when William the invading Conqueror defeated the English and poor King Harold who had been fighting valiantly with his human wall of shields got shot in the eye with an arrow.

The four of us wandered around the Battle Abbey site, across grass burnt brown in the sun, and read the plaques and tried to imagine the days of yore. The floor looks like a free motion quilt pattern!

It was beautiful driving back along Pear Tree Lane, through dense forest, and then come to rest in Pete and Rosie’s house and drink wine and eat delicious food whilst a wild pea hen strutted about their garden. And then of course the hula hoop came out!

The sun shone hotly the next day as we drove to Canterbury. We were like Chaucer’s pilgrims, The Wife of John, The Maid of the Hoop, and who could Pete and John be? They later turned out to be the ‘beggars two’ as they waited for us to turn up.

Inevitably we got lost in the Cathedral, it is so vast, and we each explored the site of the murder of Thomas a Becket and wandered through cloisters alone and meeting up at random.

The two men sat outside, and John wickedly put a couple of pounds in Pete’s cap and Pete acted the beggar man on a bench outside the cathedral. John nearly collapsed laughing as passers-by sauntered by with their noses on high! Maybe it was Pete’s I-phone and large bundle of keys that tipped them off!

And now we are home. And the pages of the history books can be closed, but I loved seeing the sites, and seeing England as it should be seen, with wide blue skies, and crazy eccentric competitions taking place… the best scarecrow exhibits were on show in Battle.

And the long piers and the sea, and Victorian houses, proud and arrogant, and pretty houses with nostalgic domes and chimneys built by long-ago colonials who wanted to recreate the homes they lived in in the Far East. But England being England, there is always one crazy house that stands out!