Yes, really. Went to traditional village show and carnival on Saturday in Minster. There is something about the smell of the show tents - grass, flower scent, damp, vegetables and piles of cake. It's so evocative - of every flower show or country fair I've ever been to.
There was fancy dress, "olympic games", punch and judy and impossible, disgusting food... if you don't eat sausages, you're stuffed. I got extremely hungry and by the time we had left the pub was closed.... then we went to see if the Quex restaurant was open - it said it was open until 4 but they only offered the grim cafe menu. A crumpled laminated thing, which contained the usual dullish selection of potatoes and sandwiches. So we left, I had got to the hungry state where I only wanted to eat something REALLY NICE!
We drifted down to Westgate, found a nice, stylish cafe - had some overcooked calamari and sweet potato chips with sour cream. These were delicious, if I'd known I would have forgotten about the calmari - we left, intending to go to the deli, only to find it was closed. Ah the joys of Middle England - late night opening (i.e. after 4.00pm...) meh!
Sunday we were planning to have our usual solitary trip to the beach, but delightfully Ned and Finn came too. We swum - it wasn't too cold, but the band of flints just where the water deepened was a deterrent. I only swum once, the breeze got up in the afternoon, although it was beautifully sunny and my face got tanned.
The boys were good and jolly - Finn left early of course, Ned went to meet Gina as the Carnival was coming. They had money for ice creams and went to Pelosi's. M and I left the beach in time to see the extensive Carnival procession...
It is extraordinary how being on the beach makes one feel so happy. We lay on the ridge of sand just above the high tide mark - lying down one stares out across a short distance of sand and then the sea - nice little waves, wish we'd taken the body boards. There were a few tall ships out - the ferry leaving, a dredging clearing the harbour and presumably just dumping the sand, and yachts hurrying to get into the harbour before the lock closes. And of course, loads of seagulls. And people, but plenty of space between us and them. Large numbers of foreign students, kids playing football, and people sitting behind windbreaks in rows of low-slung chairs. But it is just the being close to nature (although there's rather less "nature" around at this time of year, Mark said that he felt the sight of the sky reflected in the sea was a consoling sight because you knew it would go on for ever and be seen by people in the future. I have found this thought encouraging in the past, but confess that now feel a bit gloomy - they sky and sea contain hidden poisons, and the sea is not too well.
Reading was a bit sporadic, since there were endless interruptions. We took foccacia and white wine and olives - the boys ate foccacia too - and shared the packed lunch Jaime had left behind this morning. It was all deeply satisfying. This weekend has been one of those weekends when everything falls into place (well, parking spaces, etc. So much for retrograde Mercury!).
Later we tried to talk to Ned and Finn about the planetary future - none of my "your planet needs you!" talk will deter Ned from believing he is going to be a writer/artist/musician... I don't really want it to, but I wish they were both intensely committed to environmental engineering. But what can I expect - their parents are effectively drones - archaeology and writing are hardly essential tasks in today's society. But no worse than, er, banking? Marketing? really, I shouldn't fret. Ned said that the future isn't going to be grim as I was painting it - and that I was beginning to think my dystopia was real. Interesting, I suppose Islanders is now beginning to absorb me as much as The Romantic Feminist - but in different ways.
There was fancy dress, "olympic games", punch and judy and impossible, disgusting food... if you don't eat sausages, you're stuffed. I got extremely hungry and by the time we had left the pub was closed.... then we went to see if the Quex restaurant was open - it said it was open until 4 but they only offered the grim cafe menu. A crumpled laminated thing, which contained the usual dullish selection of potatoes and sandwiches. So we left, I had got to the hungry state where I only wanted to eat something REALLY NICE!
We drifted down to Westgate, found a nice, stylish cafe - had some overcooked calamari and sweet potato chips with sour cream. These were delicious, if I'd known I would have forgotten about the calmari - we left, intending to go to the deli, only to find it was closed. Ah the joys of Middle England - late night opening (i.e. after 4.00pm...) meh!
Sunday we were planning to have our usual solitary trip to the beach, but delightfully Ned and Finn came too. We swum - it wasn't too cold, but the band of flints just where the water deepened was a deterrent. I only swum once, the breeze got up in the afternoon, although it was beautifully sunny and my face got tanned.
The boys were good and jolly - Finn left early of course, Ned went to meet Gina as the Carnival was coming. They had money for ice creams and went to Pelosi's. M and I left the beach in time to see the extensive Carnival procession...
It is extraordinary how being on the beach makes one feel so happy. We lay on the ridge of sand just above the high tide mark - lying down one stares out across a short distance of sand and then the sea - nice little waves, wish we'd taken the body boards. There were a few tall ships out - the ferry leaving, a dredging clearing the harbour and presumably just dumping the sand, and yachts hurrying to get into the harbour before the lock closes. And of course, loads of seagulls. And people, but plenty of space between us and them. Large numbers of foreign students, kids playing football, and people sitting behind windbreaks in rows of low-slung chairs. But it is just the being close to nature (although there's rather less "nature" around at this time of year, Mark said that he felt the sight of the sky reflected in the sea was a consoling sight because you knew it would go on for ever and be seen by people in the future. I have found this thought encouraging in the past, but confess that now feel a bit gloomy - they sky and sea contain hidden poisons, and the sea is not too well.
Reading was a bit sporadic, since there were endless interruptions. We took foccacia and white wine and olives - the boys ate foccacia too - and shared the packed lunch Jaime had left behind this morning. It was all deeply satisfying. This weekend has been one of those weekends when everything falls into place (well, parking spaces, etc. So much for retrograde Mercury!).
Later we tried to talk to Ned and Finn about the planetary future - none of my "your planet needs you!" talk will deter Ned from believing he is going to be a writer/artist/musician... I don't really want it to, but I wish they were both intensely committed to environmental engineering. But what can I expect - their parents are effectively drones - archaeology and writing are hardly essential tasks in today's society. But no worse than, er, banking? Marketing? really, I shouldn't fret. Ned said that the future isn't going to be grim as I was painting it - and that I was beginning to think my dystopia was real. Interesting, I suppose Islanders is now beginning to absorb me as much as The Romantic Feminist - but in different ways.
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