Farewell and adieu

 

The title seems appropriate, even though there are no Spanish ladies in sight. Beth would get the allusion. After an unusually long time at home I am on my travels again – in fact typing this on the plane to Singapore. Although it’s split in two by a short flit home for Christmas, this will be the last long trip away, as I have definitely reached the end of the road as far as this sort of thing is concerned. It’s not that being away in itself is bad, it’s all the opportunity costs that accumulate and await one’s return like assassins in the dark. Quite apart from missing out on precious family occasions, it’s all the domestic business disorder, the garden on the verge of going completely wild and the house on the edge of potentially uninsured collapse. It’s not that my part time gardeners an cleaning ladies have been slacking at their jobs. They have no more spare time to compensate for my absence than I do – a condition that seems to afflict  all of us these frenetic days.

The upshot is that the last three months or so, have passed not with relaxed time sitting about in a sunny garden that I had been half expecting (or at least hoping for) but instead with a blur of activity in all three domains (personal business, garden and house) interspersed with one trip to Sweden and several family occasions in which I could do none of them ! On top of that there was a super-abundant harvest to cope with. In carrots, just as the apples, greengages and potatoes mentioned earlier. My best ever production of copious numbers of carrots that looked just as they should – unearthed the day before my departure, and demanding preservation. 

And in the background of course the unending task of keeping up with the news, lest it embarrassingly invalidates the judgements arrived at in my forthcoming book, now with publishers. So far so good ! Anyhow, by teetering about on the top of ladders painting window in the top story of the house or sawing off the tops of overgrown Thorn trees, endless trans-Atlantic business phone calls (now embargoed by the US shutdown), digging extra flood defences, etc, much has been achieved.  But it was decidedly not a rest cure.

It was not, however, all unremitting hard labour. There were quite a few family occasions to remind me of what really matters. There was the opportunity to participate in the primitive fire banner processions of Sussex with the Cross-in-Hand gang and, more recently, a stay with Team Powell in Burgess Hill with a tour of the fort and port of Newhaven, on a bleak day which made the whole area look like the end of the world. I had thought it was another Martello tower built to keep Napoleon at bay. Actually, it was an extensive late Victorian coastal artillery fort which morphed into a naval base for fast boat operations in the Channel during World War II. It was certainly big enough to have room after room of miliary displays of the whole period. A great place for small boys - with long corridors to run through, spectacular views of the sea down below and any number of mysterious nooks, crannies and rusting bits of aggressive looking military kit.

I also played host to an ex-student from Newport days over here for a course. Now a Captain in the Chilean Navy he presented me with a  bottle of wine, commissioned by the submarine he commanded. It’ll take some resolution to drink something so special. In return I gave him my de luxe special Wiltshire weekend – a guided tour of the Caen locks and Devizes, Stonehenge, Salisbury Cathedral including the Magna Carta, the doom painting in St Thomas’ church, the watermill, lunch in the top floor of he Antique centre, Old Sarum, West Kennett long barrow, Silbury Hill, the stone circle, dovecot, old barn, manor gardens and Church at Avebury ! I had a whale of a time. Even being presented with the first picture of myself outside the front door of the Arts building of my school in the Cathedral close !

I think he enjoyed himself, too. He certainly took lots of ace pictures. I really like this picture of Stonehenge though it’s a pity about the people on the right.  At least he went away knowing a lot more about Wiltshire, than he started with. 

Very interested in the house, and that weird stuff on the roof. He seemed  pleased about all this at least since with a name like Green, he is of British/Italian extraction. Chileans keep the surnames of both parents,  but normally follow the male line). His English is impressively fluent. Altogether a high-flyer. The tour was over 2.5 days and there were more restful evenings at the Peppermill and the Kings Arms of course where  the steak supper for two was good enough to impress a Chilean which is really saying something.

There was, though, a sombre side to my time here with two particular friends bravely battling through a cancer diagnoses and my needing to attend the funeral of a close naval colleague. He was another ex-student, brilliant, and going on to become a law professor, after leaving the service. Much younger than me and a real shock. I suppose I have reached the age where one must expect that kind of thing. I was also struck by the announced death of Shirley Abacaire – an Australian zither player of all things  A bjg name in the 1950s, (how innocent that sounds !) but not thought of for decades and certainly one  that means nothing to anyone now in the family, although it does to me.  The transience of things.  Such news, though reminds me how lucky I am especially after my fun and games in May. It certainly puts an overgrown garden and administrative hassles into their proper perspective.

…and finally here is proof that I made it to Singapore ! The black case, though wasn’t mine. It was brought in from store by mistake by the very nice people running the apartment block. Even I don’t travel with four large suitcases, a big cardboard box full of kitchen paraphernalia and two carry-ons, heavy with laptops etc.