6th November 2011

Charlotte, with her usual flair for family gatherings, organised a picnic at Stanwick Lakes. The weather forecast was hardly promising; rain in the morning had us considering snorkels, but by the time we set off, the drizzle had stopped, and Jamie had arrived. Sarah, freshly returned from university, travelled with us to Rothwell, and Suraj had even booked the day off work, giving us a full Palmer set for the outing.

We followed the Rothwells in their car and, to my surprise, arrived at this “hidden gem” remarkably quickly. I’d never even heard of it before. Apart from a few cheeky spots of rain, the weather played nicely for the rest of the day.

The ground, however, had taken a proper soaking. In true Palmer tradition, we managed to step in nearly every puddle along the visitors’ trail. Upon discovering a “grown-up” assault course, the more “mature” members of the family, i.e., all of us, attacked it with competitive zeal, plenty of laughter, and a fair bit of mud. Lucas and Ellis looked on with the sort of bemused patience children reserve for adults behaving oddly. Their day will come.

By mid-afternoon, exhausted but dry, we collapsed near the children’s play park to demolish our picnic. After satisfying our appetites, we wandered off on another trail and spent a pleasant spell watching rabbits and pheasants tucking into grain at a feeding station Jamie had spotted.

On returning to the car park, Charlotte discovered she’d lost the parking ticket. The solution was simple, and slightly dodgy. The Rothwells tucked in close behind us at the barrier, slipping through before it could drop. It worked; no damage was done, and my bumper remained unscathed.

We made a slight detour to browse for a coffee table for Jamie’s apartment at a discount warehouse, but he remained unmoved by the options, leaving empty-handed.

The following Saturday, Sue and I chauffeured Sarah back to Sheffield. After dropping her at her digs (where she quickly vanished into a lively chat with her flatmates), we continued to Nan’s in Thurcroft to stay the weekend. Nan was away in Wales and not due back until Sunday. We passed the evening with a Chinese takeaway and television.

The next morning, I gave Nan’s garden a spruce-up before having a Sunday lunch carvery at The Royal Elephant in Dinnington. Nan arrived home an hour after we returned with her chauffeur-cousin Hayden, who barely stayed long enough for a coffee before embarking on his three-hour return trip. That evening, we endured a barren TV schedule and went to bed early.

Monday’s village shop run included sausages for Charlotte before we headed home to Harborough. Nan declined to join us, later confessing she’d left her medication in Wales, fortunately posted back to her.

Later that day, Sarah phoned in a panic: she’d been robbed outside a nightclub queue, brand-new iPhone and £20 gone in one swift lift from her shoulder bag. She’s now using her old phone and, one hopes, has developed a new appreciation for zips and vigilance.

Meanwhile, Charlotte also had a major misfortune. Taking a call from Sue while putting the bins out, she somehow managed to drop her car and house keys into the rubbish. By the time she realised, the bin lorry had been and gone. Must be a sister thing.

The rest of the week involved weeding the garden and allotments after five weeks away in Bulgaria. Sue made quince jam picked from Nan’s bush in Thurcroft, an unusual but tasty treat. The unseasonably warm weather has delayed the first lighting of our log burner, though I’ve prepped a pile of logs just in case. I even removed the overgrown fir tree by the front door, replacing it with something smaller and less intent on blocking out the kitchen light.

Yesterday, I attempted to remind the rugby club’s third team to pay their membership, only to realise, on arrival, that kick-off had been half an hour earlier than I’d thought. While watching from the sidelines, Jamie phoned: he was stranded in Corby, out of diesel. Cue a cycle home, a drive to Sainsbury’s, queue for fuel, drive to Corby and dash back to the rugby club, just in time to catch the team in the bath. They accepted membership forms without comment.

That evening, Jim and Brigitte whisked us off to see The Hamsters’ farewell gig at Joules. A night of brilliant rock and blues was crowned by an instrument-swapping stunt mid-song. Brigitte, usually lively, was subdued; her breast cancer treatment, dragging on for another 18 months, has understandably worn her down. Here’s hoping the December Counterfeit Stones concert gives her the lift she needs.