4th August 2013

Philippa and Paul held another Open Garden Day, but unfortunately, the weather was far too pleasant. On the hottest day of the year (so far), most potential visitors clearly preferred sand between their toes to soil under their fingernails. Even so, sixty determined plant enthusiasts braved the blazing sun. Those who had attended last time will have noticed the absence of two highly efficient Northern Officials, Sue and me, who were otherwise engaged with family duties.

The Rothwells flew back from Tunisia on 15th July, looking bronzed, rested and very pleased with themselves. I collected them from East Midlands Airport and, in celebration, we hosted a family BBQ back at Harborough. Sue and I listened to tales of souks and sunshine, interjecting at regular intervals with reminders of just how hot it had been here while they were away and how much use we had made of the pool.

That same week, Sue and I ventured to Harborough Theatre to watch the film Lincoln. By American standards, it would have been considered magnificent. To this Brit, however, well-acted, beautifully shot, accurate to the period, but far too long. Sue nodded off after half an hour, gallantly resurfaced for fifteen minutes, gave it another twenty, and then returned to the Land of Nod. I would have joined her had I not been clinging to the hope of seeing some shooting. Alas, none was shown. A fortnight later, we watched The Impossible, a gripping true story of a family caught up in the Thai tsunami. That one we both wholeheartedly recommend, breathtakingly filmed, and quite moving.

Sarah returned on 22nd July, and I collected her late flight from Stansted. The forecast promised biblical weather, and it delivered. The journey down was uneventful, but as I switched on the car for the return leg, the heavens opened. Lightning, thunder, rain in sheets, it was like driving through a car wash for ninety miles. Chloe was dropped off in Medbourne before I gratefully collapsed into bed.

The very next day brought the funeral of Bob Cook, who, with his wife, had built our house and lived next door before moving across town. A lovely man, we shared many a can of beer and put the world to rights over the garden fence. The chapel was packed, even including some Traveller families paying their respects. The final touch was pure Bob: the hearse preceded by a low-loader carrying the digger he used to drive.

Our wedding anniversary followed. Thirty-seven years (and counting) deserved a surprise hotel stay, but I had to confess early as it clashed with Charlotte and Ellis’s outing to Milkshake Live. Once childcare logistics were solved, Sue and I escaped to Bosworth Hall. Walks, Pimms, cider, strawberries, ice cream, and an excellent meal rounded off the day. After a heroic hotel breakfast, we attempted a shorter walk before calling in at the Dog and Hedgehog on the way home.

The weekend after, we joined the Council Ramblers at Lubenham for a sunny stroll. Plenty of stiles meant plenty of rests, and afterwards an excellent pub lunch. The following morning, Jamie and I had planned an early run to Silverstone. Instead, a 1 a.m. call revealed rainwater pouring through his bedroom light fitting. After issuing the sage advice of “bucket, switch, sofa,” I returned to sleep. By morning, the centre of Harborough was flooded, shops under water, yet our river remained calm as a duck pond. We still made Silverstone, and what a day. Vintage racers, modern F1s, a parade of over a thousand Porsches, and sports cars worth hundreds of thousands, if not millions. Jamie acted as my personal car encyclopaedia while I contented myself with admiring the reflections and resisting the £5.50 burgers. The highlight was a Spitfire display, reminding everyone how we once kept Britain safe, ironically viewed from the BMW stand.

Back at home, I provided childcare while Sue, Charlotte and Sarah took afternoon tea. My entertainment programme for the boys included such classics as “sort the potatoes into sacks,” “hunt the strawberries,” and “collect fallen apples.” Hours of fun! Ellis’s third birthday followed, and though the weather ruined the planned pool party, Mini-Mischiefs in Harborough saved the day, followed by hot dogs and pass-the-parcel in our kitchen.

On the evening Prince George was born, we cycled to Lubenham, where a beacon was lit and fireworks launched. Radio Harborough had made it sound like the Glastonbury of village celebrations, but only a couple of dozen turned up. Still, free sangria and nibbles softened the blow.

August arrived with cooler weather. Jamie departed for a caravan holiday in Dungeness with his cider-and-cars crowd. Meanwhile, the Rothwells, Sue and I (minus hardworking Suraj) prepared for a caravan adventure in Skegness, courtesy of Lee’s parents. The forecast was grim, but we are British: a bit of drizzle has never stopped us enjoying fish and chips.

The fine summer meant hours in the garden and allotment. Potatoes dug, onions drying, beans frozen. The weeds had been mercifully slow until the storms, which gave them fresh enthusiasm. A leaking roof led me up a ladder with silver reflective paint, which miraculously solved the garage leak. Triumph was short-lived, however, as the next downpour produced water on the house landing. More patching, more paint, and now we wait with bated breath.

Sarah’s Holiday Snaps:

Aegina