15th November 2015

Returning from the Blue Boar, we spent the next few days broadening our cultural horizons. First, from seeing ‘Suffragette’ in Stratford, we moved on to ‘The Dark Horse’ at Harborough Theatre. The latter, a true and unsettling tale of a Māori gang member who becomes a chess champion in New Zealand, was both gripping and unexpected, not quite what I had associated with the land of ‘The Lord of the Rings’ and world-class rugby.

On Saturday, we were invited to a dinner party at Paul and Louise’s. The other guests included Jim, Kate, and Sean. Paul and Louise had moved out of Harborough earlier this year as the garden at their previous home had become unmanageable. Their newly extended bungalow in Kibworth had just been vacated by the builders and beautifully redecorated. Dinner was chilli and jacket potatoes, absolutely delicious, and apparently one of Jamie Oliver’s recipes. We lads even managed to catch most of one of the rugby semi-finals on their impressive new curved-screen TV. The evening concluded with some excellent limoncello, and we left feeling rather envious of their lovely new home.

For some reason, we felt the urge to dive back into decorating. Having recently completed the dining room, I’d expected a lull until spring, but no, radiators were given a fresh coat of paint, and all the downstairs rooms (except the study) were repainted and adorned with a new arrangement of artwork. Plans are now afoot to tackle the bedrooms upstairs in the coming weeks.

Meanwhile, I’ve started this year’s vintage. As usual, the red wine grapes were the first to ripen, reaching the necessary sugar levels for harvesting. They were crushed and left to macerate in two large 25-litre bins for about seven days before being pressed and fermented until the specific gravity dropped to 1.020. This yielded an alcohol content of around 10-11%, with the sweetness helping to balance the natural sharpness of British grapes, which suffer from our lack of sun. After a final tasting, I bottled 30 and stored them in the garage.

While the first batch fermented, I harvested the remaining red grapes and combined them with 20kg of windfall apples to make Apple Rosé. Following a recipe, I mashed and pressed them, then added a bin full of white grapes to lighten the colour, which was leaning too dark for a proper rosé. After further fermentation, I halted the process at 1.010 using Campden tablets, again aiming for a slightly sweet finish. It’s now settling in a 25-litre bin, ready for bottling. I’ve also picked up some potassium carbonate to adjust the acidity if needed.

Today, I harvested the white grapes, which appear to have the highest sugar content of any crop I’ve grown so far. I’ll definitely aim to leave them this late again next year, ignoring when the vineyard in Farndon harvests theirs, as they picked three weeks ago.

The last of the sweetcorn has been picked. With 24 rows of 11 plants, each yielding an average of two cobs, we’ve ended up with a hefty haul of corn. Fortunately, it’s been put to good use: the Rothwells love it, Sarah and Lee took a share, we’ve devoured plenty, and Sue has cooked, stripped, and frozen a substantial amount for the winter.

The day after Paul’s party, we headed to Charlotte’s for a delightful Sunday dinner. Suraj had sourced the chicken for the meal, and it turned out to be a real whopper, Mr Big. We were duly tasked with helping to polish it off. In the afternoon, we played a game of Bingo with the boys, though we left empty-handed in the prize department.

Earlier that week, our central heating system decided to play up, refusing to switch on. An engineer came out on Monday, but, predictably, everything worked perfectly during his visit. He ran tests for half an hour but found no issues. Since then, it’s been running without a hitch. It seems my threat of a replacement did the trick, though how remains a mystery.

We also babysat Lucas and Ellis while their parents attended a school parents’ evening. During that time, I took on the task of fixing their en-suite toilet. The job extended into the next day when Suraj joined in to help. With the correct £12 part and some teamwork, we had it flushing properly in under 30 minutes. Interestingly, several of their neighbours had encountered the same problem, but it cost them a plumber and over £100 to fix!

Later that week, with Suraj on holiday and the boys still in school, we played a round of golf at Blackthorn. I managed to lose four balls in the first few holes, two in the same pond! Afterwards, when Charlotte returned from her shopping trip in Harborough, Sue and I joined her for a pub lunch.

On 27th October, Sue and I went for a scenic walk near Welford, followed by lunch at Welford Wharf. The route took us past the reservoir and up to Sibbertoft before looping back to Welford via the source of the River Avon. The morning began with a misty chill, but by the time we returned to the pub, it was a glorious day. The countryside was stunning, dotted with beautiful old houses. One near the Avon’s source particularly caught our eye, perhaps with a couple of lottery wins, we might be tempted! Meanwhile, the Rothwells had a fantastic day out in Stratford, retracing our steps from the previous week. They packed a lot into the day and returned home, understandably, exhausted.

To cap off the week, I made a splendid chicken and leek pie for our weekly family get-together, and it went down a treat!

On the 29th, Sue and I joined a large group of intrepid investigators for a ghost walk around the town, starting beneath the Old Grammar School. The weather was suitably grim, windy and drizzly, but it only added to the atmosphere, and everyone was sensibly dressed for the occasion. After a couple of hours of wandering through the town and listening to spine-chilling tales, we retired to The Angel for a hearty and warming meal. Most of the stories were familiar, but two members of our party, who work in one of the buildings mentioned, confirmed the accounts and even shared some eerie experiences of their own. It made for a fascinating evening.

That Saturday, I watched the Rugby World Cup Final at the rugby club, a truly superb game. I shall say no more on the subject.

The following day, 1st November, Charlotte and the boys came over, along with Lee and the girls. We all headed to Gumley Woods for our annual chestnut-picking excursion. It wasn’t the best year, but we still managed a decent haul. My two 17g chestnuts were the largest of the day, winning the informal competition. Despite the unseasonably warm weather, Sue had the fire roaring when we returned, so many of the chestnuts were roasted and quickly devoured.

Sue and I had originally planned to jet off to Guernsey on our chestnut-picking day, but due to difficulties with the flights, our travel agent arranged for us to fly the following day. Little did we know the impact this change would have.

November 1st was a beautiful, clear, and warm day, perfect for picking chestnuts or flying to a small Channel Island. Unfortunately, November 2nd was quite the opposite. We woke to thick fog and news of widespread flight cancellations across southern airports. Thankfully, our departure from East Midlands Airport was still scheduled. Setting off around 10 a.m. for a 1:30 p.m. flight, we drove through increasingly dense fog to the Number 1 car park, just outside the terminal.

Check-in was swift, but the inclusion of a luncheon voucher with our boarding passes wasn’t a good sign. However, we Palmers are seasoned travellers, well-versed in airport delays. Armed with newspapers, books, games, and the allure of the bar, we settled in. Our favourite pastime during such times? Observing fellow passengers’ dramatic complaints and life stories unfold. After a free lunch and suitable beverages, we headed to Gate 4, where we were finally informed that the flight was cancelled. Visibility was down to less than 50m, and our aircraft was stuck in Liverpool with no hope of reaching us.

We couldn’t help but feel for a large group travelling for a grandfather’s 70th birthday; some of the younger ones were in tears. After retrieving our luggage and collecting an official cancellation letter, we headed back to the car. A brief tussle with the car park gate (resolved with a call to the attendant) later, we were back on the foggy motorway, driving home in the early November gloom.

Once home, I contacted the car park company and negotiated a full refund, a perk of being a loyal customer. Next, I called our travel company, which immediately offered to refund the trip. Instead, I suggested rebooking, and within half an hour, they confirmed a new flight for November 5th. With our suitcases still packed, we set about filling the next two days.

Thankfully, November 5th dawned clear. Our flight was a slightly later one, but departed on time, though we took off under a steady drizzle. The airline, Aurigny, was new to us but is Guernsey’s national carrier, and as their in-flight magazine boasted, they were voted the best airline of 2015. The hour-long flight offered complimentary papers and drinks, and both Sue and I managed a brief nap until the approach.

Guernsey welcomed us with a storm, lashing rain and fierce winds that tossed our small plane about with alarming turbulence. From my window seat, I could see the pilot’s struggle as we came in to land. We hit the tarmac with a jarring thud at high speed, and then the drama began: the plane skidded from side to side, at one point veering towards an apron before slewing in the opposite direction. After what felt like an eternity, we finally came to a shuddering stop. It was a terrifying experience, and I was deeply relieved to disembark.

Through the downpour, we made our way to baggage claim and then to the Transfer desk, only to find it closed. The nearby car hire desk informed us that the driver had left with other passengers and wouldn’t be returning. Luckily, the helpful lady there called him and confirmed he didn’t have any record of us. She directed us to the taxi rank instead, and £9 and fifteen minutes later, we arrived at the Fermain Valley Hotel.

The receptionist warmly greeted us, and our room was a delight, complete with an array of treats and a decanter of complimentary sherry, which was replenished daily. After settling in, I took advantage of the WiFi to email the holiday company, reporting the missed transfer, requesting reimbursement, and confirming our return transfer arrangements.

Later, we attempted to explore the lane leading to the beach at the bottom of the valley, but darkness soon forced us back to the hotel. We dressed for dinner, eager to try the hotel’s renowned restaurant. The meal exceeded our expectations, an exquisite menu with truly delicious food. However, when I tried to book a table for the following nights, the receptionist regretfully informed us they were fully booked through the weekend. Frustratingly, weekend reservations need to be made a month in advance, even for guests. Looks like we’ll need to make alternative dining plans!

After a rather satisfying breakfast, we laced up our walking boots and set off down the lane we’d attempted the night before. The previous night’s rain had left the air cool and the sky overcast, setting a moody scene for our morning walk. The steep, winding roadway through the wooded valley was slick with wet leaves, making our descent tricky and calling to mind Sue’s misadventure with seagull poo in Southampton.

At the bottom of the valley, we arrived at a picturesque pebbly beach nestled in a charming bay. A small café sat just off the shoreline, its doors just beginning to open for the day. According to Sue’s prior research, it had a well-deserved reputation, but we decided to pass it by for now. Instead, we turned our attention to the restored Martello Tower standing proudly at the edge of the beach. After reading the informational board detailing its history and wartime significance, we began our real challenge: the steep cliffside path that would lead us up and away from the bay.

The ascent was a test of both stamina and footing, but the promise of stunning coastal views kept us going.

Our route was clearly marked, hugging the cliff edge to St. Peter Port. Along the way, we passed an array of breathtakingly opulent properties, the kind of homes that even a sizeable lottery win might struggle to secure. We took our time, pausing frequently to marvel at these architectural masterpieces and reflect on the ‘terrible ‘lives their owners must lead; the burden of keeping endless expanses of glass sparkling clean, not to mention the vast, steep, and meticulously landscaped gardens, what a chore! And then there’s the sheer acreage of carpets to be hoovered; we could only imagine the logistical nightmare of redecorating such sprawling abodes. Yes, our hearts went out to them.

Smugly content with our simpler existence, we continued our walk, relishing the freedom from those grand, glassy responsibilities.

As we descended the cliffs into St. Peter Port, a light drizzle began to fall. Pulling our coats tighter against the damp, we made our way towards Castle Cornet, which loomed impressively at the end of the sea wall, guarding the harbour. Unfortunately, the castle was closed for renovations, much to our disappointment. Undeterred, we continued to the small lighthouse at the wall’s end, where a few hardy anglers braved the rough seas. Their fishing lines cut through the choppy water, but there was no sign of any catch, and their expressions of stoic boredom matched the grey, restless waves.

With the wind picking up, we decided it was time to retreat. Just as the rain began to intensify, we slipped into a warm, inviting café by the harbour. We were the only customers, and within moments, steaming hot drinks were set down on our small table. The café’s information rack, stuffed with brochures and leaflets, quickly caught Sue’s eye. She eagerly gathered a selection and began poring over them as we sipped our drinks, plotting our next move.

By the time we ventured out again, the rain had eased. We initially planned to follow one of the town’s heritage trails, but as we passed the bus terminus at the harbour entrance, a new idea took hold. I stopped to inquire about buses back to Fermain Valley, while Sue asked if there was a route that circumnavigated the island. To our delight, we learned there was, and it was just about to depart. Without hesitation, we hopped aboard for the two-and-a-half-hour journey, ready to see the island from the comfort of a warm, dry bus.

As we boarded the bus, we were amazed to learn that the fare was just £1. How on earth do they turn a profit? Every journey, no matter the distance, costs the same. Even more charmingly, the island still uses £1 notes, a quirky touch of nostalgia.

The first half hour of the ride offered little in the way of scenery, as we crawled through a dense mist that reduced visibility to barely 100 metres. However, as the bus climbed higher towards the northern parts of the island, the fog began to lift, revealing a vibrant contrast of blue sky and fluffy white clouds.

The landscape transformed into a series of charming little settlements and stunning stretches of white sandy beaches, dotted with rocky islets just offshore. The scenery was refreshingly unspoiled, with only the occasional small hotel blending seamlessly into the picturesque surroundings, catering to visitors keen to explore beyond St. Peter Port.

Eventually, as we approached the capital once more, the mist returned, cloaking everything in a soft grey haze. Our panoramic views disappeared, replaced by glimpses of the roadside houses. By the time we disembarked, the drizzle had resumed, gently nudging us to seek shelter again.

Undeterred by the damp, we embarked on our town route, weaving through the narrow streets and pausing frequently to admire the shop windows. Each display seemed to tell its own story, from local crafts to charming souvenirs.

In one particularly inviting shop, Sue spotted a Christmas tree bauble with Guernsey elegantly written on it. Without hesitation, she added it to our growing collection. This little ritual of collecting baubles from our travels seems to be evolving into a tradition, and a rather sensible one at that. Not only does it add a personal touch to our festive decorations, but it also spares our wallets from the temptation of larger, pricier souvenirs like paintings. A tradition worth encouraging!

We made our way to the Guernsey Museum perched at the top of the town. Unfortunately, the main section detailing the island’s rich history and culture was closed for refurbishment. However, the art gallery remained open, hosting an exhibition of a local photography competition. The receptionist assured us it was worth seeing, and she wasn’t wrong. We spent over an hour captivated by the stunning photographs. The subjects ranged from breathtaking landscapes to candid portraits of island life, each image telling its own story. Sue and I had lively debates about the judges’ choices, often favouring a runner-up or even an overlooked entry over the official winners. It was a delightful and thought-provoking way to pass the time.

As we descended back into town, the drizzle returned, dampening our plans slightly. Discovering that the next museum on our itinerary was closed for the winter season, we opted to catch a bus back to the hotel.

Once there, we revived ourselves with the hotel’s warming and restorative sherry before dressing for dinner. Our mission: an Indian restaurant I had found online, conveniently located a 15-minute walk away in St. Martin. On arrival, we noticed we were the only diners in the restaurant, though the takeaway service was bustling. Any doubts were quickly dispelled when our food arrived; each dish was flavourful and beautifully prepared. To top it all off, as we dined, a fireworks display unexpectedly lit up the sky from a nearby field, giving us an exclusive and rather magical show.

After our meal, thinking ahead to the next day, we continued down the road to the Queens Hotel. We popped in for a drink and took the opportunity to check their menu for future reference.

The next morning, I couldn’t resist trying the kippers for breakfast, which turned out to be delicious. Feeling energised, we decided to explore in the opposite direction along the coastal path, this time heading toward Jerbourg Point. The trail offered similar cliff-hugging views but with a different charm. The skies were clear, but a brisk wind kept us alert, especially near the edge. The vistas of the surrounding islands were breathtaking, making every step worthwhile.

When we reached Jerbourg Point, we stopped at the Jerbourg Hotel for a well-earned break. The hotel offered a cosy and inviting atmosphere, perfect for lingering over drinks. We spent a leisurely hour or two there, leafing through brochures, watching other walkers come and go, and soaking in the tranquillity of the day. It was a perfect mix of activity and relaxation.

Our return journey took us past an obelisk dedicated to one of the island’s past governors, and through several charming inland cottages that added to the beauty of the route. Just as the afternoon rain began to drizzle, we arrived back at the hotel in time for a delightful afternoon tea in the lounge. Sue opted for cheesecake, while I went for the scones with cream, feeling indulgent but justifying it by remembering that it was all part of the package. I consoled myself with the thought that our later sherry would counterbalance the calories and leave less for the bourgeoisie to enjoy!

To burn off some of those decadent calories, we decided to walk to Sausmarez Manor, home to beautiful sub-tropical gardens. While the gardens were lovely, it was the hundreds of sculptures scattered throughout the space that truly captured our attention. The Art Park, as it’s known, offers a meandering path dotted with thought-provoking pieces that seem to emerge around every bend. We were so caught up in the sculptures that we didn’t pay much attention to the exotic plants around us, even though they were equally stunning.

Sue’s favourite piece was ‘The Scorpion’, valued at £43,000, while mine was ‘The Drop’, which was priced at a more reasonable £14,000. The sculptures ranged in price, with none costing less than £1,000, and there were a few missing pieces, which we assumed had already been purchased. Some sculptures we admired, others left us scratching our heads, and a few we simply didn’t like. But the entire experience was engaging, and we spent a couple of hours immersed in the Sculptor Trail, discussing and debating each piece. It was a thoroughly enjoyable and stimulating way to spend the afternoon.

Sometimes, even the best-laid plans can go awry. Later that evening, as we returned to the Queens Hotel, we were greeted by the maître d’, who asked if we had a reservation. Despite having had a drink there the previous night to sample the food, we had overlooked making the obvious booking. Disappointed, we returned to our favourite Indian restaurant on the island. This time, it had other customers, but still plenty of empty tables. Once again, the food was superb. What’s going on with the locals? Perhaps too much French influence, I suppose.

The following morning, I opted for Eggs Benedict, while Sue, as usual, had the Fermaine Breakfast. After packing our cases, we took one last stroll down to the beach. We explored the cave on the left and the rock pools to the right of the shore. I had planned to have a coffee at the café, but it was closed, so I’ll never know what made it worthy of its stars.

Our transfer to the airport was early, so we were among the first to check in and make our way to departures. The flight took off on time, and I noticed it was the same crew as on the outward journey. The approach to East Midlands was turbulent, with the aircraft lurching violently at times. The stewardess, sitting further down the aisle, appeared entirely unfazed. After one particularly alarming bout of turbulence, the pilot informed us he was aborting the landing and would circle for another attempt. Still, the stewardess gave no sign of concern. On the next approach, with the plane tilting 45 degrees in a bumpy see-saw motion, the pilot regained some control. We landed safely, and there was a collective sigh of relief. As we disembarked, a passenger ahead of me asked the stewardess why we had aborted the landing. She simply shrugged and said, “It must have been windy.” Meanwhile, outside, it was tipping it down.

We were soon on the M1 heading south towards Harborough, driving through the miserable weather.

The following day, I picked the last of the sweetcorn and white grapes.

On Tuesday, Charlotte visited, and Sue and I took her for lunch at The Bell in Gumley. During that afternoon and evening, I harvested the grapes from the vine and crushed them (an exceedingly tedious task).

For the past three weeks, I’ve had weepy eyes, especially when cycling or walking in the cold, though they were prone to tearing up at any time. The problem was especially bad in Guernsey. On a visit to the pharmacist, I was prescribed drops for an allergy. I followed the prescribed treatment each day, but after a week and a half, I saw no improvement.

During the week, I installed some USB wall sockets, one in Jamie’s apartment and another in Rothwell. Afterwards, Charlotte took me to a plumbing supplier in Kettering to buy an inlet valve for the downstairs toilet, which had broken in the same way as their en-suite. Fortunately, this time it was a straightforward replacement as I was now experienced. On my way home, I called in to see Roger Woolnough to arrange where to meet Phil and Joan Smith for lunch, who were visiting from Italy. We chose The Swan in Braybrooke, and later in the week, we met them there.

I was surprised to see Phil driving a hire car, as only a few months ago, he had had a run-in with a lawnmower, which required numerous hospital visits for damage to his hands. We hadn’t seen them since last year, but unlike Roger and me, they hadn’t changed much, I think. We caught up on news, agreed wholeheartedly that we’d left teaching at the right time, and promised to meet up again somewhere warmer and sunnier where the pasta is never limp. Sue had joined us in previous years, but she was having lunch at The Hare in Doddington after a morning U3A ramble. Despite a forecast of dreadful weather, they managed to complete their route under mostly clear skies.

On Saturday, the 14th of November, Charlotte and Ellis came to Willow Bank, and together with Sue, we drove to Sarah’s. Lucas was feeling poorly, so Suraj stayed home to look after him. While there, I also installed a USB socket in their lounge and afterwards, Lee and I took Mia for a long walk in Western Park. The girls and Ellis took the opportunity to go shopping at Fosse Park. When they returned, we learned they had been to M&S and had ‘shopped till they dropped.’ They were clearly very excited about their purchases.

Lee had made a delicious casserole (his grandmother’s recipe) for lunch. Their oven had been malfunctioning for the past few weeks, and I was asked to take a look at it, which I did once it had cooled down. I couldn’t find anything wrong; it was working perfectly, and had cooked a lovely meal. Inevitably, we agreed it must be another of life’s mysteries!