16th November 2017

A couple of days after Sue and I returned from a delightful week in Italy, the Rothwells jetted off for two weeks in Phuket, Thailand. They had booked a hotel that proved ideal for Lucas and Ellis, offering excellent children’s facilities. The rest of the family followed their daily adventures with envy, as monkeys and water seemed to feature prominently in their escapades.

The weather back in Blighty during their trip had been rather pleasant, little rain, plenty of sunshine, perfect for visits to the allotment. I spent time harvesting the last of the summer crops and tidying up for winter. On one such visit, I discovered that most of the sheds on the adjoining plots, including mine, had been broken into. I was the first to spot the crime. When I contacted the Council, they seemed uninterested and advised me to notify the police. After waiting over half an hour on hold, repeatedly assured that my call was important, I finally reported the incident. Although an incident file was created, the police showed little interest as nothing of value was stolen from my shed, just the lock. I received a text with an incident number about an hour later, which would have been helpful for insurance claims if anything of worth had been taken. It seems a gang, reportedly Romanian, has been targeting allotments in the area, looking for valuable equipment like mowers and chainsaws.

On 21st October, I attended a rugby club luncheon with a few friends. Disappointingly, there were only four tables of diners. Gone are the days when it was a struggle to find a seat at such events. It seems the social side of rugby, at least at Harborough, is in decline. The senior club now only runs two regular teams, a First Team, a Colts side with an occasional veterans’ team, in stark contrast to the thriving mini and junior sections with over 600 players. To accommodate them, the club has acquired two more pitches, bringing the total to seven. It’s concerning that so few players transition to the senior teams after reaching Colts age. Perhaps the management committee’s focus on corporate ventures has contributed to the decline. The club now prioritises hiring out facilities for weddings and parties, with matches seemingly taking second place to profit-making. While balancing the books is essential, I fear the club has lost its way.

On 23rd October, I bottled my red wine. I prefer a sweet, dessert-style red, and this year’s vintage seems to fit the bill. Time will tell if I’ve got it right, perhaps by spring.

A few days later, the Rothwells returned, and I had the pleasure of looking after the neighbours’ dogs, Mikey, Flossy, and Molly, while Viv and Ian attended Ian’s father’s funeral. Viv was worried I might overdo it with the walks and made me promise to take it easy. Their first walk was to Farndon, followed three hours later by a stroll in Lubenham with some splashes in the River Welland. Flossy and Molly loved the change of scenery, particularly getting wet, but Mikey, being rather lazy, didn’t share their enthusiasm. Between walks, I trimmed the hedges in the back garden.

This year, I grew five large orange pumpkins. Two were taken by Sarah to be carved into lanterns at her workplace on Bridge Street, and Lucas and Ellis carved two more. The final pumpkin was turned into soup by Sue. Halloween in Harborough this year was a quiet affair; no trick-or-treaters knocked on the door, so we enjoyed a peaceful evening. Meanwhile, Lee and Sarah dressed up for a party, and Lucas and Ellis went door-knocking in Rothwell.

Bonfire Night saw Sue and me cosily watching TV in the lounge while the fireworks outside sounded like World War III. The Rothwells attended a local display, with Mia spending the evening barking furiously!

On 8th November, I met John in Asfordby for a lovely walk. The weather was glorious, and we spent the 9.5 miles catching up on family news and discussing the world’s problems. Surprisingly, the fascist, Donald Trump, didn’t come up until the latter stages of our walk!

On 9th November, I decided to see the doctor after feeling unwell for some time. My symptoms, itchiness, muscle pain, headaches, loss of appetite, and fatigue, finally led me to suspect Lyme disease. Years ago, when training as a paramedic. I watched a short film on the disease, and eventually the penny dropped. While visiting Joan and Phil in Italy, Sue and I had taken several walks in the valley below their house. On one such walk, I felt something in my trouser leg and later noticed a bite just below my knee. At the time, I thought it might be ringworm. However, after seeing photos online of Lyme disease rashes, I became concerned. The surgery was remarkably efficient. After my phone call, I saw a nurse within 20 minutes, followed by a doctor who agreed it could be Lyme disease. A blood test was taken, and I left with a three-week course of antibiotics. I’ll be contacted with the results soon. Who says the NHS doesn’t work?

That afternoon, I joined Jim and his dogs for a walk near Welford after a large lunch at the Welford Wharf Inn. Perhaps not the best preparation, as our distended stomachs cut the walk short, much to the dogs’ disappointment.

In the early hours of the next morning, I picked up Jamie from his apartment, and we headed to Stansted for our 6:10 am flight to Palma. We had planned a short road trip to Mallorca. After collecting a Fiesta hire car at the airport, we checked into the Riu Concordia Hotel in Palma. Dropping off our bags, we strolled to the nearby beach and enjoyed a wander along the esplanade.

Returning to the hotel, we set off in the car to explore further down the coast, pausing frequently at small, picturesque villages. We took our time to amble through the streets, soaking up the atmosphere. A little cliff climbing led us to a small cave near a lighthouse, from which the views across to Minorca were simply breathtaking. The vibrant blue sea, cloudless skies, and warm sunshine were a delightful contrast to the rain and chill back in Harborough, as my weather app smugly reminded me.

Our accommodation was a German-run, all-inclusive hotel. It soon became apparent, during an impressively generous buffet-style evening meal, that only two other Brits were staying there. Later, Jamie and I quietly took our seats in the bar, which was packed with German football fans keen to watch Germany face England. To our quiet satisfaction, the match ended in a draw, despite England fielding what could only be described as a second-string side due to injuries. We came tantalisingly close to a last-minute win! As the final whistle blew, our fellow spectators filed out, their heavy sighs leaving little doubt as to their disappointment.

After breakfast the following morning, we drove to Sóller and then on to Port de Sóller. Exploring Sóller was a delight, but finding our way out proved something of a challenge, thanks to its bewildering one-way system. Several failed escape attempts left us increasingly frustrated, until we reluctantly decided to bend Spanish traffic laws for a brief spell. We improvised new routes, venturing the wrong way down a few thankfully empty streets and giving the road signs a temporary holiday of their own.

Port de Sóller, by contrast, was far easier to navigate, and we parked in a multi-storey car park. Lunch was a treat at a restaurant perched high above the harbour, offering spectacular views. While waiting for our meal, we amused ourselves by fantasising about which of the many yachts moored below we would buy if money were no object. Unsurprisingly, my eye was drawn to elegant wooden sailing boats, while Jamie favoured sleek, high-tech craft with engines that could probably power a small city.

We returned to Palma along the coastal road. Apart from a breathtaking sunset, there was little to tempt us to stop and explore further.

After dinner that evening, we wandered down to the beach and stumbled upon a bar showing the France v All Blacks rugby match live. Sadly for the French, the Kiwis were nothing short of phenomenal. Despite fielding a massive team clearly fired up for the occasion, France was thoroughly outclassed, at times embarrassingly so. For once, I actually felt a pang of sympathy for the French.

Sunday took us on a spectacular drive to the northernmost point of the island, Cap de Formentor. I had driven there many years ago and knew Jamie would love it, and he did. The scenery along the route was breathtaking, with dramatic vistas at every turn. The final winding stretch could have been lifted straight from a ‘Top Gear’ episode: a thrilling mix of hairpin bends and sheer drops. The only drawback was the swarm of cyclists, grinding their way up the punishing climbs or hurtling down the steep descents, blissfully unaware of the potential hazards posed by oncoming traffic.

We paused for around half an hour at the lighthouse to admire the stunning views and to marvel at a confident, if slightly deranged, goat perched on a plinth at the entrance. It seemed completely unfazed by its precarious position, surveying its domain with the air of a mountain king.

The nearby café was bustling with cyclists, taking the chance to refuel with coffee and catch their breath before tackling the lung-busting return along the winding route that had brought them there. I couldn’t help but admire their determination, though I did think that, aside from the lycra, they shared rather a lot in common with the psychotic plinth goat.

On our return along the switchback, we paused at a stunning beach. We spent an hour or so strolling along the sandy shore, scuffing our feet in the sand and basking in the incredible blueness and gentle warmth of the Mediterranean winter sun. Utterly relaxing.

We drove into Puerto Pollensa and discovered a delightful restaurant, bathed in sunshine, beside the harbour, where we enjoyed a leisurely lunch. Afterwards, we strolled along the promenade before heading down to the harbour to admire yet more extravagant boats. Perhaps one day, we thought.

Next, we visited the historic town of Alcudia. Jamie was especially taken with the imposing castle walls and the town’s character, though he showed little interest in the bullring, dismissing it as disgustingly cruel. Coincidentally, Ashton had visited Alcudia just a few weeks earlier with her family, so Jamie gave her a call on his mobile, and they chatted for a while.

 

As the sun set, we made our way back to the hotel, arriving just in time for the evening meal. Later, we ventured to a nearby bar showing a World Cup qualifier between Greece and Croatia. It was a dismal affair, with 22 players seemingly intent on bending the rules at every opportunity. Very little quality football was on display, and the goalless draw aptly reflected the lack of skill on both sides.

The following morning, we had an early breakfast, as our flight home was scheduled for the afternoon. Driving through the rain, we headed into Palma for some last-minute shopping. Navigating the rush-hour traffic made finding a parking space a challenge, but we eventually managed. We spent around 40 minutes browsing a city shopping mall before setting off for the airport to return the hire car.

Our flight departed on time, although take-off proved a bit of a rollercoaster as the plane sliced through thick, rain-soaked clouds. Two and a half hours later, we landed at a dry but chilly Stansted. A minor hiccup followed as we initially searched for the car in car park J, only to discover it was actually in K. After that, the journey back to Harborough went smoothly.

 

On Tuesday, Sue and I enjoyed lunch with Charlotte in Clipston, a rare treat over the past six months, as her thriving gardening business has kept her exceptionally busy. It felt like a welcome return to normality.

Meanwhile, Sarah has undergone several changes. She has started a new job, acquired a new car, refreshed her wardrobe, and even tried out a new hairstyle. She is now working as an ASB Officer for the same company as Lee. Her new role comes with the added bonus of regular office hours in Leicester, which means no more night shifts or weekend work!