20th May 2018

I remember way back in 1981, 37 years ago!, when, to avoid the much-publicised wedding of Charles and Diana, a like-minded friend and I fled to Towyn, Wales, hoping to escape the relentless coverage on TV, radio, and in newspapers. Even then, I had a nagging sense that no good could come of it. To me, it was an extravagant affair funded by taxpayers, despite the royal family surely being capable of footing the bill themselves, probably as loose change from the sofa cushions.

Roger and I camped for the weekend at a beachside site. The weather was glorious, and we had grand plans for a strenuous Saturday walk over the mountains to a remote hotel I knew to be free of TV and radio signals, ideal for a wedding-free day. The walk was a scorcher, and as we trudged on, the anticipation of a long, cooling pint grew with every step. When we finally spied our destination, a tiny cluster of buildings tucked at the foot of a very unpronounceable mountain, the sense of relief was euphoric. Alas, it was short-lived. Upon arrival, we were greeted by a hastily scribbled sign on the door: “CLOSED, GONE TO CHARLES AND DIANA’S WEDDING.”

Adding insult to injury, we trudged to a nearby miniature steam railway to catch a ride back to Towyn, only to find ourselves in a carriage festooned with Royal Wedding paraphernalia. The train, aptly named the Royal Wedding Express, featured large photos of Charles and Diana mounted on the front.

By the time we reached Towyn, the town was eerily deserted. Only one pub was open, the TV blaring out the wedding ceremony. The landlord, delighted to see two willing customers, welcomed us in. Despite our better judgment, we feigned interest in the proceedings playing out above the dartboard. A few stray darts might have been tempting, but we restrained ourselves; alcoholic sustenance was far too precious to risk.

In hindsight, escaping to Wales while the Prince of Wales was getting married may not have been the wisest decision. Scotland would undoubtedly have been a smarter choice.

Since then, I have successfully avoided all other royal weddings, until now.

Harry and Meghan’s wedding: what had I been missing? We Brits truly excel at pomp and ceremony. No, I haven’t suddenly converted to monarchism, but I couldn’t help feeling a pang of pride. This wedding captured the spirit of what makes Britain special, a poignant reminder of who we are and how we got here, particularly as the world around us grows ever more homogenised.

That said, one minor blot on the day was the sermon by The Most Reverend Michael Curry, head of the Episcopal Church in the United States. While his enthusiasm was undeniable, he seemed to misjudge the audience and the occasion. Sometimes, less is more. Reverend, this wasn’t your moment; it belonged to the elegant couple sitting patiently beside you, one of whom was your own countrywoman. Surely, that should have been enough?

Fast-forward to September, when Lee and Sarah began preparing their boat, Annie, for launch. I joined them over several weekends to clean her up and make sure she was ship-shape. At one point, we thought the trailer wheels were faulty. After buying replacements from a scrapyard and struggling to swap them out, we discovered the originals were solid tyres that had simply settled on the rims. Oops!

By 12th May, Annie was ready for the water. Sarah and Lee relied on me to recall my sailing knowledge and teach them the ropes. I reassured myself that we could all swim, and lifejackets were mandatory on the lake! The tractor nudged Annie into the water, and to everyone’s relief, she floated rather than sank. After waiting to ensure there were no leaks or strange gurgling noises, we tested the electric propeller, essential if the keel hadn’t lowered. Everything worked perfectly, and Annie was finally ready to spread her wings.

There wasn’t much wind that day; in fact, at times, there was none at all. But, as it happened, this made for the perfect opportunity to learn how to handle the sails and ropes without any surprises. And so it proved. We spent three unhurried hours on the water, meandering back and forth, practising our tacking and making sure to keep well clear of the boom and any mischievous ropes.

Mia played a vital role as our lookout, barking fiercely at every buoy we approached, or at anything else that didn’t meet her exacting standards. By the end of the day, she looked every inch the seasoned sea-dog.

After about an hour, Sarah and Lee had grasped the basics. I could see they were beginning to instinctively read the wind and appreciate the importance of continuously assessing their course. They quickly realised that distractions could lead to trouble, but adapted well to the constant demands of sailing.

Feeling confident in their abilities, I decided to retreat below deck, where I could dispense advice from the warmth and comfort of the cabin, far preferable to wrestling with sails and ropes in the merciless glare of the sun.

As we decided to return to shore, the rain made its unwelcome arrival. Fortunately, we had already moored Annie and sent for the tractor before the downpour really began. All in all, it had been a very satisfactory day of sailing.

Lee proved himself adept at handling the rudder and managing the mainsail, while Sarah displayed a growing confidence in working the jib. I’m already looking forward to our next lesson, reassured that the crew are unlikely to drown their captain!

Presently, Sarah and Lee are enjoying some well-earned R&R in Croatia, leaving Sue and me with the pleasure of looking after Mia for the week.

I seem to have less and less contact with the Rugby Club as the years go by, but on 8th May, I joined Paul and Sean at Welford Road, the Tigers’ ground, to watch the county final matches. Our main interest was the Colts final, where Harborough faced off against Lutterworth. Unfortunately, the result was disappointing, not helped by some inconsistent refereeing. Notably, and unusually, the referee was female.

We stayed on for the main final, but with the outcome already clear by half-time, we decided to make a timely exit.

Meanwhile, Sue and Sarah travelled north to Salford to visit Uncle Stanley. Mia was dropped off with me, so I took her on a walk to Foxton, where Peter and I enjoyed a leisurely lunch.

On the 10th, I spent a couple of hours resealing the bath in Jamie’s apartment with silicone, as the existing sealant had become mouldy. Jamie has put his flat on the market, as he and Ashton are looking to buy a house together in nearby Desborough.

Sue and I regularly visit the cinema, sometimes in Kettering and sometimes at the theatre in Harborough. Most of the films we watch are excellent, and if they’re not, well, it’s still an experience. On the 16th, we travelled to Kettering to see Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri. After sitting in our seats for half an hour, the film failed to start for some unexplained reason. We were offered a refund or the chance to watch an alternative: Deadpool 2. We opted for the latter but left within five minutes and requested a refund. How the film was deemed a suitable alternative, I’ll never know.

Plan B was to visit Charlotte, but on arrival, we discovered she already had a guest. Quickly, we devised Plan C and drove to Braybrooke to see Roger, only to be informed by his next-door neighbour, who was mowing the lawn, that Roger had just gone out for a walk, destination unknown. Undeterred, we enacted Plan D and went home.

The brilliance of mobile phones lies not only in their ability to connect you to the world from almost anywhere but also in their role as a rather decent camera. I often take advantage of this on walks, snapping photos of anything interesting and sharing them in the family group chat. Many of these feature Mia in various situations.

On Thursday nights, I meet up with friends at the Catholic Club to play pool. One of our group often has his nature photographs published in the local paper, the Harborough Mail, usually showcasing the canal behind his house. This week, I submitted a photo of Mia taken during a recent walk, and it was selected as Photo of the Week, appearing on page two. Pleasingly, my friend failed to get a photo published in the same issue, so I arrived at our next pool session with a certain amount of amusement, only to annoyingly discover he was on holiday in Spain!

Spring has finally made an appearance; in fact, last week we enjoyed a day hotter than sunny Cyprus! The plants in the greenhouse have started growing in earnest, and at the allotment, the potatoes and onions have broken through and are shooting away. The other day, I transplanted over 90 sweetcorn plants into their final positions, and they seemed delighted with the newfound freedom to stretch out and spread their little leaves. This year, I’ve also planted some flowers, which have already been potted up and are ready to be given to family and friends.

The pool is warming up now that the solar blanket is on, though I wouldn’t recommend taking a dip while the water is at 18 degrees. It’ll take several more hot days to bring the temperature up to a more comfortable 25 degrees. Until then, I’ve been using the hose to suck up debris from the bottom of the pool, far less enjoyable than the quicker method of wading in and creating a vortex to collect it neatly in the centre!

Charlotte is still struggling with her slipped discs, and progress feels agonisingly slow. She’s trying her best to return to normal life, but without the strong medication she’s taking, even the simplest tasks would be impossible.

Lucas has just finished his SATs and seems quite confident about how they went. Meanwhile, Ellis had a fantastic time away at Cub Camp, thoroughly enjoying the experience.

We’ve been feeding a cock pheasant and his two hens over the past few months. Yesterday, as I was planting grass at the side of the house, I was suddenly surrounded by a dozen or so tiny, cheeping chicks, all curious about what I was up to. Their mother stood a few metres away, calling to them, and one by one they responded; eventually they all followed her back to the river.

All but one, that is. A particularly brave little chick lingered, seemingly reluctant to leave me. I had to gently shoo him along to make sure he didn’t get left behind as his mother led her brood down the riverbank.

I own an Active 10 GPS, which I rely on to navigate the various walks I undertake. It’s a superb little device, and I was recently intrigued to discover that Tara Parks, an adventurer, is also using one. Tara is documenting her journey to Nepal in a blog, having decided to cycle there. The makers of the Active range of GPS devices gifted her one to aid her travels and even publicised her plans on their website, which is how I stumbled across her adventure.

Her journey, aptly titled Pedal to Nepal, is precisely the sort of undertaking I would have loved to attempt at her age. While such an adventure is no longer in the cards for me, I thoroughly enjoy following her exploits and reading about the encounters she experiences along the way.