13th December 2019

The run-up to Christmas seems to grow more intense with each passing year. Yet, Sue and I are no longer dismayed by how early the shops and TV adverts plunge into the hype and garish sparkle of the festive season. Since early October, we have simply sighed and continued life at our own pace. Black Friday, Cyber Monday, and their endless prequels have come and gone, successfully ignored.

With no children pattering around the house and more than enough tinsel and crackers in our past to suppress even the cheeriest of yuletide excesses, we have gradually ‘Scrooged’ ourselves into a sensible rule: if it’s not December, it’s not Christmas!

And now it is!

On the 1st, Sarah and Lee kicked off the festive season by decorating their home in an elaborate style.

Jamie helped Ruth decorate her Christmas tree while Sue and I drove to Cleobury Mortimer to visit Sheila, a family friend. We travelled in Sue’s little Suzuki, as Jamie’s Corsa was off the road due to a power steering issue, and he was borrowing my Fiesta. I don’t drive her Alto very often, but I’m always pleasantly surprised by how nippy it is, the little engine handles motorway speeds and even the steepest hill climbs with ease.

In the preceding weeks, the UK had been subjected to a relentless deluge, but with Zeus taking a welcome break to replenish his clouds, clear skies and a bitter chill settled over the country. The journey to The Talbot was far more pleasant than the one a few days earlier, and the two-hour drive through moderate traffic passed without a hitch.

It was around midday when we parked behind our rather splendid 16th-century accommodation. Sitting in the warmth of the car, we ate the packed lunch that Sue had prepared earlier that morning. As usual, we had planned a walk before checking in, this time with extra thermal layers, hats, and gloves.

Our route took us just shy of nine miles, passing through the villages of Mamble and Bayton.

Though the air was crisp, clear, and perfect for a ramble, the ground underfoot was another matter entirely. We squelched our way across grassy meadows and fields of winter crops, each footfall gathering layers of heavy, claggy mud. In the stark woodland, drifts of fallen leaves concealed the treacherous surface below.

Twice, Sue’s rear end met the ground with a muddy splat, and despite my best efforts and my legendary cat-like reflexes, I, too, suffered the indignity of a grand posterior slide down a leafy slope. Unfortunately, I lost far too many points on presentation and style to maintain any sense of composure.

With nothing more than our pride bruised, the relentless slog through sodden ground, giving way beneath every step, and the added weight of thick layers of mocha-coloured mud made for a rather miserable final few miles. Annoyingly, I had a Plan B: at around the three-mile mark, we could have cut across the countryside and halved our route. However, too caught up in our chatter, we completely missed the opportunity. Served us right.

Despite the winter season, our route led us through some beautiful countryside and past several wonderful medieval properties.

With some distance still to cover, we found ourselves running out of daylight. To add to our challenges, the route led us over the River Rea, which had been in flood just a week earlier and was still surging through the landscape. The flimsy little wooden bridge that marked our crossing point was now cordoned off, with a warning declaring it unsafe. However, with twilight settling in and no alternative route available, we had no choice but to cross, albeit with great caution.

Rather than sticking to our planned route, which followed the course of the Rea under tree cover, I used my GPS to navigate along the ridge above a bridleway, which eventually led us to a country lane. This detour brought us safely back to The Talbot just as the last vestiges of daylight gave way to starlight. The sunset had been magnificent, but for once, we hadn’t paused to appreciate its beauty.

After checking in, we settled into our room with coffee and biscuits. As expected of a 16th-century inn, the building was full of character, and while our room was small, it had all the necessary comforts. We particularly loved the way they had exposed the wattle and daub structure of the wall at the head of the bed, adding a charming historical touch.

That evening, we dined at an Indian restaurant in town. While it wasn’t the finest Asian meal we’ve ever had, it did the job, and we slept well that night.

The next morning, after breakfast at The Talbot, we set off on a walking circuit of the town centre. Few people were out braving the bitterly cold morning, though, with a population of just over 3,000, it was hardly surprising. The town’s name is believed to derive from a contraction of clifu, meaning a steep place, and bury, meaning a fortified settlement. Mortimer comes from the Norman lord to whom the land was granted. At the heart of Cleobury Mortimer stands St Mary’s Church, notable for its crooked spire. The area is also well known for its spas and springs, and just off the main road, we found a remarkably well-preserved example of one.

In front of The Talbot lie the remains of the Weeping Cross, erected to mark the passing of Prince Arthur’s funeral cortege on its way to Worcester Cathedral. Arthur, the elder brother of Henry VIII, died at just 15 years old at Ludlow Castle. Little of the cross remains, but it is easy to find, and the story behind it is fascinating. Had Arthur lived to take the throne, the course of British history could have been dramatically different.

After completing our town tour, we moved on to Ludlow, eager to visit St Laurence’s Church, where Prince Arthur’s heart is buried. The church itself is an impressive structure with a striking tower, and near the burial spot in the chancel, an information board provides details for those interested in its history. We decided against visiting the nearby castle, having explored it a couple of times before. Instead, the central Christmas market held far more appeal.

As we left the town, we took the opportunity to stop at the Ludlow Brewery, where we sampled and purchased a few of their beverages for later enjoyment.

Moving on again, we drove to Tenbury Wells, a place of special significance to us, as it’s where Sue used to live and where we were married. The town has suffered badly from flooding in recent years, particularly in recent weeks, and the evidence was still plain to see.

Our main reason for visiting was to see Sheila, though she wasn’t feeling very well; we knew our stay would be brief. She has recently taken in a cat from a friend who had to go into the hospital, and they’ve bonded strongly. I suspect she has no intention of giving it back! We stayed for just an hour, as she had a doctor’s appointment, before rounding off our visit with a walk through the town.

Sue took a short detour to the church to pay her respects to her parents, whose ashes were scattered there. On the way back, she bumped into a couple of old school friends and took the opportunity for a good natter, catching up on all the latest town news.

That evening, we dined at the hotel. The following morning (3rd), after breakfast, we headed home.

On the 4th, I had an appointment with an orthopaedic specialist at St. Luke’s Hospital in the morning, followed by two appointments at Leicester General Hospital in the afternoon for MRI scans on my knee and foot. Despite the cutbacks the NHS has suffered in recent years, I really can’t complain about the care I’ve received.

The next afternoon, I drove through the rain to Luton Airport to collect an old friend, Jim Hankers, who had flown in from Cyprus. His wife, Bridget, had thoughtfully booked his flights as a Christmas present. He was staying with us and attending the Rugby Club Christmas Lunch that Saturday. We arrived back in Harborough by 8:30 pm, just in time to enjoy a chicken casserole Sue had prepared before heading out to the Beer House to meet up with some ex-rugby teammates. As expected, it turned into a late night, and with the time difference between Cyprus and the UK, I imagine Jim was a rather tired bunny by the time he finally got his head down.

The next day, I had a physiotherapy appointment at St. Luke’s Hospital at midday. In the morning, we kept Jim indoors, shielding him from the harsh reality of a British winter (a bracing 3°C). I dropped him in town on my way to the hospital so he could pick up a few things that aren’t easily found back home, burger makers, baking tins, and the like. That evening, Sue and I walked into town for the Harborough Late Night Shopping Christmas Fayre and a screening of Red Joan at the Harborough Theatre’s cinema club. We left Jim watching a rugby match on TV, grateful that we hadn’t dragged him out into the ‘below-freezing’ conditions. When we returned, he had retired early to a warm bed, no doubt dreaming of sunshine and Mediterranean warmth.

On Saturday, Sue drove us to the club to meet old friends, enjoy a good meal, and watch the 1st XV put in an excellent performance to beat the Rugby Lions. We rounded off our visit by tucking into a generous selection of cheeses that Sean had brought, accompanied by a jar of my special pickled onions. The evening continued at the Admiral Nelson pub, where we joined the celebrations for someone’s 50th birthday (I never did find out whose!). A fantastic day, and another very late night.

Sunday was a well-earned day of rest (as it should be). Jim’s daughter, Sarah, came to visit and had booked a table at the Black Horse in Foxton for lunch with him. I drove them over so they could enjoy some quiet family time. Afterwards, she stayed and chatted with us until her husband and children collected her, having spent the day at Twin Lakes Theme Park.

Monday was sunny but chilly. I had arranged to meet John Lee in Stamford to catch up on news and exchange Christmas cards. As Jim’s brother lived just a few miles away in Deeping St. James, he took the opportunity to arrange a visit. The drive through the Welland Valley wasn’t without incident; flooding from previous weeks still lingered, forcing us to take a few detours. We met John at the Golden Fleece, a town-centre pub beside Queen Eleanor’s Cross. The Eleanor Crosses were erected by King Edward I to mark the overnight resting places of his wife, Eleanor of Castile, as her body was transported from Lincoln to London in 1290. Over a pleasant lunch and some local refreshments, we were joined by Jim’s brother and niece, who had brought along her new baby. Their visit was brief; his brother, a baker, had to return to work. On our way back to Harborough, we called in to see Jamie at work in Sutton Bassett, where he was busy organising the loading of vans for the next morning’s deliveries.

That evening, Jim treated Sue and me to a meal at The Bell in Gumley, steak night.

Storm Atiyah had battered the west of the country on Sunday and Monday, and by Tuesday, it was our turn in the east to face Storm Brendan’s ferocious gusts. Sue had a Christmas dinner with her U3A ‘New Experience’ group at the Mexican restaurant in town. Meanwhile, I drove Jim to Kettering, where he picked up a T-shirt from Sports Direct, something more suitable for the Cypriot climate. On the way home, we visited Charlotte and stopped at the Cherry Tree for a light lunch. It was Lucas’s thirteenth birthday, and I was keen to see how he was adapting to the ‘terrible teens’, which I suspect are much like the ‘terrible twos’, only larger. So far, he seems the same!

On the 11th, I took Jim back to Luton Airport for his 7 am flight to sunny Cyprus. It was a 3 am start, and, as luck would have it, the M1 was closed for roadworks. The diversion took us along ‘A’ roads to Luton, and despite the detour, we arrived just 15 minutes behind schedule. On my return home, I went back to bed as Sue set off on a U3A walk around Loddington, finishing with yet another Christmas meal at The Hare.

The 12th of December was a miserable day, cold, wet, and windy. The country (well, most of it) was preoccupied with the General Election, a fitting match for the almighty mess our mendacious politicians had landed us in, I thought. Sue and I cast our votes in the morning, eager to get this necessary obligation out of the way. Despite the rain and biting cold, the polling station was very busy, a sure sign that feelings were running high. Julie Simpson, a friend and local councillor, was standing outside the entrance, coat wrapped tightly around her, grimly smiling at passing voters as she did her duty for the party. Normally, I would have stopped for a chat, but not today; the issues were too contentious for jovial banter, and besides, it was not a day to linger outside if you didn’t have to.

I spent the rest of the morning listing an item on eBay while Sue made leek and potato soup from the vegetables I had picked from the allotment the previous day. I was selling a hoverboard I had bought for Lucas and Ellis for Christmas, only to discover that Charlotte and Suraj had already bought one for Ellis, and Lucas wasn’t particularly interested. Fortunately, I had managed to acquire it at a significantly reduced price, so all might not be lost; it could still turn a tidy profit. If it doesn’t sell, it seems likely that Lucas will end up with a moveable sound system, as the board has a Bluetooth speaker!

Charlotte had been visiting Doreen on the other side of town that morning and stopped by at lunchtime to sample the soup. Afterwards, she and Sue headed into town for a spot of Christmas shopping.

I spent the afternoon bottling the white wine, which had been settling for nearly two weeks. I set aside about a third of it, intending to blend it with some of the red wine that is still fermenting. I have high hopes for the red; it already has a very pleasant taste, and I’m just waiting for it to reach my preferred SG1.0, which should be any day now.

An Explanation of ‘Vin-allo’
‘Vin’ is short for vineyard, while ‘allo’ is an abbreviation for allotment, or, when more fitting, ‘vin’ can refer to vinegar and ‘allo’ to allowance. Each year, you can never quite tell which interpretation will apply.

I woke this morning (13th) to discover that the country had made its decision. The previous evening, we had neither listened to the news nor stayed up all night (as some in the family had), glued to the unfolding election results. Other than braving the elements to put a cross on a ballot paper, Sue and I had gone about our usual Thursday routines. This marks the fourth time in five years that we have done the same, perhaps a telling sign of a nation that resembles a Banana Republic or, more accurately, an Oligarchy, where many citizens feel little faith that their vote truly makes a difference.

When politicians believe themselves to be ‘more right’ than the people they represent and see no issue in fabricating facts to serve their own interests, chaos inevitably follows, as we have recently witnessed. To be human is to be flawed, and perhaps we expect too much from those who govern us: to be wiser, fairer, and selfless. Maybe democracy isn’t the best system, but for now, it is the one we have. Today, the people have spoken, making their views abundantly clear to those MPs who have openly refused to be part of ‘Team UK.’ The choices were stark: Get Brexit Done, Another Referendum, or Stop Brexit. False and ludicrous diversionary promises failed to shake the electorate from reality. The majority still hold the power, and unless that changes, it is in everyone’s best interest to put the past behind us and start pulling in the same direction. There is much to rebuild and much to heal. I foresee growing intolerance and a bleak future for those who refuse to accept the election’s outcome.

Democracy does seem to be functioning, but it’s in dire need of a service and, quite possibly, an MOT.