1st February 2024

By the weekend of 20th January, Storm Isha had blown the Arctic cold snap away, giving way to the now-familiar wet and windy conditions we’ve been experiencing in the UK for quite some years. It was on that Sunday that Sue and I visited Jamie and Ruth in Waltham on the Wolds for lunch. When we arrived, they were busy strapping boot attachments onto their snowboards in preparation for their upcoming ski holiday in the French Pyrenees. After coffee and a short, blustery walk with the dogs, we travelled into Melton Mowbray in Jamie’s new Mercedes to enjoy a carvery lunch at the Harboro Hotel, an 18th-century coaching inn.

I have driven past this hotel hundreds of times over the decades, often wondering why it was called that and what it might be like inside, but I had never stopped to find out. There is very little information about the history of the establishment online, and no indication at all as to how it got its name. Inside, the rooms and décor have been furnished to suit a modern, busy hotel and restaurant, offering no real clues to its past. Nonetheless, we enjoyed an excellent meal in a packed dining room before returning to Waltham for one last coffee and chat, then made our way home in increasingly blustery conditions.

Monday proved to be an interesting day. With Storm Isha having blown itself out overnight, I came across a fallen silver birch on my morning bike ride and thought it would burn well in the woodburner. Later, I returned by car and brought it home. In a squirrel-like mood, I also fetched a large pile of cut logs I’d discovered on a previous ride and added them to the growing stack.

Feeling very pleased with myself, I planned a trip to Transylvania in October with three rugby chums. Despite having to rely exclusively on WhatsApp to communicate with the travel company, I eventually managed, after two hours, to arrange everything and pay the deposit for our ghoulish jaunt.

Spookily, just as I completed the booking, one of our party (Sean) knocked on the door to ask whether I fancied going into town for breakfast the following morning and if I’d also like to join him on a trip to Dublin in February. I agreed to both, and after he left in the rain, I promised to email him the details of our Dracula trip.

No sooner had I sat down to send the email than, uncannily, another member of our group (Paul) rang. The news, however, was not so good. He was out walking his dogs and had just received a call from a surgeon who had reviewed a scan taken the previous May. It appeared to reveal a serious issue, and he would need major heart surgery. Naturally, this would affect his ability to join us, and, very thoughtfully, he had called me even before informing his wife.

Thankfully, Suraj agreed to take his place, and after explaining the situation to the travel company, we were able to transfer the booking in Paul’s name to him. Hopefully, all will be well when Paul undergoes the operation.

On Thursday (25th), Sue and her friend (also called Sue) drove to Brixworth for a short 4.5-mile ramble, which, owing to the persistent rain we’ve had over the past few months, was mostly along a gravel-surfaced path. They had lunch at a pub that seems to be rapidly becoming a favourite, The George, in the centre of the village.

That evening, instead of my usual pool night in the garden room, I was off to the theatre. I caught a train to Leicester with two chums. We had originally planned to travel on the 5.37 p.m. train, but early that morning, I received an email from East Midlands Railway informing me that it had been cancelled. We adjusted our plans and opted for the earlier 5.03 p.m. service instead. Frustratingly, late in the afternoon, I received another email saying the 5.37 p.m. had been reinstated. Not wanting to risk a further cancellation, we stuck with the earlier train, which turned out to be so packed we couldn’t find seats, and it left 20 minutes late! Bring back British Rail!

We met up with Paul in the popular Leicester watering hole, the Barley Mow, for a drink before relocating next door to the Kayal for a superb, authentic Keralan seafood meal. At present, it seems Paul is still very much in the dark about what’s happening with his heart operation and has simply been told to wait for a letter, a very worrying time for him.

Replete with fish curry and Cobra, the four of us walked the short distance to The Little Theatre to watch an excellent and amusing performance of April in Paris.

Synopsis: Al and Bet have been married for several years, and the cracks in their relationship are beginning to show. Al has lost his job and spends his time painting, while Bet works in a shoe shop and dreams of a better life. When she wins a romantic night for two in Paris, the city of love, Al begins to wonder who she’ll choose to take with her. Resigned to going along, he soon finds that Paris rekindles their relationship as never before…

 

 

 

 

 

It wasn’t the sort of plot that would naturally appeal to four blokes who’d played rugby for over 30 years, but we had front-row seats and the story was amusing nonetheless, especially when accompanied by a glass of decent red wine. We caught the empty 10.15 p.m. train back and arrived in Harborough 12 minutes later, followed by a walk home in the rain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the 26th, it was Archie’s first birthday. After opening presents and devouring a birthday cake in a way that only a one-year-old could get away with, he was treated to a day out at nearby Manor Park Farm and Woodlands. Judging by the many photos the family shared on Facebook, it would be hard to say who enjoyed the day more, the children or the grown-ups!

On Saturday (27th), I went to the rugby club with Jim Crawford to watch Harborough’s 1st XV take on local rivals Kettering. It had been well over a year since my last visit to the club, with the comfort and warmth of watching Premiership rugby on the TV in the Garden Room having taken precedence. It was good to catch up with old (and hardier) rugby chums again, and despite the very chilly afternoon, the match was highly entertaining. A surprising amount of skill was on display from both sides, with Harborough taking the honours 38–12.

Later that evening, Sue and I went to Harborough Theatre to watch One Life, starring Anthony Hopkins. The film tells the story of Sir Nicholas ‘Nicky’ Winton, a young London broker who, in the months leading up to the Second World War, rescued Jewish children from the Nazis. It’s well worth watching, a fitting tribute to one of the many modest and unsung heroes of WW2.

Archie was christened the following day. Family friend Doreen joined us for the morning service at St James’ Church in Newbold Verdon, with the christening taking place towards the end of the service. The entire Palmer tribe turned out, as did most of Lee’s side of the family; only illness kept a few friends and relatives from further swelling the congregation. It was a very family-friendly service, led by a vicar who clearly understood young children, having a few of his own.

Unquestionably, fidgety-bum Archie was the star of the show. He remained surprisingly still throughout and, to my amazement, found the water being poured over his head during the blessing quite amusing, responding with nothing more than a wistful smile in the direction of his parents.

After the service, everyone drove to Barlestone Saint Giles Football Club for an excellent buffet prepared by Sarah and Lee earlier that morning. A bouncy castle and various games kept the children happily entertained while the grown-ups chatted and tucked into the food. The painting table proved especially popular, with some of the older members of the Palmer family particularly keen to join in!

 

The month ended dry, with night frosts. Each day for the past ten days, after my morning cycle ride, I’ve been turning over the soil in the vegetable plot in readiness for spring planting. Last year, I managed to dig a couple of metres each day before heading home; this year, it’s only one a day.

A cat lives in my allotment shed, sleeping each night on an old jacket I’ve laid over a chair for its comfort. Every morning, as I open the shed door, I rouse it from slumber, and it scoots out through a small hole, creeping along to the fence at the end of the plot. From there, it climbs onto the roof of a lean-to behind one of the houses overlooking the allotments, where it lies watching and waiting for me to finish.

Though I’m not a cat lover, this particular moggy earns its keep by keeping mice and pigeons away from the plot; it’s a marriage of convenience!