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dubdobvalley in november
Sep. 8th, 2009 10:36 amthere's a point in the year where the season turns: it always catches me out, it's the first document i title for work on the nov-dec issue -- viz yesterday
has this been an indian summer?: my trip down to visit family friends on their 50th wedding anniversary -- my mum originally introduced them -- travelled through a blazing late hampshire morning, largely on a bus replacement service through absurdly manicured villages nestling in green nowhere, returning to a house i haven't seen since i was a child (not quite true; but i visited almost yearly when during my alice-like idyll of a childhood*; very rarely since and not for 25 years i don't believe) to discover my small companions then all very grown, with a crowd of tiny cares of their own, one just two weeks old -- everyone was asking after dad; many people here were at college with him just after the war
complicated to process: lovely people on a nice day of course, but somehow far away in time as well as place -- everyone made all the usual promises to keep in touch... and today b3cky phoned me from the house in wales we always holidayed at, a spartan little farmhouse owned by my godfather, a bit less spartan now but also thick with memory -- where she and i first heard sgt pepper, an early birthday present from dad to mum -- we cut out the pop art mustaches and ran round the garden in them -- t!lly's turn now for this i guess, perhaps the oasis reunion LP n six years time :)
*i should write about this all properly one day: it's such a strange intersect of posh and poor, bohemian, academic and isolated rural
( do not click if you hate lord of the flies )
has this been an indian summer?: my trip down to visit family friends on their 50th wedding anniversary -- my mum originally introduced them -- travelled through a blazing late hampshire morning, largely on a bus replacement service through absurdly manicured villages nestling in green nowhere, returning to a house i haven't seen since i was a child (not quite true; but i visited almost yearly when during my alice-like idyll of a childhood*; very rarely since and not for 25 years i don't believe) to discover my small companions then all very grown, with a crowd of tiny cares of their own, one just two weeks old -- everyone was asking after dad; many people here were at college with him just after the war
complicated to process: lovely people on a nice day of course, but somehow far away in time as well as place -- everyone made all the usual promises to keep in touch... and today b3cky phoned me from the house in wales we always holidayed at, a spartan little farmhouse owned by my godfather, a bit less spartan now but also thick with memory -- where she and i first heard sgt pepper, an early birthday present from dad to mum -- we cut out the pop art mustaches and ran round the garden in them -- t!lly's turn now for this i guess, perhaps the oasis reunion LP n six years time :)
*i should write about this all properly one day: it's such a strange intersect of posh and poor, bohemian, academic and isolated rural
( do not click if you hate lord of the flies )
