We are home.
We knew we were getting close somewhere a little north of Birmingham, when suddenly the skies began to fade from their cheery southern blue to their more familiar northern shades of ice-grey.
It is chilly up here.
We had travelled for most of the day. The quirky Indian guest house had clearly thought very hard about their breakfast policy, because obviously Indian non-consumers of all things pig were unlikely to be very keen on delivering the traditional English fare of sausages and smoked back bacon.
Lots of Hindus don’t even eat eggs.
Hence it was apparent that breakfast required some consideration.
In the end they had decided to invite guests into the dining room where they could help themselves to croissants and yoghurt and term it a complimentary breakfast. This way nobody could grumble about it, the charge could be included in the cost of the room, and there was no need to pay wages to a breakfast chef who would in any case doubtless fail to turn up occasionally, flick the waitresses with a rolled up tea towel, and sometimes be heard shouting obscenities by the guests.
We began the day with our complimentary breakfast. The yoghurt was very good indeed, although I was less thrilled by sourdough toast and unsalted butter, but we sat outdoors on the terrace chatting comfortably to our friends as if we were in Mumbai or California. We shaded our eyes with our huge sun hats and drank several cups of coffee, and talked until we suddenly remembered that we would have to check out, after which everything was a rush.
Packing our little courtyard room was a sad moment, because we have had a very nice couple of nights there, and liked its earthy tranquillity. We ambled around the Indian gift shop where we almost purchased a lamp shaped like the moon which spun, surprisingly, in mid air.
We did not purchase it in the end so it is still there if you fancy one.
In the end of course we had to go our separate ways, and so began the long journey north.
For some superlatively generous reason our friends had donated the picnic leftovers to us, and so we had rather a splendid late lunch on the M6 Toll services. We have resolved to invest more thought into picnics, our picnic basket manufacturing project has not been forgotten, merely shelves until we have got s little more spare time.
It was almost seven when we finally pulled in to the alley and dashed in through the spatter of raindrops that greeted us.
It is very, very green here compared to the south.
Coming home was an absolute joy.
There was an ecstatic welcome from Guffy and the dogs, who had obviously imagined us lost for ever, and almost as ecstatic a welcome from Oliver, who was not at all sorry to be surrendering his role of head of the household after an exhaustingly responsible few days.
Ritalin Boy and Emily were upstairs doing Ritalin Boy’s homework, so we took the dogs around the Library Gardens and heard all about the affairs of the house in our absence. The dogs belted up and down barking their heads off and generally being idiots, and we strolled about marvelling at the greenness of the grass and being very glad that we do not live in the south.
We made pizzas for dinner, and did not go out to work. Tomorrow will be quite soon enough for that.
We are exhausted. It has been a splendid holiday, but we are very glad it is all over.
It is going to be very nice to settle back into our lives again.
