The Weekenders Part 2 (written the 22nd February)

Here I am, sitting in what grandly calls itself the Elms Country Hotel, Horsham St. Faith, Norwich. Now, it maybe a hotel, but it’s not in the country, and in truth it qualifies as little more than a barracks in truth be known. But, it has a bar, and I have my own room and in the bathroom, there is a spa bath; and in the main room I have the choice of three beds. I don’t feel I’m gonna be that lucky in this town. There is no wi-fi in here, but there is in the bar; kerching! Maybe tomorrow. I think I should have a quiet night before the dunking begins tomorrow.
And so my weeks without work and living the life of Reilly are over; for now I must earn my pay rise and the new job. That don’t make the thought of being away from home any easier, even if it is the job that makes all that life possible. So, here I am away from home about to go on a survival course which is needed for my life at sea to start again. This one involves being dunked in a pool in a mock up of helicopter.

Oh well, that is for tomorrow, or in the next three days, anyway.

So, for the past two days we pretended that life was going to go on like this forever. And we lived life, went shopping, ate out and generally had a great time, whilst ignoring the elephant in the room, which was manifest in the hire car sitting on the drive, delivered on Friday
Friday night I cook dinner as usual, we drink wine and make small talk and all the while the cats mill around our legs; music plays quietly in the background; and life is still pretty good.

Saturday we headed out in the car to Hythe for some more shopping; a few bits and pieces for the house, and maybe a wander through a bookshop or two, and maybe breakfast in a nice café. Hythe is at he beginning of the Romney Marsh, and is blessed with beaches; whilst inland the town spreads along a narrow high street mostly filled with busy independent shops. The town spreads up the chalk hill to the impressive parish church as it looks out to the sea and beyond to France. We found a café, had scrambled egg with crispy bacon or mushrooms with rocket. We went into a bookshop, bought some vintage maps, something on local history, before heading up to the tranquil church and its quiet graveyard. The sun came out, the birds sang in the trees, and passing walkers exchanged pleasantries. I took pictures, and all around life was still good.
We drove to Canterbury, party for the enjoyment of driving through country lanes over chalky hills and through leafy lanes leading to typical Kentish villages with greens and pubs.

Sadly, most of Kent had the same idea of going to Canterbury, and so we turned north and headed back out to the coast and to more country lanes and more pubs. We stopped for lunch in what turned out to be Charles Dickens’ local, or was at some point two centuries ago. The whitewashed coaching in was so many hundreds of years old. I took some pictures of the outside and promised to put them on line. We both had ploughmans and me more real ale and took in the sheer pleasure of just sitting there looking at the world passing by.

It was then back home to sort through more mail and the usual stuff that accompanies a house move, and to see if our scaredy cats would venture outside as we are fed up clearing up the tray.

Sunday morning sees us walking across the fields between the house and the cliffs which we can see from our upstairs window. What seems like maybe a 15 minute walk turns out to take nearly an hour, but walking beside fields and along hedgerows was pleasant enough, and soon we could see the shimmering sea glinting in the morning sun. We went into the old Dover Patrol building, now a café, for a fry up and a couple of cups of tea whilst looking out over the channel to France. The food is wonderful, fresh and local; and all the while the chef is bringing out batched of scones and cakes for later in the day.