Postcard from Shropshire

Dear Little Miss Rachel

Do hope that you're enjoying the Easter weekend. My goodness, it is good to get out of the house. Much as I enjoyed my house-wife experience (aka sick leave) it's been nice to see something other than our flat and the garden. And talk to someone other than M, the postman or a passing friend.

M has been straight out on the golf course - what else could you expect - and I have been doing a spot of shopping since I managed to lose my ability to remember things when packing and realised I had left all my underwear at home.

Shropshire is green and wet. Makes a change from the grey and wet of London, although, in actual fact, the last two weeks have been surprisingly sunny. Got lots of washing done last week. Told you I was practising for impending unemployment.

Chocolate eggs galore to come, I hope.

See you next week!

Love,

Rachel

From one snow scene to another...

...and please forgive the double post...

...

Returned to London over the weekend, swapping the snow scenes of the alps for the ones of London. Except the light in London was rather less bright...

{Image Author's own and not to used without explicit permission}

Sunset over Montgenevre

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Oh, and in the Alps everything works no matter how much snow there seems to be. In London, no buses were running, no trains, all tubes were severely delayed and it took me an hour and a half to do a 30 minute journey to work. Still, at least I made it. No-one else did.

{Image Author's own and not to used without explicit permission}
Montgenevre

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Spent the morning doing odd jobs and tasks and trying not to notice the continuous snowfall outside my window. Am posting this at lunchtime and then I shall finish off and head home before the snow gets any worse and I am stranded in central London. I know I could walk home in about the same time as it took me to get here, but it is cold. Plus, I want to make chocolate cake.

{Image Author's own and not to used without explicit permission}
Lincoln's Inn Fields

I wonder what the situation will be like tomorrow? One noticeable thing about the snow is that it is so quiet. Without the buses and with the snow muffling all sound, it is actually peaceful.

{Image Author's own and not to used without explicit permission}

Lincoln's Inn

Proper wedding posts to resume again shortly when things are back to normal. Still trying to catch up on a week's worth of blog reading and e-mails...

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High Street Rage

I went shopping briefly after work yesterday; a quick 45 minute dash around some of the shops in Angel before my visit to the beauty salon and some pre-hols maintenance.

It is August. As far as I am aware the majority of British holiday makers take their vacances during the school holidays. So mid July - end August. Others without children perhaps start earlier, say Mid May onwards and the entire holiday period probably stretches until at least mid-September, perhaps later.

Being as I am going on a sailing holiday which I hope will contain at least a few hours of sunshine (although judging from the weather forecast we shall be lucky if we get a day without rain) I will need a bikini or two. I've grown a little since last summer and one of my bikinis no longer fits properly. I decided I could probably do with another one, so I started my search in Accessorize. They had a few bikinis on the sale rail - all size 16 and larger, mostly bottoms. A more thorough search of the shop revealed three styles on a rail at the back, again all 14-16s and no tops. A quick check with a sales assistant confirmed that indeed these were all the swimwear they had on sale.

"We've got the autumn stuff in now" she trilled.

"But it's August. I'm going on holiday. Don't you think people might actually want to buy summer/holiday items when they need them? (i.e. the month they go, not three months before) Not have to make do with the few sizes left in the sale".

"Well, they've been in the sale for a few weeks now, that's all we have left" she replied

So even if I had gone on holiday in July I still would have found the bikinis in the sale. And when I asked her to pass onto her manager that most people perhaps might like to be able to buy things in the season when they need them she responded "complain to customer services then". So I left.

A quick look round the other shops in the area confirmed the same thing: swimwear in the sale, if in the shop at all. No sizes on sale smaller than a 14 - no tops. I wonder if the shops order more bottoms than tops or whether there has been an odd run on people buying tops but not bottoms?

So I shall make do with last years too small bikini and the rest of the time I shall wear pants and shorts. If it is not p***ing with rain...

Surfing and other stories

Back in London after the perfect weekend to finish off a busy two weeks. Looks like I might need to do a little re-branding here though, as Little Miss Rachel is no longer appropriate...

Italy

Memories of Italy Part One:

The sight of the coast of England being left behind against the blue sea of the channel as we climbed upwards over France in the aeroplane

Leaving behind Milan, the motorway, smaller towns and then climbing higher and higher into the mountains before stopping. the engines cutting and the sound of grasshoppers, of wind in the grass, of dogs barking, of nothing.

The sound of the church bell across the valley striking the hour, a slightly higher pitched 'ting' denoting the half-hour, one church chiming the time about 4 minutes before the other.

On Sundays the haunting sound of choral music drifting across the valley in waves of sound, sometimes loud and clear before tailing off into a murmur on the wind, barely audible before rising again. It was a service, perhaps being broadcast to the workers in the fields.

Walking back from a beautiful meal in a restaurant with no menus and no prices, you ate what they offered you and drank their selection of wines. the road was so dark when a car came one of our party held up his lit blackberry so that we could be seen, even in white trousers on a still, cloudy moonless night we would have been no match for Italian drivers. feeling small in comparison to the blackness. seeing fire-flies darting around, dancing in the darkness to an unheard song, their tails like LEDs.

The low slung mist which wrapped the tops of the mountains as if in cotton wool and hung, ethereal, in the valleys, turning Italy into New Zealand or Japan, the dark greens of the mountains furring in focus as the lower clouds moved past

Truffles on pasta. local fizzy wine. espressos for one euro, glasses of wine for little more. cannelloni, meringue, home cooked beef, coq-au-vin, bread sticks,

Juliet's house in Verona being covered in graffiti with bunches of 'true-love' padlocks fasten to the gate like bunches of wine.

Cornwall

Returned to London after a weekend in Cornwall with friends. Despite the weather forecast predicting chilly winds and pouring rain, it really only rained when we were not wanting to be outside anyway. I went for a long solitary walk along the edge of the Camel estuary, following the exposed sand bank round at the lowest of low spring tides, the tide so far out that the water had receded to the teeniest channel allowing slow headway up towards Rock and Padstow, the gap so narrow it seemed as if a running leap would take you safely over the water. The boys played golf, I read, we had drinks in the sailing club and a huge comforting chili in the evening whilst the sun set over the cliffs. On the Sunday we meandered around the clothes shops before the most delicious roast lunch at the sailing club and a rather damp ferry crossing to Padstow. Once in Padstow the sun came out and we pottered around the harbour and the winding streets, in and out of shops and galleries and pausing for a cup of tea before catching the ferry back across the estuary, this time in hot sunshine, and a walk along the beach to the church for evensong. It was very peaceful sitting there in the quiet cold church listening to the singing, the sound of birdsong filling the pauses, the sun streaming through the windows and brightening the white washed walls. And then back out, blinking in the still bright sunshine rather like moles emerging from their hills, walking back across the beach, home for supper, for a film, sleeping solidly for 9 hours and waking to the sound of rain lashing against the window, the view of the sea blocked by low lying sea mist hanging over the hills and golf course. Lying in bed in the warmth, watching the rain against the sky light. And then the long drive back to London. A wonderful weekend.

Cornwall

I have been away this week, as you might have guessed. In Cornwall, staying with some friends from university. A glorious week with five hot summer days in a row with three pretty good ones as well. I spent the first two days helping race a Shrimper and the second part of the week lying on the beach reading. We also played lots of golf (well, I played one round, the others four or five) and sat out until the early hours most nights watching the stars -and a few satelittes. We celebrated L's birthday with a beach barbeque and fire, lying side by side on the sand trying to identify the constellations. But, as with everything, it is now over and we are all on our way back to London. It feels like summer is over.