Hi all. Southern Yorkshire has been hit by some severe weather over the past couple of days. This is what 3.8" of rain in 24 hours does to Hull:
The street at the end of our avenue - 
Our avenue - 
The water only came up to our doorstep - being on the third floor has some advantages after all!
Yes I know! It has been months. But we were busy ok? We had socks to sort and napkins to fold… Oh yeah, and countries to visit, antipodeans visitors to entertain, new parts of the UK to explore, and a tragic mishap.
Now you are going to read on, aren’t you?
Just before Easter we visited Bologna, an Italian town housing a certain Jacqui, with whom we drank, ate, caroused and acted in a generally Italian way. The highlight of our visit was the University of Bologna, one of the oldest in the world, with a unique space for lectures in anatomy. A close second was an osteria, where we ate traditional Bolognese food with typically Bolognese indifference from the wait staff. If was fab. After three days of Jacqui we headed north to spend two days with our friends the Girolas in Milan. We had a wonderful time catching up with Stefano and Lianne and little Lewis, who has the cheekiest Italian grin of anyone not appearing in a Dolmio advertisement!
We had a quiet Easter, and the following weekend caught up with our friend John Moorhead in Cambridge. A more apt setting for such a meeting could not have been imagined. Cambridge in the spring is a sight to behold, and the Kings College Chapel is a real highlight of any English experience. Seeing John again was marvellous, and we were sad to part but are sure we’ll see him again before long.
The first long weekend in May saw us flog the mini to Newcastle for a visit to Tad’s Aunt Urzula, a very generous hostess. She took us to visit cultural Newcastle including the Biscuit Factory (modern art) and the Millennium Bridge and surrounds. The next day we travelled north to visit the Scottish border and enjoyed the worlds finest (non-pumpkin) scone. We also walked in the footsteps of Saint Aidan on Holy Island (also known as Lindisfarne) which is just of the Northumbrian coast. It is an island cut off from the mainland twice daily by the tide. It was the site of the first Christian monastery in England and as with all male Christian communities, brewed some fabulous alcoholic beverages. Our trip north was completed with a visit to Seahouses, a traditional English seaside town serving fish and chips with mushy peas. We bought some ‘rock’, a hard candy specific to English seaside towns. We have yet to bring ourselves to sample it.
The next two weeks passed with regular tedium, until the week of the Chelsea Flower Show. This extravaganza is so popular as to entice itinerant New Zealanders to visit. Maria joined Nana in London to peruse the horticultural delights that the south has to offer. On Friday Maria took Nana to the Lanesborough Hotel for high tea to celebrate Nana’s eightieth birthday. Nana decided to hock into the champagne instead.
It was a wonderful experience in opulent surroundings. Neither they, nor their waste-lines, will forget the afternoon of indulgence. That night Fletch joined the revellers in Covent Garden. On Saturday morning we bid Nana a sad farewell as she headed off to Jersey. We took the opportunity to visit the Tower of London, the Monument and the foyer of St Paul’s Cathedral. The interior was so packed as to make casual viewing most unpleasant. So we continued on to afternoon tea in Kensington, followed by an enjoyable dinner at the Big Easy in Chelsea with Dominic and Samantha. Fletch has finally found a decent steak in England. His world is a much nicer place. The next day we tried to visit the Natural History Museum, but having been repelled by wholesome family groups, settled on the Victoria and Albert Museum instead. We whiled away some time drinking coffee and reading magazines before our evening train from Kings Cross, which we discovered upon arrival had been cancelled, as had all of the north bound trains from London that day. So we walked to an alternative train station, caught a train, a coach, another train and another train, and a taxi, which finally got us home and to bed. Thankfully Monday was a holiday, allowing us to recover from our arduous journey (I can hear the tiny violins all the way from here).
The past ten days have been most eventful for us. Almost all of Fletch’s studio equipment was delivered, we celebrated Fletch’s birthday with a surprise BBQ attended by the better part of Fletch’s departmental colleagues. Maria out did herself once again and a great time was had by all. The next morning saw a farcical chase as a horribly hung-over Fletch attempted to coax, coerce, cajole and finally force Domino into his cage. He knew what this whole cage thing was about after his last visit to the vet a couple of weeks previously, and he was having none of it. After a projected battle in which Domino killed Fletch’s page boys, Fletch asked his troops ‘once more unto the breech’ and finally Domino was dispatched under Maria’s care to the vets where upon five of his teeth were removed. That ought to teach him. Fletch then called in sick to the departmental secretary Pam, who informed him that none of his colleagues had appeared for work either. Thursday was the exam board in Music, which made Thursday night the Examiners’ Dinner. Fletch was preparing to leave work when tragedy struck!!!!
Maria was stopping innocently at a level crossing. The car behind her attempted to squeeze itself into the mini’s not overly generous boot. It didn’t fit. Neither did the Jeep behind the car. Fortunately Maria was able to get the mini off of the train tracks before being mercilessly crushed by the Cottingham Express. However we wait with terrible anticipation as to the fate of the mini. And so we burn a candle in vigil this long June night (which lasts about six hours this far north of the equator). Maria is suffering in noble silence from a bout of whip-lash, and whilst having been told to suffer bed-rest, is being most recalcitrant. Fletch feels that firm remonstration is required for her own good (although the chances his castigation will render any resultant acquiescence are as slim as the chance that he gives up complete verbosity in favour of concision). The consequence of this bed-rest was that we missed the Trooping of the Colour. There shall be other occasions however.
We hope that wasn’t too long winded, and we promise to write more often in future. But we could be lying.
