Saturday 5 May 2012


There's no getting around it: our English friends are old in both senses now. As are we, of course, and I'm currently feeling all of that myself, what with the awkward left-handedness, the stiff knee, the aching shoulder and all. Not to mention the bruise on the cheek from the glasses that have been remarkably high-profile on this trip for frames that were chosen particularly for their unobtrusiveness.

Despite being in shock with the pain of the dislocated shoulder, I was still able to snap at the paramedic who reported that I'd "had a fall" that actually, I'd TRIPPED AND FALLEN, thank you very much. But it didn't help that one of our friends has also done just that while walking along the road and has, at the moment, an even blacker eye (and greener cheek) than I have.We made a right pair, out at the pub for our dinner tonight after an afternoon of catching up in front of the fire with their startlingly ancient and ragged - but perfectly content - cat on the mat.

But, coming from such a young country, it's noticeable that being old(er) in England feels more fitting than at home, what with everything we look at from houses to hills to trees being so very much older - and all the better and more attractive and interesting for it, it must be said. Though, really, it would be pushing it to say the same of Fluffy.

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