Sunday again – how time flies! A whole week has slipped away since we rode around the model railway track in the steam train, just seven days ago. Time is forever illusive and marches on relentlessly and swiftly, sometimes as our friend when we would have it speed up through unpleasant circumstances – at other times our foe – when given the chance, we’d slow it down to savor the moment.
It’s been another gorgeous, dry day here in Dorset. We awoke to bright sunshine streaming into our front bedroom, beckoning us to get out of bed and greet the day. Looking out to the front, we weren’t surprised to see our feathered friends had arisen way ahead of us – a pair of wood pigeons, cooing in the big fire tree, chirping starlings, cheeping finches, sparrows darting in and out of the newly-leafed willow tree, while a yellow-beaked blackbird stood on tip-toe leveraging himself in a tug-of-war with a reluctant worm the bird had sought out in the freshly-mown front lawn….ah the early bird catches – and all that. In the back, we found a nesting pair of blue-tits busily fussing around the apple tree, in and out of their little bird house, compliments of my Dad.
St. Mary’s church was calling my name this morning. The bells when rung are delightful to the ears and soul alike. The old place of worship stands in stately reverence on the outskirts of the village (population slightly under 4000) nestled amongst the scattered thatched-roof cottages. Alas! My presence was anticipated elsewhere. A light breakfast and then down to the business of grooming. My parents usually put off their hair styling near the time of my arrival and wait for me to do it – and I am happy to oblige in the beautifying procedures – it’s the least I can do if it pleases them…and it seems to. With that done, I’m off to prepare “elevensies” – a daily ritual here at eleven o’clock – which is morning coffee with lots of hot milk, most often accompanied by a small biscuit, not U.S. variety, but more like a plain shortbread cookie.
At 12:20 p.m. we got everyone into the car, with my Dad at the wheel (yes – still driving) and we headed toward the village of Manston for Sunday lunch at The Plough, one of the favorite eateries. It is a Pub where they serve great food and is frequented by my parents, so they’re greeted by name. They so enjoy their lunch outing – as do we. We were led to our reserved table and Chuck went off to get the drinks. A half pint of draft Guiness for my Dad and I and a half pint of Shandy (half bitters and half carbonated lemonade) for Chuck and my Mum. We ordered the two-course option (£9.50 = $15.00 approx) and chatted while we looked out through conservatory-style windows to the garden and green fields beyond. Four of the biggest, fattest chickens were clucking at each other and strutting around like they owned the place. I wondered if they might be seen the following day on someone’s plate. We had three roast turkey lunches and Chuck had pork roast – all home-cooked, delicious with all the trimmings including a large platter of freshly steamed locally-grown vegetables. Excellent and flavorful! Dessert was two raspberry and white chocolate cheesecakes for Mum and Dad, while Chuck and I chose steamed jam pudding – he with ice cream – me with fresh cream.
The locals were scattered around tables inside the Pub and also in the large adjoining conservatory but some had retired to the tables outside to finish their beers. Four local gents were enjoying an inside joke as we made our way to the car. We almost tripped over one of the big chickens and someone made a joke about her being plump and juicy for dinner. One of the gents reassured us that the chickens are pets – and proved it by introducing us to none other than Lady Penelope – the chubby grey chick that crossed the path in front of us.
It’s another beautiful day, tripping lightly through life in Dorset.