Back From Scotland

 

Back From Scotland

I had been looking forward to the trip to the UK but not the journey there. I had decided to do it by train, as last year, Avignon – Lille – London – Glasgow, and in the event it was easy. I’d booked assistance at Euston and Glasgow as I had a heavy case and the trains can be very long; lugging a case with two wheels the length of a long platform, a possible 18 carriage-lengths, was at the limit of what I could manage. However I was in the middle of the train for the Eurostar connection to London and so had to trundle the case only 9 carriage-lengths at St Pancras. I’d tried booking assistance at Lille and London St Pancras but the system defeated me. I resolved the problem when in Glasgow by buying a case with 4 wheels. The journey back from London to Avignon was again impressive, 15 minutes shorter than last year at only six and a quarter hours. Although I didn’t then know it my glimpses of sun on departing northern France were the last time I would see it until my return. It wasn’t cold in England or Scotland but, boy, was it cloudy.

Natalie met me at Glasgow and so my stay started. The next day we went to the local garden centre for breakfast, the mandatory Scottish morning soft roll (mine with back bacon), and I bought presents for friends here and plants for Natalie’s garden. Much of the time during the stay was spent around the house but on the Sunday we went to Eddlestone to see Steve and Jo and, as arranged, René and Armelle who were visiting. René and Armelle were staying at the local pub so we went there for lunch. That is where I had the fish and chips I have to have at least once when I come over. It was good to see them both again. Armelle, it seemed was the braver, having had haggis for breakfast. When they left Mollans they had given me a picture so I reciprocated by giving them one,a framed image of a scene from the Rubayat of Omar Khayam painted on bone which I had purchased in Esfahan in Iran 50 years earlier. They weren’t familiar with Omar Khayam or the Rubayat but will no doubt be doing the Internet searches. A poem about love and wine should ring bells with any French person.

On the Monday, on an impulse, I bought Eilidh a large cardboard castle construction kit. It proved an inspired move. The castle was large enough for Eilidh to get inside and needed colouring all around it. That was where Eilidh resided for most of the rest of my stay and the colouring still hadn’t been completed, despite help from Natalie, Andy and me, when I left. Eilidh had decided she would be a bat for Halloween so I bought her some bats’ ears and stickers and thought the castle should be Bat Castle. However Eilidh decided it should be Primary Palace and who am I to argue?

We didn’t do a lot on my birthday itself although I had some lovely presents from my family but the afternoon was given over to gardening, planting the bulbs and plants I had bought on my first day there. In the evening we had the ritual cake. There wasn’t enough room on it for 84 candles so Natalie had placed 4 and, to my shame, I had to have two goes to blow them all out.

On my last day in Scotland we went to the Transport Museum which was having a children’s day, having to find small effigies of people hidden amongst the exhibits. Glasgow really has some fine museums, as well as parks, a world away from the grubby industrial centre I had known 50 years before.

As always it was great to be with the family again, if only for a few days. Eilidh seemed to have shot up inches between July and then.

I left on Thursday and went meet my son Carl and friend Margaret for lunch the next day. Unfotunately Margaret had brochitis and couldn’t make it so Carl ended up with the cheese, olives and lavender essence I had bought for Margaret. I expect Carl’s girlfriend will at least appreciate the lavender essence. I was pleased to find Carl fit and on form and we had a good chat as well as a good meal at Zedel, a French restaurant in the heart of Piccadilly. It’s an amazing place with the restaurant three storeys underground which served as a bomb shelter during WW2 for people letting their hair down in the area.

On my return (to the sun again!) I was met by Jacques and Claudine at Avignon TGV and we had a meal in Malaucène on the way home. I couldn’t face unpacking my case entirely then but just extracted the necessities and went to bed.

Sylvie came round the next day with some things she’d looked after while I was away and insisted we celebrated my birthday here also. So this Thursday she, Sophie and Daniel and Jacqueline came round for a meal of sausages and mash, the sausages I’d brought with me from the UK. I’d put bottles of Worcester and HP brown sauce on the table, both alien to France, and Sophie fell in love with the HP sauce; so I’ll have to buy her a bottle the next time I go to a supermarket and can find it.

From now on it should be life as usual. A colloquial French term for grandparents is “les chicoufs”. It’s chic when grandchildren come to stay and ouf when they depart. I think I’ve done the ouf, but have no idea when the chic came; as every body who knows me knows, it’s not me. I must have somehow done that already.