Ahem,
Lily Kay Chislett was born on 14th August 2026 to Ella and Sam in Haywards Heath at two minutes to six in the morning. It was not a straight-forward birth in anything except the physical process itself. Stoical and mostly unflappable, Ella called the experience “slightly chaotic” with admirable moderation. But the headline news was the healthy birth, a few days earlier than expected, of a beautiful little girl, just under three kilos, who was obviously keen to be born as soon as possible. The event made rookie grandparents of Alli and me, as well as Sam’s parents Lynn and Peter. Lily is the first of her generation in our families. New aunts Jessie and Gwen were quick to visit and to welcome their new niece. Lily dozed happily through our first visits. Everyone fell in love with her immediately.
Alli will become the new Nanny. I will become either Grandad or Grandy, (I shall spell it “Grandee”). At least, these are the names we will submit to Lily for her subsequent approval once she speaks. On or after this point a long generation ago, my mother was stuck with the name “Gummy” by her grandchildren after her first grandchild willed it (I think), an appellation that spread back to her children and others for the rest of her life. She got used to it.
Our family has had a life-changing development, and the world already feels different.
Six days earlier, my niece Sophia celebrated her 30th birthday at the exclusive Royal Automobile Club in Pall Mall with her family and friends. It was a warm and friendly occasion, with a dress code and speeches, preceded by a family meet-up in a Mayfair pub. Alli heroically offered to be the dog-sitter and nanny-sitter for the occasion, sadly missing a most cultured, entertaining, and civilised evening. I met up with Jessie, Gwen, Ella, and Sam earlier in Mayfair at the Chesterfield Arms. There are shocking post-match reports of no damages and that the cutlery was counted in and counted back by the august staff of the RAC. Sophia looked smoothly resplendent and made a witty speech of thanks to everybody, but especially to her justly proud parents Susanne and Ant, who were about to embark on a round-the-world tour.
Lily Kay was proudly shown off to her Great-Nanny Kay, Uncle Nick, and his boys George and Joe a couple of days later. The same evening, I left on a rebooked Newhaven ferry to drive down to our house in the Tarn et Garonne to join Alli who flew to Toulouse and was picked up by our good friends from Belgium, Laurence, Claude, Alexis, Sophie, and Anne, also arriving for a holiday with us. They helped us with the traditional performances of eating, drinking, and general merriment. This included dinners at Le Petit Palais, the Restaurant de la Tour in Auvillar, and the St Saturnin in Mansonville; visits to the Chateaux de Flamarens and Gramont, the villages of Lachapelle and Dunes, and the medieval towns of Le Pin and Moissac; evenings of card and board games, and, of course sunbathing (rounding off a championship year for Alli), reading, cycling (for Alexis, who effortlessly circumnavigated the Pyrenees for four days), and the markets of Valence d’Agen and Lectoure. I busied myself with repeated visits to Agen to find, check, and buy spare parts for rebellious robot pool-cleaners and chemical materials to remove mustard algae. Claude and I went daily for bread and cakes from the boulangere in Auvillar. Alexis provided sterling assistance with some brico jobs that were beyond me, and Alli and I had lunch and a catch-up in on the terrace of the seigneurial domaine of our friends Marc and Edith in Rejaumont in the Gers. Once again, the crucial support of our friends Marlene and Jean-Louis turned problems into happy conclusions and even spectacular successes, especially in the swimming pool. We spent some of our last evening enjoying their hospitality with a tarte tatin, a bottle of bubbles, and their neighbours.
I took Alli to the airport at the end of the month then went to see Maryse, a friend who lived in Toulouse. I had assumed that it would be just for lunch but she had the whole day planned with a walking tour of Toulouse, including a visit to the breathtaking Musée des Augustins in Toulouse, housed in a former Augustinian convent (itself part of the attraction) and medieval sculpture, Romanesque and Gothic works, and paintings from the Renaissance to the early 20th century, many by Toulouse artists. I had earlier walked through the Jardin Raymond VI, visited St Nicholas’s Church, and tried to visit the Musee des Abattoirs, but Monday mornings and Toulouse are strangers; little of note opens until noon. I now realise that I must see more of la ville rose in the future.
To continue the non-linear narrative, one morning very early in the month (before the new arrival in our family, the posh birthday party, and the visit to La Hune), Alli heard a noise from the garden at around 6am and went down to find our pond half empty with our goldfish swimming around in a state of open-mouthed surprise. The motorised pump that created a mini waterfall for the pond had blown its top and water had been spraying around beside it but not into the pool. As Alli had quickly cut off the motor there was no further leakage from the pond, which itself was fine, as were the goldfish, despite the dramatic new pond-level. She put the hosepipe into the pond, thus temporarily contravening the regulations set by those who daily pollute our rivers and streams. Luke, the pond guy, turned up later. He found an excess of mud and dirt in the works, This was due, he said, to incorrect cleaning over a long period. He cleaned the pump thoroughly and then showed us how to do it properly. The crisis was over and we learnt yet another lesson from that most effective of all teachers, the Right Honourable Trial Nerra. The goldfish forgave us.
Yours in open source chronology,
Lionel