Ahem,
During this interminably long month of heaving weather, our far south-east corner, ancestral home of the south Saxons, has led a charmed life, picking its way through and near the triple storms, snow, frosts, floods, driving rain, and sidewinding winds. For much of the month, charcoal clouds scudded with dark purpose across Birdineye Hill and beyond. Less actively, I managed a business lunch in Brighton at the Hotel Mercure, morning walks around fields and woods, shop visits, and evening meanders to the pub with Max, who was always game for a packet of crisps at the Alma and a sniff with Harvey, a local dog who guards the public bar but is easily persuaded to let you through with a treat. One evening, the small bar was crowded less by people than by dogs, including a squat British Bulldog, a Chihuahua, Harvey the 60-kilo Rottweiler, and Max the 25-kilo Hungarian Kuvasz. Predictably, most of the barking came from the smallest dog. But they all stood, sat, or lay their ground, proprietorially spreading themselves wide like goalkeepers facing a penalty.
Alli and I went to see Andrew and Fionnuala in their new home, which awaits months of unpacking, decoration, and renovation, and is uncannily similar to their last dwelling. Shalford is a leafy suburb of Guildford with a plausibly medieval village green bordered by gnarled woods and lush fields, a few shops, and a Thai restaurant. We took away and enjoyed a good Thai dinner after watching the film-of-the-moment Hamnet in a nearby cinema. I thought it was superb, but I confess that I had never previously caught (nor been shown) the connection between Hamlet the play and the playwright’s delayed grief about the death of his son. Such assessments were frowned on when I was studying Shakespearean tragedy. Something about the primacy of text over context. I obviously need to read more. We also played Skyjo, an addictive card game, and the Pickups’ dog Orla seems well, even lively. Max was given an ostrich bone, which has since become his new comfort toy. We were back in time to host Jaxon the Staffie while Jurrat and Jessie went for a day’s primp at a spa near East Grinstead to celebrate Jurrat’s birthday. Later in the month I spent a few hours dog-sitting with Maisie in Burgess Hill.
Once again, the end of the month found me working on what should have been a clear and easy tax return several months ago. However, it’s probably the most complete and accurate self-assessment I have ever made. Completed within four days of the deadline, it also benefitted from AI assistance, which smoothed my way through the many oddly-worded online instructions for self-assessment and some occasional arithmetic. The debtor’s prison awaits.
As I will be in Africa for much of next month, I wrote a couple more of my articles about the entrepreneurs and traders of Uckfield. Essentially, I interview an Uckfield shop owner or other entrepreneur, take photos, write 400 words, and get it publish in the mighty Uckfield Matters magazine, a free journal posted through 6,000 letterboxes monthly. I have been doing this for more than a year now and have written about the local art and picture framing shop, the flower shop, the gentleman’s outfitter, the hairdresser, the DIY store manager, the pet store manager, the pamper lounge, the town crier, the taxi driver, the pub landlord, the haberdasher, and the butcher. I could do a baker, but there is not a candlestick maker to be found. Next month’s article will be about the Timpson store in the Tesco car park, and after that, the ski and snowboard equipment shop. I have also printed out all 384 pages of the book I have been writing, and will soon be reading this draft through one last time.
And so, upon the last Saturday of the month, I did set forth, as is now my wont, to traverse the full length of Uckfield High Street, where, as ever, there was much to divert the mind. I took my coffee and did confer with a shopkeeper about a draft article, which pleased both her and me. After, I did peruse the charity shops and was fortunate to find two shirts of fine quality, which I bought for myself. Coming forth, I was much surprised to behold the town crier in all his finery and with voice full strong, proclaiming a matter of significance to the burghers of the street. It was the first time I had seen such a sight, and methought I was transported to the days of old, even as Samuel Pepys himself, amidst the bustle and hum of the town.
Our daughters and partners all came for a Sunday roast lunch, roast pork belly along with the trimmings and a banoffee pudding, which were pronounced delicious. Among the recent news was that Gwen has moved flat from Earlsfield to Brixton and is the proud owner of a ticket to see Harry Styles in London. She and I had a vegan meat loaf and pancakes. Alli and I then each fell asleep in our chairs (at different times) after the dishes were done. Then, for the second time in the month, I marvelled at brilliant acting, this time in The Night Manager.
And so to bed,
Lionel