Picture the scene: middle of the afternoon on a scorching hot summer’s day in the heart of the English countryside. A ‘textbook’ country house hotel with lawns leading down from a terrace, conservatory and views out across the Surrey hills. A couple get up from a dinner table and walk out on to the terrace, leaving the others to finish the celebration lunch being held after the christening of a beautiful baby. He takes her hand and they wander down the lawn and look out over the fields. She sits down in the shade of a tree and he lies down next to her. The other guests finish lunch and come out onto the terrace for coffee. A small boy is encouraged to run down the lawn and over towards ‘Uncle Kenny and Auntie Ilona’, his arms outstretched. They scoop him up and invite him to join in their game of throwing pine cones into the neighbouring fields to attract the crows to come and decimate the farmer’s crop. Ah – so very nearly like something out of 4 weddings and a funeral, but thankfully, not quite so vomit-inducing!!!
Am still basking in the glow of a fabulous weekend, as I am sure you can tell! It was about as perfect as they come and all the more memorable as I enjoyed it so much without a single drop of alcohol. We stayed in a fantastic (and luxury) B&B, it was lovely to finally meet all K’s family, the day (including my reading) went without a hitch and we were home and on the sofa with the papers to chill on Sunday eve. I felt so at peace this morning, as if the joys of things had just started to come back to me, all without the aid of a glass (or 10!) of wine.
As we came home through Greenwich on the train yesterday at about 7pm, I had a flashback to an old life, the one I spent with an ex-boyfriend. I was picturing the scenario, had it been with him: down on the Saturday eve and over to the family for a meal. Insufferably boring conversation over dinner, so we would have made our excuses in order to hit the pub before bed time. We’d have woken with a hangover on the Saturday (on a good night – I daren’t imagine a bad one) and then ended up somehow being late for the service. Reading done and over to the reception, first thing I’d have grabbed was a drink. That would have sorted me for the afternoon, as it was flowing freely and then we’d have set off home about 5ish. On the way back we’d have reached Greenwich, bathed in sunshine and would have agreed to go for another one at a pub there as it was such a lovely eve. 1 bottle (conservative estimate) later and we’d have staggered home and woken on Monday wanting to eat a horse and smash the alarm clock.
That’s the absolute truth of it – no holds barred. Every single event of that kind that we attended, over the course of 5 years, ended messily and with regrets. A free bar would have made his eyes stand out on saucers and I’d have done my darnedest to keep up with his consumption. If ever I needed a reminder of what I am NOT missing, I sure as hell got it then. We had spent the weekend laughing non-stop, playing with the kiddies and catching up properly with people. Such a contrast and one I am ecstatic I can now make.
Am still basking in the glow of a fabulous weekend, as I am sure you can tell! It was about as perfect as they come and all the more memorable as I enjoyed it so much without a single drop of alcohol. We stayed in a fantastic (and luxury) B&B, it was lovely to finally meet all K’s family, the day (including my reading) went without a hitch and we were home and on the sofa with the papers to chill on Sunday eve. I felt so at peace this morning, as if the joys of things had just started to come back to me, all without the aid of a glass (or 10!) of wine.
As we came home through Greenwich on the train yesterday at about 7pm, I had a flashback to an old life, the one I spent with an ex-boyfriend. I was picturing the scenario, had it been with him: down on the Saturday eve and over to the family for a meal. Insufferably boring conversation over dinner, so we would have made our excuses in order to hit the pub before bed time. We’d have woken with a hangover on the Saturday (on a good night – I daren’t imagine a bad one) and then ended up somehow being late for the service. Reading done and over to the reception, first thing I’d have grabbed was a drink. That would have sorted me for the afternoon, as it was flowing freely and then we’d have set off home about 5ish. On the way back we’d have reached Greenwich, bathed in sunshine and would have agreed to go for another one at a pub there as it was such a lovely eve. 1 bottle (conservative estimate) later and we’d have staggered home and woken on Monday wanting to eat a horse and smash the alarm clock.
That’s the absolute truth of it – no holds barred. Every single event of that kind that we attended, over the course of 5 years, ended messily and with regrets. A free bar would have made his eyes stand out on saucers and I’d have done my darnedest to keep up with his consumption. If ever I needed a reminder of what I am NOT missing, I sure as hell got it then. We had spent the weekend laughing non-stop, playing with the kiddies and catching up properly with people. Such a contrast and one I am ecstatic I can now make.
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