From beneath the strangest rock

Jenny's father drove up from Cornwall last weekend. Came a-visiting and broke his ankle. Not quite what he planned!

Still, cast in place, he's mobile on his crutches. Jenny invited me along to take him back home. Set off in the early dawn and despite the death of TWO spark plugs, she limped his car the long way home. Chatting along the way, I watched as he began to realise quite who his daughter had brought along. No credit card, (I prefer cash for the hurt!), rarely leave East Anglia, double bass playing, old car driving, vegetarian baker of pies. From beneath the strangest rock comes I.

Lovely, lovely day. Met the family, wandered the wiggly ways of Looe town, painted pretty with Jenny's reminiscing. Hugs goodbye, and off to Bodmin Moor with her sister (who was visibly surprised that I didn't resemble a rag n' bone man) for a moment. Or two. No more than that though, before we had to drive again, to Newquay airport.

Yes, I'd never flown. Always found it funny when people told me there's nothing to be scared of. Never crossed their mind that maybe, just maybe, I actually had no reason to ever fly before?

And now I have.

Sunny Sunday today - woke early, but eased s-l-o-w-l-y into the day. My turn to drive, Jenny and all our kids squeezed into the old Fordor A and did what I've been planning for months. Driving aimlessly around, no rush to nowhere. Tea rooms mid-morning, a wartime museum visit, stocking up on chutneys and fine foods at a farm shop, before a lazy drive to a late lunch at the Greyhound. Home and rest.

I'd like to say I've recorded the whole beautiful weekend in pictures. Guess I was just too relaxed to take my camera...