Legends from our own lunchtimes

Monday, October 25, 2010


When day breaks with a temperature of minus four (feels like two) there's nothing better to begin it with, we've just discovered, than a tall glass of hot, freshly crushed apple juice infused with heaps of ginger.

Bristol was still asleep even in the mid-morning as we began to retrace our guided tour of last evening,  I suspect many were at once recovering from hypothermia and nursing rather large hangovers.  When we arrived at the gallery we had marked to "visit in the morning" we discovered that it sleeps all day every Monday.   In a sense that was a good thing as we really did need to head north and not dilly dally in town for as long as the visit may have taken.

Unwilling to drive for hours on the motorway, we skirted the Welsh border all afternoon seemingly without a purpose, weaving ever northwards, stopping only for slow moving vehicles and tea and cake at Ludlow Castle before meandering up the "B" roads to Broxton.

When we arrived at Barnhill House, Frank and Gil had been waiting patiently for our arrival with tea and cake at the ready on a silver tray. 

We never cease to be amazed at the sense we get every time we are with them, that it has only been yesterday since last we visited. A sort of timeless pall descends when we arrive and our conversations begin where we had left off a year ago.

Tonight, if we finish talking before sunrise, we shall sleep, as tomorrow they have plans.


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