I was talking to Dad around this time last year and he remarked upon what an easy life he had had; in terms of finding a good job for life, marrying and settling down and raising a family (albeit a rather large one) in a house provided for by the AERE. And the fact that, after mum died in 2009, how he continued to have a good life, what with the frequent family visits, some wonderful neighbours who couldn't have been more attentive to him and even getting some quality holidays in with the help of Marcia and myself (and his debit card!). In retrospect it feels like he knew the end was near and was taking stock, a bit like mum did before she died (see my previous blog entry). And even in death he had it easy - losing consciousness through a catastrophic stroke, he never felt a thing.
The reason I was dwelling on this was that I was thinking about my own life, what had been and where it was going (all good mid-life crisis stuff! Sigh). Although Dad had the struggle of bringing up six wilfully disparate children on a budget, he at least did have the good old heterosexual model template laid out for him. For me, while I came to terms with my sexuality early in life - and to be honest it was never an issue for me - there were still the external problems that I would have to tackle. I knew that at some point I would have to leave the safe confines of my bedroom (reluctantly!) and venture out into the real world if I was to live any kind of proper life. That meant coming out to my parents (scary), going out to gay places (scarier) - all obstacles that I knew I had to face but was incredibly daunting to my introverted self.
(I should note here that I was listening to Bronski Beat's Smalltown Boy when I was 16 and it was the lines "the answers you seek will never be found at home/the love that you need will never be found at home" that struck a depressingly terrifying chord with me. It took me another five years before I actually did anything about it.)
Even though it took me a while, confronting these challenges were ultimately worth it. Coming out to mother was difficult as her views on homosexuality at the time were influenced by the twin evils of The Sun and The Daily Mail. But through me being out she came to realise these views were wrong and became the most supportive and pro-gay mother going, even helping me through my first break-up trauma. (Eternally grateful to you for that, Mum). Venturing out into the gay scene (with the collective help of the Oxford Young Friend organisation) was a revelation and I felt like I had stepped through the looking glass into a new world.
From there my life exploded into new territory; out of control, exhilarating, heartbreaking... it was sheer madness for about a year and I felt like I was losing control of my identity, changing into some wild, wilful creature. My parents despaired - their little boy for so long was suddenly out on drunken binges, staying out all night without calling and indulging in god-knows-what. It was like cramming all the typical teenage stuff into one bonkers year.
But I tired of the scene very quickly and that was when Barry came along and I settled into my first long term relationship. Mum and Dad breathed a sigh of relief.
To return to the point of this entry however, I guess that Dad's phrase 'an easy life' is relative; while I had to face challenges that he never even had to entertain, I feel lucky that being gay has never been an issue for me. (Heck, I have more problems with the other things in life, like my general lack of direction and chronic disorganisation of my time!). Sure, I've had my share of homophobic abuse hurled at me by maladjusted trogs and probably will again, but it has never stopped me from declaring my true colours and through that I find that I am almost universally accepted for who I am.
Through being honest to myself, I have not adhered to the life model that Dad could easily slip into; but that itself has opened up wide scope for experiences and opportunities for living a different kind of life - challenging, exciting, scary stuff but there to be embraced.
All part of life's rich tupperware, as Julian Clary once said.
Sunday, 22 July 2012
Saturday, 7 July 2012
The Girl Who Liked
Just completed this poem. Enjoy.
THE GIRL WHO LIKED
THE GIRL WHO LIKED
Polly’s Pater perspired profusely,
And Mother her hands did wring,
Oh! Her parents despaired as their daughter declared
Her love for all natural things.
“Not for me, rampant industry!”
Polly trilled as she gazed distant hills.
“Not chimneys high, spilling forth to the sky
Foul outcome from the pounding of mills”.
“Those grunting heads, shining metallic spit
Shafts and cams in lifeless repetition,
Grinding motions relentless, boring into the bit”,
She expressed, striding into her mission.
“Putrid spills and stains! Ah, they do repel
When aggressively spewed from containers
By superior arrogant dominating vessels!”
Sang the wild, impassioned young campaigner.
“But”, she sighed “to run wild in meadows,
And lavish in lush valleys moist
With dew and trickling streams anew
With furtile life!” She voiced.
“So many cracks, crevices to explore
Slippy slopes, buried caverns and caves.
Such excitement aroused by prescient promise!
It is these expeditions I crave”.
“Wild-topped hillocks, where grasses flow pink and wild,
Naked nature, hot-flushed with sensation!
Sacrificing myself to her florid desire!”
Words sparked cold parental consternation.
So, with chains and bars, tight clamps and current
They sought to curtail her abandon
And drive her nature into recesses dark
To conform their young child to convention.
But...
It was far too late
Path led to the gate
Where her form atomised
Into bright butterflies
And guardians fears
Melted into tears
As offspring will be
Never as one can see.
© 2012 Lance Eggleton
Nine Go Mad at the V&A
Last Monday, eight colleagues from the IPO Designs registry and myself were unshackled from our desks and let out to roam - free and unchaperoned! - in the splendour of the V&A. This was on the proviso that we spend our time at the exhibition entitled 'British Design 1948 - 2012; Innovation in the Modern Age'. (Relevant to our job, see?). So at 8 o'clock we all bundled into the minibus, giggling and fighting over who gets to go on the back seat. Unfortunately, there were no rear windows so we couldn't wave our arses or make obscene gestures to the cars behind. No fun!
I'd been to the exhibition a few weeks back when I was staying over at Marcia and Paul's; they needed the car to go to Download in Donington and I used the opportunity to do all manner of cultural stuff in the capital. I was impressed with the exhibition and, because I wouldn't stop raving about it on return to the office, it was agreed on a works visit to check it out.
Given the limited space for such a huge topic, the exhibition could only really show the most iconic examples of design innovation since the Austerity Olympics in 1948. They ranged from the outlandish (fashion designs by Alexander McQueen) to the practical (the Worboys Committee on traffic road signs) and all that was in-between; architecture, furniture design, interior decorating, vehicles (they had an original mini there!!), album covers, film, fashion, photography, computers and computer games, pop videos, aviation... the breadth of exhibits was impressive. I can't really say there was one area that I was more impressed with over another - it was all good.
And yet the exhibition could only really provide an broadly superficial view of the topic, which left some of our group dissatisfied with it. But then it's eclecticism had to appeal to the public at large, which I guess is the whole point; to engage interest and, for those so inclined, to seek further information. For me, it struck a chord of how important design is to society for a whole slew of reasons - to boost the economy, to establish a national identity, etc - and how it is criminally neglected by the IPO in favour of such other forms of IP as patents and trade marks. All important too, of course (well, I'm not so sure about trade marks...) but design is equally if not more essential - after all, pretty much everything around us, from buildings to furniture to road layouts to the patterns on wallpaper, have been designed.
Still, that's for me to gripe on. Designs have always been a poor relative at the IPO and I don't think that is going to change anytime soon. If I had my way though...
Overall the day out of the office was very rewarding. After the exhibition we took lunch at the somewhat overcrowded (and overpriced!) cafe at the V&A and then spent the rest of the afternoon at the adjacent Natural History Museum where my enthusiastic colleague Rhys whisked me from department to department, not wanting to miss this opportunity to see everything the museum had! Ah, youth.
And then back to Newport. Bev and I took the opportunity to discuss all matters literary on the journey home, which has given me the impetus to start writing again. Bless you, fine lady.
Trying to see if I can swing a week going round art galleries next...
I'd been to the exhibition a few weeks back when I was staying over at Marcia and Paul's; they needed the car to go to Download in Donington and I used the opportunity to do all manner of cultural stuff in the capital. I was impressed with the exhibition and, because I wouldn't stop raving about it on return to the office, it was agreed on a works visit to check it out.
Given the limited space for such a huge topic, the exhibition could only really show the most iconic examples of design innovation since the Austerity Olympics in 1948. They ranged from the outlandish (fashion designs by Alexander McQueen) to the practical (the Worboys Committee on traffic road signs) and all that was in-between; architecture, furniture design, interior decorating, vehicles (they had an original mini there!!), album covers, film, fashion, photography, computers and computer games, pop videos, aviation... the breadth of exhibits was impressive. I can't really say there was one area that I was more impressed with over another - it was all good.
And yet the exhibition could only really provide an broadly superficial view of the topic, which left some of our group dissatisfied with it. But then it's eclecticism had to appeal to the public at large, which I guess is the whole point; to engage interest and, for those so inclined, to seek further information. For me, it struck a chord of how important design is to society for a whole slew of reasons - to boost the economy, to establish a national identity, etc - and how it is criminally neglected by the IPO in favour of such other forms of IP as patents and trade marks. All important too, of course (well, I'm not so sure about trade marks...) but design is equally if not more essential - after all, pretty much everything around us, from buildings to furniture to road layouts to the patterns on wallpaper, have been designed.
Still, that's for me to gripe on. Designs have always been a poor relative at the IPO and I don't think that is going to change anytime soon. If I had my way though...
Overall the day out of the office was very rewarding. After the exhibition we took lunch at the somewhat overcrowded (and overpriced!) cafe at the V&A and then spent the rest of the afternoon at the adjacent Natural History Museum where my enthusiastic colleague Rhys whisked me from department to department, not wanting to miss this opportunity to see everything the museum had! Ah, youth.
And then back to Newport. Bev and I took the opportunity to discuss all matters literary on the journey home, which has given me the impetus to start writing again. Bless you, fine lady.
Trying to see if I can swing a week going round art galleries next...
Saturday, 30 June 2012
In The City, The Country
I have to shamefully admit that, having previously lived in Oxford for 20-odd years, I never once ventured into any of the 38 or so colleges there. Not that they'd let me in of course (not without wads of cash anyway) but certain ones are open to the public so they, you know, can see how the privileged half study.
You see Oxford, for me, was just the big place up the A34 from Abingdon; the place where the massive Woolworths with the big clock was and with the dodgy Westgate mall with drunks hanging round it all the time. The Woolworth store is now a distant memory (on the site where the Clarendon Centre now resides) and the Westgate has been tidied up considerably since. I don't know where they relocated the drunks to. Abingdon, presumably.
So, my sister Marcia and I decided on a trip to the homeland last weekend, partners in tow. We first nipped to Radley to visit our brother Kevin (and Sue, dad's old lurcher cross - still in good health). Then it was to Oxford, to wander round one of the oldest and best known colleges in the city; Magdalen.
(In case you're wondering, the pronunciation is 'Maudlin', not the phonetic 'Mag-dal-en' as I was calling it for years. So now you know.)
The college was founded in 1458 by William Waynflete, Bishop of Winchester and Lord Chancellor of England, and currently has about six hundred students under its collective roofs. We didn't get to see many academics - this being a saturday, they were probably all hungover. But we did get to marvel at the beautiful architecture, courtyards, lawns and a glorious chapel with stunning stained glass windows.
And as we were larking about by the New Building (where Betjeman and CS Lewis had rooms, don'tcha know) we saw a sudden dayglo mass heading towards us. Tourists! Eeek! Run away!! Fast!!! So we made a swift escape, past the Deer Park, to the tranquility of Addison's Walk alongside the water meadow. And as the din of accents and camera clicks subsided, we found ourselves out in the countryside. Or at least it felt like it; the boundaries of the college are so large that it is impossible to imagine you are still actually in a city.
The walk took us along the banks of the River Cherwell, where we stopped on a bridge to play pooh sticks. This took a while; the strange, irregular currents of the water took the sticks everywhere but under the bridge. I think mine eventually made it - Stu's on the other hand got caught in an eddy and pirouetted off in another direction entirely.
From there it was back to the main buildings for a peruse of the beautiful chapel and then a wander back down the High Street to The Vaults & Garden Cafe at University Church of St Marys. We'd been to this wonderful little place before, tucked away under the church with white, high-vaulted ceilings, mismatched furniture and a wonderfully eclectic menu. Paul, Stu and I had a rather lovely chickpea and vegetable tagine, Marcia the chicken risotto; all delicious. And we sat, supped tea and chatted like academics (although not on academic subjects, mind!) until it was time to go in our opposite directions - Stu and I to Cardiff, Marcia and Paul London-bound.
So, while I wouldn't want to move back to Oxford (and couldn't afford to anyway, as the property is so bastard expensive there) I can see myself heading back there more frequently to discover more of what was on my doorstep for all those years. Oh no... I've become a tourist!!
Here be pics.
The walk took us along the banks of the River Cherwell, where we stopped on a bridge to play pooh sticks. This took a while; the strange, irregular currents of the water took the sticks everywhere but under the bridge. I think mine eventually made it - Stu's on the other hand got caught in an eddy and pirouetted off in another direction entirely.
From there it was back to the main buildings for a peruse of the beautiful chapel and then a wander back down the High Street to The Vaults & Garden Cafe at University Church of St Marys. We'd been to this wonderful little place before, tucked away under the church with white, high-vaulted ceilings, mismatched furniture and a wonderfully eclectic menu. Paul, Stu and I had a rather lovely chickpea and vegetable tagine, Marcia the chicken risotto; all delicious. And we sat, supped tea and chatted like academics (although not on academic subjects, mind!) until it was time to go in our opposite directions - Stu and I to Cardiff, Marcia and Paul London-bound.
So, while I wouldn't want to move back to Oxford (and couldn't afford to anyway, as the property is so bastard expensive there) I can see myself heading back there more frequently to discover more of what was on my doorstep for all those years. Oh no... I've become a tourist!!
Here be pics.
Wednesday, 13 June 2012
Out In The Open
You've heard the phrase 'camper than a row of tents', right?
Well the place where Stu and I (plus three small dogs) decided to pitch our canvas a fortnight ago, it wasn't just the tents that were camp - the whole place was. A camp campsite if you will.
I'm talking about a wonderful place called Out In The Open, located just outside the small town of Porkellis in western Cornwall (between Helston and Falmouth). The former farm-turned-campsite is run by two fantastic women, Cath and Dee, who opened it primarily for the solar eclipse back in 1999. It proved so popular they now run it now as a campsite for gay people - one of the first to ever be opened in the UK I should imagine.
The journey from Cardiff to Cornwall took four hours plus, so I was a little frazzled by the time we drove up an extremely narrow and bumpy track (literally the width of the car) to access the site. Once there, we were welcomed by Cath who, taking a break from cleaning the toilets, gave us a thorough tour of the site and its amenities.
Cath and Dee keep the place spotlessly clean and they operate the most impressive recycling system for used items. The camping field is large and, as numbers of people at a time are limited, there is plentiful space between pitches. There is even a separate field kept free for the dogs to roam in - which our little trio did to their hearts content. And the girls have also utilised the existing farm structures there; for example an old barn is now been a meeting area for campers during the evening, with tables, chairs, electrical points and coloured lights... however, it does have a strict 11pm kicking out time! As we found out...
The campsite proved perfect for us - not only in terms of peace and quiet, (and, of course, a place where we could just be ourselves as gay people) but also gave us easy access to places of interest in Cornwall. We visited the wonderful Trebah Gardens with it's huge gunnera plants and impressive ranges of bamboos, the truly amazing Cornish Seal Sanctuary near Gweek (Stu's favourite place), the beautiful little harbour town of Mousehole (promouned Mouse-zul, or something like that) and a visit to Tate St Ives (my favourite place!) where there was an exhibition of the work of American artist Alex Katz. Oh, and on our last night we treated ourselves to a fish and chip dinner at Rick Stein's place in Falmouth. Oooh, get us!
However, one of the best things about staying at Out In The Open was the wonderful people we encountered there. We met two lovely couples - Angela and Natalie, Gary and Paul - who we spent an evening chatting to and drinking with in the barn, a couple of northern lasses who were staying in the tipi and a collective of campers who had set up their various tents around a large gazebo with rainbow lighting inside it. And a mirrorball, of course.
One of the more eccentric aspects of the site was the rather large number of Barbie and Ken/Action Man dolls that populated communal areas. It was a lovely touch and the source of much amusement for many. By this I mean every morning when we went to the shower block we were usually met by the five action men in the sink areas in increasingly imaginative intimate positions. Quite extraordinary. And inspiring.
Anyway... here is a link to the site's, er, site. Pics to follow.
Well the place where Stu and I (plus three small dogs) decided to pitch our canvas a fortnight ago, it wasn't just the tents that were camp - the whole place was. A camp campsite if you will.
I'm talking about a wonderful place called Out In The Open, located just outside the small town of Porkellis in western Cornwall (between Helston and Falmouth). The former farm-turned-campsite is run by two fantastic women, Cath and Dee, who opened it primarily for the solar eclipse back in 1999. It proved so popular they now run it now as a campsite for gay people - one of the first to ever be opened in the UK I should imagine.
The journey from Cardiff to Cornwall took four hours plus, so I was a little frazzled by the time we drove up an extremely narrow and bumpy track (literally the width of the car) to access the site. Once there, we were welcomed by Cath who, taking a break from cleaning the toilets, gave us a thorough tour of the site and its amenities.
Cath and Dee keep the place spotlessly clean and they operate the most impressive recycling system for used items. The camping field is large and, as numbers of people at a time are limited, there is plentiful space between pitches. There is even a separate field kept free for the dogs to roam in - which our little trio did to their hearts content. And the girls have also utilised the existing farm structures there; for example an old barn is now been a meeting area for campers during the evening, with tables, chairs, electrical points and coloured lights... however, it does have a strict 11pm kicking out time! As we found out...
The campsite proved perfect for us - not only in terms of peace and quiet, (and, of course, a place where we could just be ourselves as gay people) but also gave us easy access to places of interest in Cornwall. We visited the wonderful Trebah Gardens with it's huge gunnera plants and impressive ranges of bamboos, the truly amazing Cornish Seal Sanctuary near Gweek (Stu's favourite place), the beautiful little harbour town of Mousehole (promouned Mouse-zul, or something like that) and a visit to Tate St Ives (my favourite place!) where there was an exhibition of the work of American artist Alex Katz. Oh, and on our last night we treated ourselves to a fish and chip dinner at Rick Stein's place in Falmouth. Oooh, get us!
However, one of the best things about staying at Out In The Open was the wonderful people we encountered there. We met two lovely couples - Angela and Natalie, Gary and Paul - who we spent an evening chatting to and drinking with in the barn, a couple of northern lasses who were staying in the tipi and a collective of campers who had set up their various tents around a large gazebo with rainbow lighting inside it. And a mirrorball, of course.
One of the more eccentric aspects of the site was the rather large number of Barbie and Ken/Action Man dolls that populated communal areas. It was a lovely touch and the source of much amusement for many. By this I mean every morning when we went to the shower block we were usually met by the five action men in the sink areas in increasingly imaginative intimate positions. Quite extraordinary. And inspiring.
Anyway... here is a link to the site's, er, site. Pics to follow.
The Stair
A bit of poetry for you.
THE STAIR
“I trust your intentions are true” she said,
As she climbed at the top of the stair.
“Of course,” I replied “My heart is pure”
Yet beguiled by her presence, so demure
My countenance smiling to reassure
Base feelings lay hidden with care.
“How nice to receive you again” she said,
As she climbed to the top of the stair.
And, as before, to the click of the clock
Her figure ahead I began to take stock
And catching my eye, legs under her frock
Where stockings once were, now were bare.
“You’ve kept me waiting too long!” she cried,
As she rushed to the top of the stair.
Ascending the planks with a feverish speed,
Our bodies propelled through our urgent need
To mingle and fall, inhibitions freed
By a mutual passion to share.
“Alas - he has returned!” she wailed,
As she clung to the top of the stair.
Dumfounded I gaze up into her face,
Tear-stained, confused yet still full of grace
Her spouse now returned to inhabit the space
We conducted our little affair.
“I’ve had such a lovely time” she said
Smiling down from the top of the stair.
And I turn one last time to face the front door
I’d become to know so well but no more
Would I see it or she that I’d come to adore
My body now ached with despair.
© 2012 Lance Eggleton
© 2012 Lance Eggleton
Friday, 6 April 2012
Brake. Read. Chill.
Good Friday 2012.
I've been going out of my skull a bit recently and it's only now that I have realised the extent of how stressed I was. Last week was pretty demanding, physically and emotionally. Physically because not only did I do a gym session on Monday, but also badminton with Beverley on Wednesday, tap on Thursday and a wonderful hike around Clydach Gorge on Sunday - five hours of walking, but it was so worth it. (And gave me ample opportunity for photography!).
Emotionally because of ongoing sagas concerning the sale of dad's house. (Don't get me started...) In fact last Friday afternoon was just one exhausting exchange of phone calls, emails etc, trying to sort a problem that has arisen with the property. Luckily, I had already arranged with my friend Jonathan for some reiki and crystal therapy that evening, and man, was it never more needed. With the amount of fraught energy that was emitting from my being that evening, I'm surprised the crystals didn't spontaneously shatter from absorbing it all. But the evening put me back on track again; the therapy combined with the company of Jonathan (who has been a good friend since I met him in 2000) calmed my soul.
[and I believe it's worth plugging his website again here - Greenfield Therapy]
But this week I've been on a bit of a downer - apart from Monday when my friend Kath and I went for afternoon tea at The Washington Gallery in Penarth; what a lark that was! (And great to catch up with her too - we only really get to see each other about once a year).
Aside from this, I found myself unable to focus properly apart from on immediate mundane activities (such as work - ugh). I felt bereft of creativity and the more I dwelt on this, the more frustrated I became. There was a nagging feeling that things needed to be done, accomplishments to be made, preciously life slipping away unlived. Basically my mind was a mess and had to be silenced with large quantities of cheap vodka. That only worked to a certain extent - next day I'd be back to square one, accompanied by an alcohol-induced pain ripping through my head.
What was to be done? Only one thing for it really - to put the brakes on. And chill out.
So that it's what I am doing today - putting some time aside for myself. As the landlord is in Vietnam for the fortnight, the house in Roath is quiet and I have it all to myself. So I have ensconced myself in the bright conservatory, overlooking the small secluded garden, and settled in to do nothing but read all day. I'm currently engrossed in Anne Rice's pulpy but enjoyable 'The Wolf Gift', with the strains of Rameau's harpsichord music gently tinkering in the background. And it is working - I feel more relaxed and at ease than I have done for what seems like forever. I've stopped worrying about the creative hiatus - that will follow when it is ready.
So the moral is - whenever you're stressed out, put the brakes and take some time out. With a good book, it seems. Or not so good - heck, any book as long as it's engrossing.
My only concession to the above is taking the time out to write this. And to have a Fray Bentos Chicken and Mushroom pie for lunch. But then it's back to The Wolf Gift....
Oh and here is the Afternoon Tea that Kath and I partook of.... classy, aint we!
I've been going out of my skull a bit recently and it's only now that I have realised the extent of how stressed I was. Last week was pretty demanding, physically and emotionally. Physically because not only did I do a gym session on Monday, but also badminton with Beverley on Wednesday, tap on Thursday and a wonderful hike around Clydach Gorge on Sunday - five hours of walking, but it was so worth it. (And gave me ample opportunity for photography!).
Emotionally because of ongoing sagas concerning the sale of dad's house. (Don't get me started...) In fact last Friday afternoon was just one exhausting exchange of phone calls, emails etc, trying to sort a problem that has arisen with the property. Luckily, I had already arranged with my friend Jonathan for some reiki and crystal therapy that evening, and man, was it never more needed. With the amount of fraught energy that was emitting from my being that evening, I'm surprised the crystals didn't spontaneously shatter from absorbing it all. But the evening put me back on track again; the therapy combined with the company of Jonathan (who has been a good friend since I met him in 2000) calmed my soul.
[and I believe it's worth plugging his website again here - Greenfield Therapy]
But this week I've been on a bit of a downer - apart from Monday when my friend Kath and I went for afternoon tea at The Washington Gallery in Penarth; what a lark that was! (And great to catch up with her too - we only really get to see each other about once a year).
Aside from this, I found myself unable to focus properly apart from on immediate mundane activities (such as work - ugh). I felt bereft of creativity and the more I dwelt on this, the more frustrated I became. There was a nagging feeling that things needed to be done, accomplishments to be made, preciously life slipping away unlived. Basically my mind was a mess and had to be silenced with large quantities of cheap vodka. That only worked to a certain extent - next day I'd be back to square one, accompanied by an alcohol-induced pain ripping through my head.
What was to be done? Only one thing for it really - to put the brakes on. And chill out.
So that it's what I am doing today - putting some time aside for myself. As the landlord is in Vietnam for the fortnight, the house in Roath is quiet and I have it all to myself. So I have ensconced myself in the bright conservatory, overlooking the small secluded garden, and settled in to do nothing but read all day. I'm currently engrossed in Anne Rice's pulpy but enjoyable 'The Wolf Gift', with the strains of Rameau's harpsichord music gently tinkering in the background. And it is working - I feel more relaxed and at ease than I have done for what seems like forever. I've stopped worrying about the creative hiatus - that will follow when it is ready.
So the moral is - whenever you're stressed out, put the brakes and take some time out. With a good book, it seems. Or not so good - heck, any book as long as it's engrossing.
My only concession to the above is taking the time out to write this. And to have a Fray Bentos Chicken and Mushroom pie for lunch. But then it's back to The Wolf Gift....
Oh and here is the Afternoon Tea that Kath and I partook of.... classy, aint we!
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