The heat has descended people.
It started well but has now turned into an oppressive mugginess that my mum would only describe as "close". Circumstances have been ideal for such a climactic experience - the main reason being that we have had a week off work. Yes, a whole week and it has been fabulous. Or even glorious. Yes, I'd even stretch to glorious.
It started with a trip to the flat lands of Norfolk, consisting of a visit to the parents with live music provided by man and his compadres avec too much Becks Vier. We also had the delight of hand made sandwiches and home grown veggies courtesy of my mother in law. Subway could learn a thing or two from her I tell you.
Creativity is running amok in this house of late. I've discovered a lovely little bead shop in Twickenham which I have driven past numerous times but never really paid much attention to.
This alone has been fueling my jewellery making efforts. Whilst at home my mother, ever the dab hand with a needle, transformed a sundress that didn't fit me into a fabulous new summer skirt. Now, I have made a matching necklace and earring set from wooden beads. I need to stop there with this particular ensemble - it's already on the verge of looking "prim". I've also made a purple charm bracelet, which I am firmly patting myself on the back for. I'll put some piccies up when I pluck up the courage to display my offerings.
Now then. Hastings. We visited this week on the usually sound advice of my mother in law. However, I suspect we must have missed something. For some reason unbeknown to us both, Kris and I were expecting a beach of soft golden sand. It wasn't soft or golden. It was pebbly, rocky and altogether uncomfortable. Weather conditions were ideal for random middle aged men to indulge in kite surfing, which in itself was mildly impressive but had an edge of oddness about it. It's like when you see old people kissing on TV. There's part of you that thinks "aaaaaawwww" but then the other part is just plain grossed out by it.
In fairness to Hastings, we didn't do any of the historical touristy stuff, mainly because it wasn't easy to find and it was also too darn hot. I did notice that the other road users were courteous though, that's always a bonus in my book.
I've been boxing twice this week. Count 'em. T-W-I-C-E.
We have also caught up with friends this week. The first encounter ended up being a pub crawl around Twickenham. This was entirely unintentional but we were on the hunt for food. The first pub we encountered was lovely. On the riverside, sunny day, as you can imagine everyone else in Twickenham and the surrounding area thought it was lovely too. I didn't fancy eating a meal on my lap, sat on the grass. I'm messy at the best of times but at least give me a fighting chance. The next pub should be reprimanded for false advertising. After a very lengthy decision making process, we asked to order food at the very reasonable time of 830pm, to be told that the kitchen had closed. To add to my rage, I discovered the signs outside the pub read "food served all day between 12pm - 9pm". Livid. And a bit drunk as I had sunk two pints on an empty tummy. Now, the next pub explains the title of this post. You see. Jon definitely knew of somewhere that would definitely be serving food now. Definitely. We would just need to pop ourselves on any one of five buses that would take us there. As we drove down the length of the high street and made a left hand turn Jon's face alone revealed that the plan hadn't been executed entirely correctly. He 'fessed up that he had picked the wrong bus but he knew of somewhere else enroute that also served food and was very good. He was not wrong. I had fish and chips. The fish came, not on a plate, but on a wooden board. The chips came, not on a plate or a wooden board, but in a metal bucket. The minted mushy peas came in an 'ickle pot. Oh my goodness me, it was absolutely delicious.
I'm pleased we got on the wrong bus.
