Last time a visit to the capital was required, my old case (no wheels) felt like lugging a wet bale of hay along the platform as all around seemed to speed jauntily past on the end of those pull-out handles.
There were three generations of us for the latest trip, the oldest having said she wouldn’t go anywhere with me again unless my luggage was updated.
With all the pony bereavements we’ve had recently, I was apprehensive in the theatre as the curtain went up, about how the youngest member of the party would react to the harrowing cavalry-charge scenes.
Thankfully, she loved it and we all sat mesmerised at the wonderful puppetry. It didn’t take long to forget that the stars of the show – Joey and Topthorn – weren’t real horses. Every twitch of the ear and flick of the fetlock was so lifelike.
We would really recommend it, although perhaps it’s a good idea to balance it – as we did – with something more lighthearted the following day.
Washing seems to have filled these first few days back home. A brightly coloured new mac had been bought for the trip (the old Puffa jacket would have been mafting) and it certainly made its mark – not on the city’s fashion scene, but on everything worn beneath it.
Since our return, with the clothes finally rid of their temporary tint and pegged out on the washing-line to dry, there’s been a definite feel of spring in the area.
There’s already been the annual battle to get the year’s first Jersey Royal potatoes on the shelves. Marks & Spencer claim to have won, with its supplier delivering a month earlier than last year.
These very first ones are about the only potatoes that tickle my tastebuds. In contrast, the Husband loves all spuds. He talks fondly of growing them as a young boy, then cooking and eating them with nothing else but a bit of butter. I think it would be more like crab sandwiches than potatoes but, whatever we chose from the menu, here’s a little funny to finish on.
If you ever go in the pub at Sandsend, raise a glass to the redhead who waved a flamboyant goodbye and then walked straight into a cupboard. It happened quite a while ago now, but it came out in conversation with a friend, and she’s been badgering me to mention it.
She says she still bursts into spontaneous laughter at the thought of it. In mitigation, can I say that the cupboard door looks very similar to, and is positioned near, the one for the exit. Thank goodness it was just me; no suitcase on wheels to reverse out …