I haven't updated in nigh on two weeks because, frankly, I haven't felt like it. Not that interesting things have failed to happen, but since these are primarily the recollections I choose to share, I need to push myself sometimes to place a blog. I was never nromally one for diaries.
On Thursday week gone by (6th August), we celebrated my grandfather's 80th birthday (and my mother's 54th). For this occasion, we all decamped to Surrey, to one of those hotels that high-powered comapny or BBC executives often have brain-storming weekends away at. Alexander House (for that was its name) even had a helipad in the grounds. Near East Grinstead - the terminus from which Uncle Paul, accompanied by son Joseph, transported in his car to the location - the area was described as the source of the River Medway, where some boggy ground began the long descent. The coincidences were piling up.
Almost the entire family had gathered and this caused plenty of the men to be angling for names to fish out of conversations with distant, related acquaintances, ntoably with regard to children. Jospeh, 12, was roughly the same age that I had last seen Alan - now a full-grown man with a course in marine engineering under his belt.
After some chit-chat and delivery of presents, we engaged in mass photo shoots before heading inside to be served a sumptuous set two-course lunch revolving around a chicken and potato mash dish for main and lemon tart (which was very tart but still tasty) for dessert. Uncle Paul took to hawking his pudding around the tables since he found it far too rich. After the late lunch (coming at around 2pm), we again went outside to enjoy the hottest day of the year to that date. Uncle Paul was being Competitve Dad with his son, Joe, over croquet even stooping to cheating and he still lost! Mind, playing croquet on a slope didn't seem ideal for any player. Then we returned inside for some cake and speeches of reminisces.
The presents from Altaa and I were plum jam (from the Plumbs) bought from the Whitstable festival and a framed photo of us when we were in Monfolia. That was for Grandad Bryan and for Mum (who we see more often) we got a Debenhams gift voucher. It was a lovely outing. Once back at East Grinstead, the weather finally gave in to the humidity and light rain was the outcome, so we had also pitched the right time to leave the party. Despite the protestations of the electronic board, the train back to London Victoria (to go back out of again home) was on the same platform as we had arrived on and only the driver leaning out of a window informed us that the train was just being put into reverse.
It was good that so many of us were gathered there that day because two days later Great-uncle Geoffrey died two days later, aged 76. He had been unwell for a long time, but at least we all got to see him in good spirits just before he went.