Romantic Break

Even the birds struggled to stay aloft. My boot-shod feet slipped and squelched on the muddy, almost sheer slope, the wind whipping our words away as we climbed up a little-used track to the South Coastal Path. This was my romantic break, a treat and a reward for all the sometimes tough sailing during the summer.

We had booked a lovely B&B in a remote spot on the Dorset coast, overlooking the sea. There was crisp white linen on the king-sized bed, gorgeous, muted fabrics framing windows and covering cushions, antiques glowing in the soft light. So how did I find myself yet again battling the elements? The view from the top of the cliff was worth the climb, but in the end the Force 6 gale tearing into us became too much of an obstacle, so we abandoned our planned walk after a couple of miles, took a track inland sheltered from the elements, back to the farmhouse.

Later, changed and rested, we sat by a log fire in a lovely old heavily-beamed pub, drinking beer and eating home-made soup, reading the papers and letting the short November day drift away.

The next day, we took a different route along the coast, keeping closer to the beach, sheltered from the worst of the weather, had a coffee at an ancient smugglers' pub then spent time just sitting on the pebbly beach, watching the light playing on the sea and idly chatting. This was more what I had in mind and it was, in the end, a lovely relaxing break.

The Year Turns

After the recent stormy weather, it wasn't hard to fill the car boot with fallen branches to build a fire in the orchard. My son and I carved out pumpkin faces, threaded lanterns through the apple trees and borrowed bales of straw from a kind neighbour, scattered around the fire for seating. We put the stereo outside on a long extension lead, playing party music and waited for the guests to arrive.

There was a nail-biting hour or so, when it seemed no-one was going to come. My son kept smiling somehow as his friends phoned and texted, changing arrangements, re-making plans, but finally a friend arrived, then a couple more. An hour later, there were a couple of dozen young people gathered around the blazing fire, seemingly immune to the damp and cold, eating pizzas and hotdogs, drinking beers, chatting and laughing.

Much later, when everyone had left, I wandered around the dark, quiet garden, collecting whatever needed to come in straight away, leaving the rest 'til morning, stopping to gaze up at the clear, cold, starry night sky and enjoying the sense of peace and the pleasure of another successful gathering. Memories that I hope my son will carry with him when his life takes him away from this quiet corner of the countryside and into the wider world where he must make his own way.