This is a blog about an ex-pat Brit with an Australian twang, rediscovering her homeland after 35 years abroad.
By now, the news of the Queen’s death will have reached every last corner of the world. There may be a village of pygmies in the Congo Basin who don’t know – and there are likely to be many republicans who don’t care. But overall, it’s a moment in history we will all remember.
It’s probably fair to say we’ve met a few interesting locals in Dennington, our Suffolk village. I don’t think there’s one that stands out, worthy of an entire blog post. But there’s certainly been a few that merit an honorable mention.
Our third official road trip took place at the beginning of June, which was weeks ago, I know. But I’ve had a good excuse – I’ve been in mourning. However, today I pulled on my big-girl pants, put the tissues away and I’m back. Onward ho!
As road trips go, this one came and went faster than a speeding train but, oh garçon, did we pack it in! For two straight days (et nuits) we ate, drank, walked, window shopped, walked, ate some more, drank and marché encore.
As you may recall, Russell and I made a New Year’s resolution to pack a bag and travel beyond the county borders of Suffolk at least once a month. We failed, spectacularly, straight out of the starting gates.
We have discovered the joys of ‘wintering’. It’s a no-brainer when you think about it. Winter is here. It’s real. There’s no avoiding it. So, we may as well enjoy it while it lasts.
Today is 2nd January 2022 and I have already blown my new year’s resolution. No, it doesn’t have anything to do with the leftover mince pie I had for dinner last night. It’s far worse. We haven’t done a road trip this month.
Vive La Difference! as they say in France. But we’re not in France, we’re in Blighty, the Old Dart. And for me, there shouldn’t be any differences. Coming home to England should be like shrugging on an old coat and knowing exactly where the pockets are. Except some of the pockets have moved.
“You’ll only do it once,” they said. Those wise sages who think they know everything about living in an English cottage built for our 16th-century ancestors who were, on average, 5’5″. They are of course referring to the inevitable – and painful – head meets beam scenario. They are wrong about only doing it once.