Biddy Days Out

Hello all. I hope you are well. I am coming to you this evening via the Boden Sale (only do-able at the very end when prices are their absolute lowest. The original prices just blow my mind.) Also, I am watching Alcaraz at Wimbledon. I like Alcaraz. Not in a lustful way. He just looks like a nice boy who is good to his mother. As if all this wasn't enough, we are currently living with the Ruckus Festival in Plymouth.  It's held at the local Rugby ground (too local actually - it's very noisy). They seem to have been doing sound checks for about three weeks. One evening, because I didn't know what the noise was, I set off on a walk because I was convinced the noise was a student with his window open, and I decided that he/she needed a piece of my mind. In the end, I was walking for a lot longer than expected, and ended up slightly lost, standing outside the local injuries unit and had to phone HOH to double-check the quickest way home. Over the last three evenings, we have been treated to heavy metal tribute groups, some bloke who was chucked out of Kasabian for abusing his girlfriend and a man who was in the Specials. I'll be honest, the noise is wearing a bit thin now.  

I had a couple of days off this week. One afternoon was spent in Plymouth's local art gallery - The Box.  I think it's called that because when it was opened, everything was unpacked from boxes. I know, but there you are. One bit was about surrealism. I don't think that I am cut out for surrealism. I can spend quite a long time wondering why someone has painted an owl upside down on top of a dead dog, and not come up with a satisfactory answer, so we went off in search of another room. There was an exhibition about the work of the artist Jyll Bradley. This was equally confusing, but very beautiful. Apparently, it was about adoption and queerness, but I think I missed that.  Still, it was lovely to look at - and she is obviously a genius. 

We also went to Lanhydrock House in Cornwall. I really like watching Hidden Treasures of the National Trust on BBC2. In fact, Gardeners' World, Hidden Treasures of the National Trust and a bijou whiskey and ginger (with frozen old bits of lemon because we are frugal) is my go-to Friday night right there. A couple of weeks ago, they showed the restoration of the ceiling in Lanhydrock House on Hidden Treasures, and we decided to get out the Sat Nav, take out a small mortgage for the Toll Bridge it's £3 to cross - lots of other bridges are free but this is a cute little tax on one of the poorest places in the country. Don't get me started. The place itself is absolutely enormous. You are driving along a winding lane, turn right and suddenly there is this enormous pathway leading up to the house and church. Actually, it's quite a long pathway. I was contemplating feigning a limp so that I could use the little disability bus, but HOH said that I should be ashamed of myself.  We bought our tickets (HOW MUCH?!) and had a wander round, trying to avoid the Trust volunteers who were in fancy dress. I'm afraid I cannot have a sensible conversation with a man in full Victorian livery  - especially if he keeps wanting to step into character. Much of the place is Victorian now, having been rebuilt after a fire in 1881, and it is impressive. The original owners were Puritans; apparently, this was reflected in the less opulent style of the building.  I think your less opulent and my less opulent are two different things. There must have been at least seven kitchens. Still, the owners seem to be what Aged Parent used to call "a good witness". They were caring and fair employers and were spoken of well. 

We had a look at the ceiling in the Long Gallery, which we had seen restored on the telly, and it was beautiful. It is a plaster relief of Old Testament scenes, it's Jacobean, and if there are unicorns and other unknown beasts with teeth rearing up at Jacob, I think it's best not to worry about accuracy too much. I have reached the age when, if I look up too quickly, I can come over a bit mazy, but it was definitely worth the risk.     

There is a tiny little church behind the house, which we wandered into. I love it when you go into these little churches and find that it is buzzing with details of work done in the community, and how they are a living church rather than just a historical building. Apparently, Bodmin is in the bottom 10% of the country, wealth-wise, and the church seems to be working hard to support people. We blindly emptied too much change into the collection box, only later remembering that we had to pay the bridge toll on the way back. (We counted it all out in 10ps and 5ps. It was fine. Eventually.)

We had a little wander around the shop and admired the Christmas cards. Actually, I'm quite forgiving of that because I suppose that people may only visit a National Trust property once or twice a year and, if they want to support a specific charity with their cards, this is the time to do it. I, however, am still too traumatised by all the Halloween stuff in B and M bargains at the moment to get involved in anything like that. 

We sat outside at the cafe, stroking random dogs and eating egg sandwiches. (Quite low on the mayo, National Trust, if you don't mind me saying) and I was reflecting on how I have turned into an old biddy. I remember dragging the kids to places like these - trying desperately to get some culture into them, and now I do it out of choice - in sensible shoes. What little coolness I possessed has drained away. I was never really cool, though. HOH was cool - not me. 

Thanks for reading this far while I mourn my not very adventurous youth. I am aware that old age is a gift, and I am grateful for it. Have a good week.