From time to time you stop on the roller-coaster of day-to-day life and think to yourself: how can time be spinning so fast? I suppose, really, there are only 52 weeks in a year, and a week seems to go pretty quickly, which is perhaps why 50 instant moments don’t take so long to pass; but I’m suddenly feeling the turn of the seasons faster than ever before.
We had Monica staying in Dorset. Charlie and Mo came down early. For various reasons I missed the Annual General Meeting of the Village Social Club on Friday night. I was still on the train coming down from Norfolk when the vote for next year’s committee took place. Never miss Village committee meetings. In absentia, I’ve been voted in as Chairman of the social club all over again. There is a moral in this tale – always turn up.
Saturday was a drizzly wet day as we pottered around Bridport, but in the afternoon the clouds cleared and we we went for a beautiful walk in the softest late November afternoon; damp, incredibly mild. Everything is still growing in the garden, and I’m noticing spring bulbs coming up already (periwinkles in flower on the bank already).
The hills were a lucid grey-green.
A great burst of late afternoon sunshine turned the fields vivid green.
I love these hills and woods.
Saturday evening was quiet, but we somehow managed to wake up feeling nicely hungover. Charlie got up very early to bake a cake for the tea & coffee in the village hall, after church this morning. Ginger loaf. Crazy. You see what I mean?
It went down very well.
We caught up with some great neighbours and then it was time to head to Hive Beach Café to meet Jane and Johnny, and my godson Gabriel and his new baby sister Flo. Here is Flo and Mo:
and here is Flo, and Charlie, equally fascinated with one another. I don’t blame either of them, of course.
Gabriel in a rare moment of quietly getting on with a bit of writing in his notebook:
We had a brilliant, delicious lunch. It’s really once of the best places on the coast. And then we had a lovely walk on the beach in the late afternoon. The sky was an extraordinary colour.
I love Hive Beach.
Gabriel may have been contemplating what would happen if he pushed Florence all the way into the sea.
But then abandoned the idea.
And at this point the sun suddenly broke through the clouds,
Not until Gabriel and I got completely soaked.
The honey coloured cliffs were the most beautiful golden colour.
Not everyone approves of the blog.
But everyone loves Hive Beach.
Back to the Parsonage for tea and cake by the fire, and to dry off.
Monica’s on the train back to London; we’re having the quietest evening ever down in Dorset, and I’m quietly wondering where the year has gone already. Goodbye, November. It’s strange to think that in a week or few, we’ll be galloping in to Christmas. I know that we all ought to be thinking about it already, but can we have a little while longer to think about that? It’s been a roller coaster year, and I want to savour every moment.
For American readers of the blog, have a very very Happy Thanksgiving on Thursday. And can I make one of my intermittent apologies, that I don’t seem to have time very often at the moment to reply to comments on the blog. But I love reading them, and I think so do a lot of people. Thank you again for those who take part.
