Weekend in the Country

And so to a well-timed weekend down south with Helen - perfectly slotted in between weekends in Ireland, and a history festival too.. Lordy, it's years since I was last at one of these! So I booked my train, and we were set.

Except, of course, that I was late leaving the office on Friday.. and boy, did I do my damnedest to make the train I'd intended! Northern Line was the fastest, and indeed, I did make Waterloo pretty much in time. Except I still had to pick up my ticket.. (damn them and their printable tickets!). Of course, by the time I'd done that, my train had left the station, and I had half an hour till the next one. Mind you, it did give me time to buy a bottle of water -just. And happily, my ticket was valid at any time.

A drowsy and peaceful trip to Milford, a valiant heave to get my case off the upper shelf, and Helen kindly helped me down the steps of the footbridge wth it. Handy how you don't need a ticket to access the platforms, here. A short drive to her home, where her ever-obliging husband was waiting with a fish n chip takeaway that we'd agreed on before I arrived. Well, as it happened, it was National Fish and Chip Day - go figure. (Who decides these things?)

The focal point of my visit was the annual Living History Festival at the Weald & Downland Living Museum - something funny happened when I was trying to print out the pdf brochure she'd sent me the link to, but I did manage to glean that it was on for two days - Saturday and Sunday - so we had a choice of when to go, and decided on Sunday, when there was supposed to be some extra stuff on. Which left us free, on Saturday, to go to Godalming (the "a" isn't pronounced), where there was a festival, and a pirate parade!

So, out we set in time for the parade. It was such a hot and sunny day (albeit cold in the shade, or when the wind blew) that we were glad we hadn't gone to the history festival that day. And it was lovely to see a good turnout of pirates, arr..!

More photos here. Afterwards, lunch beckoned, and we were tastily fed in Piazza Firenze. Simple decor and friendly service, the garlic pizza bread was dripping in sauce, and I really have to recommend the chicken in mushroom sauce, which was lovely and tender. And after that, we headed down to the park, where they had set up a number of stalls, which we meandered through - in the heat - until we decided we'd had enough, and called our chauffeur to come pick us up.

After a relaxed afternoon watching How to Train Your Dragon (a very decent film), hiding from the heat, and talking to the cats, we headed out for dinner in the evening - courtesy of Helen's husband, whose sister's birthday it was. And given the slow service we'd had before in the place nearby, this time we plumped for The Golden Fleece - a pub / Thai restaurant. A table had been booked, and we were shown into a Regency-style room, high ceiling, large bay windows, large tables: plenty of space all round. They have set, mixed menus for two three, or four: we preferred the menu for two to that for four, so ordered two of those. A high, brassy serving dish held a mix of starters - spicy fishcakes, prawn crackers, spring rolls, etc. - and of the mains, I have to say the pad thai was my favourite: as delicious as I've had. The meal finished - for Helen and me, anyway - with delectable desserts; she had an apparently very lemony tartufo filled with limoncello, I had the lightest, fluffiest chocolate cake I've had in an age, plenty of fudge icing. Highly recommended.

Phew! And so, on to Sunday, and we left nice and early (as Helen remarked, before most people were up), for the longish, winding drive, through posh villages with red brick homes and Conservative posters, to the environs of Chichester, and the Living Museum. Well, they had an official carpark (we were in the first row of the overflow), and a veritable army of people to direct traffic! One guy really got into it, waving his arm like a windmill. We parked, we headed for the entrance marquee, we paid (and got a decent, printed brochure of events).

I just love these - all the different periods of history at a glance, bumping into each other as the make their way around a large field. After Helen had used the portaloos (complete with dinky, portable washbasin), we passed the WW1/2 camp, heading for the arena, where the day's main events were held. The place was awash with families, children, and doggies - and I got a little black dachshund licking my foot, until mummy saw him and berated her kids for not watching him properly, taking over herself.

We had Saxons:

We had a few, rather rag-tag Civil War Royalists:

We had, of course, 20th century soldiers:

 

And we had oh, so many mediaeval characters, whose displays culminated in the joust:

More photos here. Other highlights included the Saxon long house, up a leafy path at the side of the hill and hidden in the trees, where we sat on benches as a storyteller regaled us with a declamation in Old English, and we could have been back in the ninth century. Except, perhaps, for the periodic booming of cannons, further down the hill. There was the 19th-century drunk, who spent a good portion of the day asleep in the town trough in the village. And there was a lone centurion, lost among people so much more modern than he was.

The day alternated between roasting and freezing - coats on, coats off - and the music that was supposed to take place that day never materialised. But we had the most excellent time - and were worn out by the end. Lunch was from the organic burger stall, and dinner that evening was chez Helen, courtesy of her again obliging husband. Truly, I had a terrific weekend, and it was great to see her, and for a couple of days on the trot. A chilly wait for the delayed train to take me back to London, and I'd intended to take a bus from the station. But it was late when I got there, and my phone - which I'd have needed to guide me - was nearly dead. So, Tube it was, a shower, and bed.

Tonight, I'm back to Soho Theatre with the Crick Crack Club, for something called The Frog Princess - Punked. Ben Haggerty, the mc and co-founder of the club, told us the other night that there's going to be a full punk band - goodness, who would've thought that Sally Pomme Clayton had a hidden punk side! And the theatre was kind enough to both ring and email me, just to make sure I got the news that it's been moved to the basement. Goodee, fewer steps! Oh, and we have a new company CEO, who's visiting the London office at some stage today: so, drinks beforehand, at Barrio Soho. Five minutes' walk from the theatre; I should be fine, especially as it's now at a later time.

Tomorrow, I'm with the London European Club, to see the Images Ballet Company at the Arts Depot.


And Wednesday, at the moment, looks like a film. But I can tell you this: despite its high rating, and one of our group being an extra in it, I don't think it'll be Wonder Woman. Watch this space..!