Back from the Shire

Well, that was nice. There were marquees in the garden, and a positively Hobbiton ambience created by crazy amounts of food, drink and sunshine. As well as prep starting the day before, we did a lot of waiting and washing up, continual activity being the only way I could stop myself from launching into wildcat attacks on Conservative voters in the crowd, i.e all of them.

Contrary to my expectations politics was mostly avoided, though R's dad couldn't help himself on occasion; at one memorable point he said, 'when we had our holiday in Scotland it was quite a backwards country. Has it changed in 50 years?' He is, of course, one of those forward thinking characters who voted for Brexit and always votes Tory. I didn't need to remonstrate because R challenged him straight away, but bloody hell. Just goes to show what decades of reading nothing but the Telegraph can do.

But generally, all was cheerful, the gentleman himself included. After the prep, celebration, and clear up, my tendency was to do absolutely nothing. One day R and I went to Castle Drogo, and failed to bother with the castle or the gardens, instead walking along the Teign Gorge down to an inn where we sat and watched kids and dogs play in the river. If the In-Laws live close to Bag End, the land around Drogo is definitely the very edge of Buckland, bordering the Old Forest. Unlucky you could well bump into Old Man Willow here, truly cursed you might find yourself facing Tom Bombadil and his army of terrible lyrics.

But you know somehow it would be OK. Because it's all beautiful.



Returning, we have brought back a niece at the same time as an old friend joined us. We talked and ate good food, drank a lot of beer, watched movies, talked some more.

The week is looming and there's stuff to be done, some of which must be attended to today. I just want to sit here cradling a cup of tea. It's 7.30, nothing needs my focused head yet.