Basil and Trevor

The sun has now bleached the deep green of some of the pasture land around Trelawnyd. South facing lawns , the Churchyard and village green all now resemble amber weetabix and apart from the cottage roses many of the summer flowers have burnt away to nothing.
Cheerful Ann from the old Flower Show committee has been organising a last meal celebration for us all at The Crown for a week on Saturday.
There are twelve of us going with only Trendy Carol unable to attend, which is unfortunate.
Incidentally the fine weather has brought out a whole new wardrobe in Trendy Carol's vast collection.
Yesterday she floated past in something very loose fitting and ethereal .
She looked rather cool in this hot spell.
Anyhow , as usual , I am digressing.
The story today is a typically meandering and gentle one.
Last night Mary and I had walked to the outskirts of the village in order to drop of a menu to matriarch Irene for the aforementioned bunfight.
Her cottage is one of the oldest in the village and is called chwarel a Welsh word which means "quarry"
As I sweated and Mary panted, a familiar figure came into view . It was old Trevor out on his evening constitutional.
Trevor marches on at least two power walks daily. He was born in Trelawnyd in the 1920s and never left, and since he received a new knee he has been powerhousing around like a lobsided puppy.

Trevor, miles from home

We chatted for a while before he marched away down the lane and as he did so Basil , a local farmer drove up behind and stopped to chat too.
This stop / start thing is common in the country.
A half hour walk can often last well over an hour.
Basil marvelled at Trevor's jaunty gait and we joked that he walks faster and longer than I do, a man 35 years his junior .
Basil picked up a 25 kilo bag of sheep feed like he would have done a small handbag and slung it in the back of his truck, it was 8 pm and he was still working hard on farm matters...he remarked on the heat saying the his wheat was ready to cut, weeks before it should be.
We watched as Trevor marched off in the distance  and Basil asked " How old is Trevor now?" as he prepared for another job to do.
" I think he's 94!" I told him
"Yessssi !" Basil exclaimed " He's bloody grand for 94!" 
And Basil flipped up the heavy tailgate of his truck and jumped into the cab with a skip

I picked up Mary so Basil could pass by in the overgrown lane and I smiled to myself as the farm van roared off.
It was evening and Basil was still plugging away
He is in his mid eighties.

We All Need Our Own Baby

In Ireland I bought a toy dog for my great neice
Mary fell in love with it and it's never left the cottage

Scabby Knees

" What's the matter with you Albert?" 
I was on the loo when I heard Mrs Trellis talking to the cat over the garden wall.
I'd been sitting there for half an hour, reading the news on my iPad.
Apparently this heatwave is set to stay for another two weeks or so.

I wondered just what Mrs Trellis was referring to as Albert had moments before ambled into the bathroom  as I read, so I peeped through the bathroom window and sang out
" what's up Joyce !" 
( yes Mrs Trellis' first name is indeed Joyce)

Mrs Trellis looked somewhat confused for a moment, as she tried to locate where my voice was coming from and as she pulled greyhound Blue around in a circle away from Albert who was sat on the wall swishing his tail in irritation, she sang out
"Albert is covered in paint" 

I was suddenly embarrassed as I realised what had happened
I had previously treated my psoriasis knees with a thick film of sudocrem before Albert had confidently ambled into the bathroom to head butt me his morning hello .

Better

Not As I Left It

It's as hot in Trelawnyd as it was in  Sitges, only not as humid.
I got home in the wee small hours after a particularly ardious journey thanks primarily to easyJet and a few dysfunctional passengers with no manners, class or/and morals.
The cottage looks tired today
It took me a full hour to realise just why.

The flowers in the vases I had so carefully dotted around before I left had withered away in the heat

Seen Better Days

I like my hotel.....it reminds me....well.........of me........

The Santa Maria is just a tad past it's sell by date.
It's a bit scruffy and worn around the edges and may even be called tatty in places, but it's friendly and warm and familiar to those who may value the traditional and the solid.
La Santa Maria is not flashy.
It is dependable and run in a practical sort of way.
It has fresh flowers every day and makes good coffee.
It welcomes dogs.
It values old friends, can be occasionally staid but at other times be the life and soul of the party and because it's made up of several complicated and eclectic buildings it remains a hotchpotch of 'personalities' and styles many of which don't suit those that enjoy minimalist lifestyles.

It also looks much better when viewed from afar....

I'm typing this over breakfast coffee. I'm coming home later today .
The thousand swifts are still circling the spires of Sitges Church this morning

Parròquia de Sant Bartomeu i Santa Tecla

Sitges is dominated by the ancient Church of St Bartomeu and St Tecla.
It presides over the town with all of the warmth and care of a broody fat hen and I love it because of that fact.

Yesterday I walked around it's base and giant walls as I have done so many times before and felt somewhat melancholy for a time as my husband wasn't there to enjoy the views with me as usual.
Even when you are silent,sharing a view from Sitges Church is a powerful event no matter how many times you have done it.

From the plaza in front of the Church doors I looked across the Promenade. I could see my great nephew on his skateboard, and his dad, my nephew, waved up at me. The rest of the family were dotted around, either swimming or walking or sleeping on their Sun chairs or playing rugby, but it was sort of  nice to sit by the Church in the setting sun and watch a thousand swifts soar around it's bell towers like a giant swarm of friendly bees.

Breakfast

The three palm trees outside the poshest villa on Sitges Promenade

Yesterday I played the " steal your lunch" game with a Spanish lady at the next table.
This was at breakfast, which at the Santa Maria is a large al fresco affair over looking the Prom.
I caught her eye after I watched her make two ham sandwiches out of a baguette .
She was lowering the sandwiches into her handbag.
She smiled as I countered by slipping a boiled egg and an orange into my man bag .
The game was on.
She ambled to the buffet table and replied with a donut and what suspiciously looked like an individual yogurt.
She smiled in that smug way people do when the think they have won.
But the smile faded as, in a last minute dash to the winning post I countered again with two cheese mini baguettes, a large piece of garlic sausage and a banana, which poked out of the side of my bag in defiance.
Funny what games you play on holiday.