The clan

Family reunions are always fraught with danger. Will all the ancient enmities resurface? Will age-old arguments be dredged up? Who's legally responsible for Great-Grandad's gambling debts, and what really happened to Aunt Beryl's ashes?

Luckily (and somewhat disappointingly) such discussions failed to be articulated when all of Hannah's family got together in Stevenage for the baptism of our newest member, Samuel.  The sun shone, the paddling pool came out, and the Champagne flowed as all seventeen of us (or twenty-three, or thirty - I've lost count) enjoyed each others' company and John and Laura's wonderful hospitality.  And, unlike previous family gatherings, the only nudity was from the 3-and-unders...

Cousins together - Pete and Isobel.

Lubrication cuts down on friction.

Yes, it was even possible to spend time outside in England during the summer (that umbrella was for the sun!)



John gave the kids water pistols.  I grabbed the high-pressure hose.

Rachel pops the corks.

And then food arrives, so things get serious.

Sharing out jelly beans post-lunch.

Yay!  I got everyone in one photo, mostly smiling, and all clothed.

It was all too much for some.

The next day, at the small, sleepy village church...



Mum and aunties make sure poor Samuel is looking good.

Isobel with her other-side grandparents.

Patriarch John completes the baptism.

New Godson's first selfie.

Another day, another massive buffet.

Hannah keeps the nephews and nieces in line.

Laura serves.

Cheers!

Cutting the cake(s).

And, after all that: family nap time.

Life begins

No matter how far you run, no matter where you hide, time (and the Canadian Mounted Police) will always find you.  The Mounties have yet to catch me, but today the march of years did and I got to celebrate forty years on this earth.

Forty?!  I know.  Almost every day someone says to me "I thought you were, like, twenty-five.  You look amazing.  You should be a male model or something."  But then Hannah bangs on the bathroom door and I have to leave the mirror.

Luckily today involved a party where my parents invited anyone who had ever changed my nappy over for a cup of tea and cake.  I felt very honoured...until it became clear that Mum mainly wanted to show off her Grandson to all her friends.  It didn't matter - by that point I'd been given a bottle of Baileys and a couple of crisp twenty-pound notes, so my birthday was basically complete.  I blew out the candles on my cake then shuffled off for an afternoon nap.  When you get to my age...

My nephew Oliver looks on.  When I was your age, young man, I was...pretty much as boring as I am now.

Computer games prove more interesting than Uncle David's birthday reminiscences.

England.  Nice when the sun comes out.

My parents kept my old bike!  Now it's ready for the next generation.

Second childhood

We turned back east to Woking, and Ellen and Meg who so kindly picked us up from the airport all those days (is it only days?) ago.  A certain birthday is approaching for me, so Ellen had arranged a babysitter and a night out at a 2-for-1 Brazilian cocktail joint.  Needless to say we went crazy, staying out until almost 10pm before going home for a cup of tea and bed.

We needed to turn in early as the next day Ellen had planned a magical mystery tour, which included an ascension to the top of a London skyscraper.  Yes, London has skyscrapers!  Thirty-five storeys up, at the top of the so-called Walkie Talkie, is the Sky Garden - a public park with a tropical garden.  Thankfully it's enclosed, because the weather was anything but tropical.  The balcony was shut because it was too "inclement" so down we came.

As I get closer to this birthday I naturally become a little nostalgic for my former life of innocence and irresponsibility.  So off we went to the V&A Museum of Childhood, where I'd read they had a new exhibition about Bagpuss.  Ah, Bagpuss, dear Bagpuss, old fat furry cat-puss.  The greatest children's programme ever, from the minds of Peter Firmin and Oliver Postgate who also gave us The Clangers and Ivor the Engine.  Spending time with the actual Bagpuss was a near-religious experience for me.

The rest of the museum was less inspiring, given I was looking at many toys and games I owned in my youth now displayed in glass cases to help people remember what kids used to do in the olden days.  I found one of my old computers - an Amstrad CPC464 - and my old bike, a Raleigh Chopper; mine's still in my parents' garage.  Am I to be protected as a priceless antique also?  Time will tell.

Another visit, another photo of Ellen and Hannah drinking cocktails.

Am I old enough to drink this?

Next morning, Meg takes the brunt of babysitting duties.

A tropical garden!  In London!  In the sky!

And then outside.

Typical.

But it's always sunny with a smiling Meg.

High class family.

And...it's still raining.

Bagpuss!  THE REAL Bagpuss!

Professor Yaffle.

The Marvelous Mechanical Mouse Organ.

Enjoying some of the programmes that I enjoyed at their age.

Real Clangers!  The original 60s ones no less. 

Dai Station from Ivor the Engine - another classic.

Tiny and Small.

Family reunion

Hannah grew bored of nights out in DC, massages and pedicures, and having a king-sized bed to herself.  Having successfully made sure that Hilary got the Democratic nomination she jumped on a 747.  She was overjoyed to see us and the Dairy Milk bars we've been purchasing for her as we travel around.

"Is the holiday over now?" Pete asked.

"Of course not, it's only just beginning," I told him, pouring myself a G&T.  "Now go and play with your mother..."

Yay - Mummy's here!

English idyll.

It must be the summer.

It's a long journey to get back to where you started

For some strange reason there's no motorway from Haverfordwest to Manchester so Pete and I made our way up through mid-Wales on country roads.  I did pull off some astounding overtaking in our rented Nissan Juke and it wasn't too long before we were at Aunty Rachel's and enjoying the drizzle that falls over this part of the country all summer long.

We could only enjoy one night of hospitality and one day around the coffee shops, canals and museums of the city before we were off again to Durham.  Ah, Durham, where the long story of Pete's arrival on this earth began.  It would have been a shorter story had Hannah required less convincing to marry me but I think she was disconcerted by how young and reckless I was then.  I've improved with age, like a fine wine or a Camembert.

Mat was our host here and had arranged a night out at the Traveller's Rest pub for everyone.  He was also gracious enough to be on the kiddie table while I enjoyed a cloudy cider and catch up with the North East crew over pie and chips.  The best of British.

It was another too-short stay before we were speeding south and west again, on roads amusingly referred to as "motorways".  After eight hours of service stations and stationaryness I wondered why I ever complained about the DC Beltway.  But we arrived back in Frome no worse for wear, simply annoyed that Hannah is going to cross the Atlantic quicker than we crossed the British Isles.

Early morning on the farm.  Well, they're milking by 5am, so early is relative.

Out of Wales and into Manchester, where I handed on the baby to Aunty Rachel.  Having lots of relatives is extremely useful.

A summer perambulation around Levenshulme.

What's that?  Aunty Rachel's cooking is as good as Mummy's?  Shhh!

Entertaining the Manchester public with a bit of The Star Spangled Banner.

On arrival in Durham, Mat offered Pete fish finger sandwiches in front of the telly!  It's like heaven.

In front of the theology department, where Hannah was first attracted to my intellect and eloquence.

Pete helps finish off Mat's latest book.

 
Durham Cathedral!  Not the real one but a Lego version that we contributed to many years ago.

In the undercroft cafe with Juliet and Andrew.

We took ourselves on a quick tour around the labyrinthine corridors of St John's College, where Hannah was first attracted to my wit and athleticism.  This is my old room.  The memories!

The famous stairway that ends in a wall - a metaphor for studying theology at John's College.

Lunch at Gregg's: a cheese pasty and a sausage roll.  Nothing better.

We spent the afternoon at Hall Hill Farm, up on the Durham hills, where Pete put his Welsh-learned dairy skills to the test.

Feeding the locals.

At the rock face.

Tractor ride.

A wallaby!  What's a wallaby doing in a freezing field in County Durham?  The wallaby was wondering the same thing.

A real tractor ride.

Another meal, another kids' table.

At the end of a long drive, Grandma's there (and she lets you watch all the TV you want).