Sunday, October 26, 2008

Time, pie, Soldier X and Cher


I love it when the clocks go back. Not only does the fact that man can actually adapt Mother Nature’s plans to suit ourselves (well, sorta) give me an almost childlike feeling of “we’re doing something naughty”, but somehow the ‘extra’ hour has an impact on the whole day, often continuing into Halloween week (when I was little, I thought long, dark nights were created for this date alone). By this evening, I know that I’m going to feel as though the day was stretched out by a whole third, just because my internal body clock is still settling down. And goodness knows, extra hours in the day are always, always a good thing.

This morning, I woke up at 5.30am; an hour earlier than my usual wake-up time, despite the fact that I’d adjusted all the clocks (and my alarm clock) before I went to bed last night. So I got up and enjoyed the feelings of exclusivity that being one of only a handful of people happily awake at that hour of a Sunday morning brings while I pondered the individual merits of autumn fruit crumbles, cobblers and pies (the pies won – there’ll be an apple one going into the oven this afternoon, to be enjoyed after a very traditional roast lamb dinner). Some might say that I wasted my ‘extra hour’; tell that to Medad as he embarks on his third slice of custard-drenched pud.

But despite the fact that the official time change didn’t happen until 1am this morning, yesterday didn’t quite run according to the traditional clock anyway. Mefella and I got up at 5am to drive to Brize Norton to wave Soldier X off on his way to Afghanistan (eek!). We weren’t allowed onto the actual airbase itself, so we stood by the fence that surrounds the airfield, having texted him our orientation details, and watched his plane readying itself for takeoff from afar. Two others landed first: huge, heavy-bellied, dung-coloured beasts that caused two trainspotters to flurry around with gusto, dashing up and down the lane adjusting lens caps on the cameras as they went. Then it was time to watch the main event: after several goodbyes over the past couple of weeks (we all kept thinking he was off, then he wasn’t), this was it. I leapt up and down and waved as largely as I could, the pilot waved back (oh god, how embarrassing!) and within seconds they were off, blasting down the runway and lifting up into the early morning skies as gracefully as an eagle. Did I cry? Oh of course I did! I won’t see Soldier X for months now, and he’s a big part of both me and Mefella’s life. This is not the time or the place for pontificating, philosophising or debating the politics of war, so I’m not going to. All that’s left to say is that I’ll miss Soldier X, I hope he’s safe and I wish him well.

After all the excitement and emotion, I wanted the services a Little Chef, and I wanted those services now. But instead of heading for some faceless British A-road, we followed our noses along Oxfordshire’s ridiculously pretty country lanes (I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many thatched cottages!) to the gorgeous village of Bampton, where we found an extraordinarily decent breakfast in a lovely little café whose doors no doubt opened five seconds before we turned up. Having ordered a feast, we made the short trot to the newsagent for the weekend papers, meeting an excitable puppy and a very friendly butcher along the way. All in all, Bampton is the real life version of Camberwick Green (only British readers of a certain vintage will know what I’m referring to here, so I’ve added a link). Having said that, I’m not sure that Mrs Honeyman paid £450,000 for her centrally located cottage.

Anyway, now I’m back in Bath, having fallen asleep slumped in front of the TV last night – no further excitement to report. Today I will be mostly roasting lamb (and making apple pie), catching up with the X Factor, looking forward to this evening’s BBC drama about Barbara Cartland and toying with the idea of washing my hair (the one component of my plans which probably won’t happen after all). Oh, and thinking how turning back the clock ten years would save me the small fortune that I so trustingly hand over to the snake oil merchants who sell me false promises (yes L’Oreal, that’s you) on a regular basis. Anyway, have a super Sunday, and enjoy today’s blast of nostalgia: this one’s appropriate, I feel, on many levels.

2 comments:

kerstin said...

May the Goddess keep him safe...

Melissa said...

Thank you so much, ML. If you can have a word with her on his behalf too, it would be much appreciated - every little helps!