For various, boring, administrative reasons, I had to return to where I grew up - the Tunbridge Wells area of Kent. I've not been there since perhaps 2006 at the most recent, so it was all a bit odd. Somethings change enormously - the main topic of conversation on local chat sites was where the most recent potholes had appeared and how many cars had broken wheels or suspension or both as a result. That really was rather scary! Other things don't change or don't seem to anyway, as I found out on Wednesday.
My driver parked at the entrance to the Woods and we walked along the lane as far as an ancient oak and a kink in the road that for some reason my father always called London. One of my bedroom windows is still the same old sash window I remember gazing out of for hours as a teenager, the porch on the cottage is still the one my Dad whittled over a couple of winters in front of the fire (I wonder if his fireplace with even more whittling is still there?), while the local post box is still the same and the amazing bronze stag door knocker on another house is as I remember, although the people who lived there are gone. Some houses on one side of the road, the older houses, are being renovated, but on the other side of the road, up the hill from the road, the more modern houses are hidden by hedges that have grown taller and more impenetrable than I remember them.
Another blast from the past was travelling as a foot passenger (last done in 1984 on the Harwich-Hamburg ferry), and using the Dieppe - Newhaven crossing, which I last used when I was perhaps 14. The boat was more modern, but the crossing still lasts at least 4 hours, and as there was a gale in the Channel, it actually lasted more like 5 or 6 hours! Travelling over to the UK, it was dark when I got on the boat so could see nothing, but coming back on a day crossing was rather splendid in the storm. Near port, you could really see the waves crashing against the harbour walls, as well as admiring the Seven Sisters as we got further out. Once away from the coast, the spectacle of a stormy sea was enjoyable, although 5 hours of waves can, after a while, get a bit dull! I don't get sea sick fortunately. Given the weather conditions, I couldn't get out on deck, so the photos are through slightly grubby windows.
Back in France, every January, there is a ceremony in most communes of a presentation by the Mayor to wish the local population a Happy New Year, to share a review of the year that has passed and to set out the main projects and excitements for the year ahead. In an election year, they have to be very careful what they say, and as all and any residents can attend, for the last two years there has been no event, just a video, which is not the same. This year these ceremonies are back. A major difference was that there was practically no kissing - normally these events are a marathon of cheek kissing and hand shaking, this year it was fist bumps, nods, smiles and acknowledgements. Fingers crossed it wasn't a super spreader event!
For something over an hour the high and low lights of the past year were shared, from the Mediaeval Fair to the great fire, with so many things in between, a presentation to a retiring member of the village school team, an outline of changes for 2023, including how we pay for rubbish collections, and the works being undertaken to restore some community woodland. There was also a presentation on, and exhortation to get involved in, the Comice 2023, which will be in Vieil Baugé. After, there was an opportunity to nobble a member of the council about undeclared building work going on, as well as to drink a glass of fizz, greet a number of friends and each cheese puffs. It was great to be back to something like normal.
So 2023 is now fully launched and things are back to near normal. Have a good week!
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