What could go wrong….? Jumpy July
After a busy, but relatively calm June, we started July with
a visit from Finn. His lovely parents, Jonny and Adele came along too.
Who knew that an eighteen-month old could be so much fun!
Intensely serious, he spent a lot of time looking around him, his brown eyes
huge as he observed everything that was going on. And EVERYTHING was intensely
interesting.
He soon discovered that Richard’s old mobile phone was The Best Toy out. He made phone calls, took pictures, used it as a calculator… all in play, of course. He found that the buttons made a most satisfactory noise when pressed. What’s not to like?
We had had a couple of days at home with them before decamping, literally, to the campsite. Our huge 6 man tent was perfect for Finn to run around in, providing plenty of play space. That was nothing compared to the beach, however. It proved to be love at first sight and the biggest playground ever. He ran around, shouting ‘Whoa! Wow! Wowa!’, stopping to look at every interesting thing. His body language was amazing as he pointed out objects of interest with a variety of body contortions, only sometimes resorting to actually pointing. Sand pools were paddled and lain in, sand sifted through his fingers (it was as if he was trying to clear the whole beach!) and buoys and fishing boat bobbers examined with deep interest.
He enjoyed the campsite swimming pool, as well, as did I: I managed a daily swim of at least half a kilometre every time, which did wonders for my arthritic knee. #loveswimming
In addition, there was a playground: Finn climbed up the slide easily, working out which was the best way up, but the bark ground cover was possibly the most interesting feature. The site also has Rosie, the Vietnamese pot-bellied pig, two Large Whites, who spent most of the day lying together in their wallow, occasionally struggling up and lumbering to the fence for a back scratch when Richard snorted to them; two friendly inquisitive goats and a variety of curious chickens, roosters and turkeys.
It was a wonderful time: we were intensely sad when they left, going on to England to see Adele’s wonderful family. Our sadness was a little relieved by some pleasant interactions with Vanessa and Jean, friends we have come to know through the campsite, and Manuel and Maricarmen. The latter had driven up from Gibraltar with their tiny caravan, taking four days to bring luggage for their daughter and son-in-law who were cyclists competing in the Island Games. As they each had two bicycles to bring, it made sense for Manuel and Marie-Carmen to help with the luggage.
Manuel and Marie-Carmen were the friendliest of campsite neighbours. Very chatty, we got on like the proverbial house on fire – it felt as if we had known each other for years. Manuel had done a huge amount of research on Guernsey, finding his way around most impressively, but we were still able to help them a little with local advice, how to get a local SIM card, and give them a lift back from town after the opening of the Island Games.
The Games had not been held in Guernsey for 20 years and there was a huge amount of excitement and publicity about it, with over 400 volunteers helping in different ways. We drove, at Nicky’s suggestion, to meet her and Richard at their home on Mount Durand, leaving the car there and walking down with them into town.
We were somewhat early – not as early as many, as town was already very full of spectators by the time we arrived – and had to wait for over an hour before the ceremony even began. Speeches, mingling of the waters each island team had brought with them and the raising of the games flag all preceded the athletes parade through town. Still, it was well worth the wait. The atmosphere was wonderful and it was fun seeing many friends and acquaintances, from our hairdresser who was opposite us, to children from school, acquaintances leading the teams along, proudly bearing the team’s island’s name, to Scott, my colleague, a football coach marching with the Guernsey team. Very special.
We met up with Manuel and Maricarmen, wearily trudging up
the hill and collapsing into bed almost as soon as we returned to the campsite.
However, July brought an undue amount of stress on top of
the usual busyness, through a series of Unfortunate Incidents.
The last day of her stay in our house, Adele sat on the
toilet seat, cracking it. Fortunately, we had a spare. Last year a guest had
broken the toilet seat so our friend Bryan very kindly went and bought a
replacement. On our return, Richard fitted a soft-close one instead, figuring
that it would be harder for someone to actually break this, keeping the
replacement ‘just in case’. Very Useful, as it turned out.
Then, two days before we were due to leave for France, Richard
developed kidney stones, enduring such intense pain that he was propelled to
make a doctor’s appointment. (As every appointment costs over £60, we are
always reluctant to go, but needs must… But the CT scan the doctor organised
for him was free. We do have quite a wonderful health service.)
By the next day, he was feeling much better, just taking the
strong painkillers once when it looked as if the symptoms were returning. We
left, trusting that ‘no news is good news’ and that the surgery would contact
Richard if the scan had thrown up any issues.
The same day, I had a long awaited specialist appointment to
see about my ‘trigger finger’, which had become progressively worse. At times,
indeed, the finger was ‘stuck’ bent and on one occasion almost refused to be
straightened. The surgeon explained that he could either try injecting it with
cortisone – which might nor might not work, and, if it did, might only last for
six months – or perform a short 10 minute surgery. Which did I want?
“Which would you do?” I asked.
“Well, I always try the injection first,” was the reply.
“OK then, that’s fine.”
“I can do it now if you like?” was the quick response.
“OK then!” I happily replied, thinking of a quick solution
and no further visit needed, especially as I was going to France in 2 days
time.
‘Just a little prick.” was actually intensely painful,
leaving a small bruise and so much stiffness that I could barely move my hand
afterwards for the first 24 hours. It made cycling a little tricky…
Coming back to the house the day after, to do a quick
changeover between guests, we had a hectic few hours. Anni and Beth popped
round to collect keys and discuss the changeovers, looking at the bedlinen and
cleaning materials left out for them.
We discovered a bird’s nest had been hidden under the tiles
for years before collapsing onto the floor of the loft. Quite a lot of mess to
clear up, with a tiny amount of daylight visible where a tile had shifted
slightly, but apparently nothing to worry about. It had happened a long time
ago – possibly even before we moved in 7 years ago, and the birds’ nest had
been hidden under the old sarking (the old webbing underneath the tiles) which
was slowly disintegrating with age. We – Richard – will fix it when we get
back. We only found it as we heaved the tent back up, along with various other
camping items, from Jonny, Adele and Finn’s visit.
A good thorough clean of the house, with our Island Games
competitor guests from the Falkland Islands arriving early by 1pm. Cathy
Pollard (no relation) was competing in shooting, accompanied by her husband
Mark, a Falkland Islander politician, and their two delightful little girls.
Lovely to meet them.
Added to all the usual stress of trying to remember
everything we had to do in preparation for being away for a couple of months,
was the need to get the car back home from the campsite. Not ordinarily a problem,
but our road was to be closed that day for the first of the Island Games
cycling events, a triathlon. Sunday morning, when we returned the Skoda, was a
huge rush to get back to and then away from the house before the road was
closed.
Finally…. In the middle of all this, was an emergency dental
appointment to get an aching tooth filled; the usual end of term busyness,
where I had extra supply for a couple of days at Beechwood (not arduous, but
time-consuming); and an undue amount of grief, as my friend Carry retired from
the school and we had news that Mel Walton, a former head’s wife, had suddenly
died of an aneurism. They had left us 6 years previously, but had stayed in
touch ever since, so it was a huge blow to the school community.
It was with a huge measure of relief that we found ourselves
at the port, ready to board Condor to St Malo. And yet the stresses were not
over. The Animal Health Certificate, Pickle’s ‘passport’, had been wrongly completed. We only discovered
this on arrival at the port but, fortunately, the details had been correctly
entered into the (now extinct) Pet Passport. Rather annoying, when we had to
pay £190 for the privilege of taking Pickle with us to France. Still, cheaper
than kennels and we wouldn’t do that in any case. A hurried email to the vet,
hoping that he could email amended details well before our return in 2 months’
time…
And breathe. And wait. In hope!
