Post 465: Beer, food and natter at The Bells.
With all the plans laid for a little surprise for a fellow prostate warrior later today, I first had to dress my wounds.
Last night Mr Vicious was happily sitting on my lap while I wore my shorts, and everything was cosy until, that was, my Darling got up and uttered the immortal words,
“Let’s go to bed.”
The cat’s enormous back claws shot out instantly and, as he launched himself from my lap to follow his favourite human, they raked straight down my thigh looking for grip.
Oh my, the pain.
I knew immediately it was a deep scratch from my old mate and now temporary adversary. A good wash with Savlon before bed was enough to settle things down, although I did briefly consider chasing the culprit before realising I couldn’t catch him even if I could bend down that far.
By morning there was an angry white welt almost the length of my index finger, so a little more DIY first aid was called for before we headed out.
Silly me really. Bare legs and cat claws were never going to end well.
It’s looking better now, although Mr V is definitely in the doghouse today.
So, while the day slowly drifted towards afternoon and our little surprise, my Darling was getting butterflies about meeting new people.
She has always found meeting strangers a little daunting, and today she’d be meeting three… although one of them happened to be a dog.
“Shall I wear this?”
“Would this be better?”
“What should I wear?”
I simply gave her a hug and suggested something comfortable that would suit sitting outside in the warm, breezy weather we’d been promised.
Earlier that morning, while I’d been trimming back the brambles and weeds around the garden, I’d expected another scorching day, but thankfully the light cloud kept everything comfortable, especially for a sight hound and four people planning an outdoor lunch.
As the afternoon edged closer, my Darling became more anxious while I couldn’t have been calmer.
She often says I must have a tattoo on my forehead that simply reads,
“Talk to me.”
Wherever I go, people seem to strike up conversations, and rightly or wrongly I’ve never been very good at turning them away.
Sometimes those conversations become wonderfully strange.
The funniest happened many years ago during the Proms in the Park at Leeds Castle.
There were eight of us altogether and we’d organised ourselves military style. One couple brought the starter, another the main course, another the dessert, and everyone else supplied wine, beer and all the other essentials for what became a spectacular picnic.
Our chosen spot overlooked the orchestra beneath the huge concert canopy, and around us were hundreds of other groups. Some had simply brought a blanket, while others had transformed their patch of grass into dining rooms complete with tables, chairs and even chandeliers.
As the afternoon wore on and the wine quietly introduced itself to everyone, my Darling and I got chatting to a lovely young couple sitting nearby.
They were completely fascinated by our elaborate picnic, and before long we were all laughing together.
Then somebody spotted a real policeman wandering past.
Naturally, with far more enthusiasm than common sense, we persuaded him to become the official at an entirely unofficial wedding ceremony.
Apparently, I was the clergy.
Thanks entirely to my invisible “Talk to me” tattoo and rather too much wine, we married the happy couple there and then on the hillside.
The two newlyweds wandered off laughing with the obliging policeman, and as darkness fell the hillside came alive with hundreds of tiny candles and lanterns. The orchestra played, the Spitfires roared overhead with music from their era, and it became one of those magical evenings you never forget.
Two other things happened that day.
Firstly, my Darling accidentally stood on one of the little candles marking the corner of our picnic blanket and suffered a second-degree burn, which looked a dreadful mess the following day.
But the truly remarkable thing happened later that evening.
We never expected to see our newly married couple again amongst the thousands of people there.
Yet somehow they found us.
They’d gone back to where they were staying, talked properly about what we’d jokingly done earlier and returned not as boyfriend and girlfriend…
…but as an engaged couple.
We all stood there grinning.
Some days really are magical.
Anyway…
Back to today and lunch at The Bells.
We weren’t strangers for very long.
There was plenty of chatter, wonderful food, a beautifully behaved sight hound stretched comfortably beside us, and a lovely afternoon spent in one of those characterful country pubs that always seems to get everything just right.
I have to say, we laughed far more than you’d expect from a table containing two incurable prostate cancer patients.
We chatted, swapped stories, solved the world’s problems and, before we knew it, the afternoon had disappeared.
The hugs goodbye said everything.
What a lovely couple…
…and what a lovely dog.
We’ll definitely do that again.
Happy days.
Sleep well.
Take care.
Good night.
