It's good to be back.
The weather forecast I took away to Devon in my head - overcast, drizzly - was laughably wide of the mark. The jumpers, socks etc stayed in the suitcase, and the sun glittered on the River Dart all week. Eating was alfresco, much paddling and boating and riding on steam trains was undertaken.
Dartmouth is extremely pretty, and historically interesting. Pilgrims set out from there for Plymouth and thence to the New World. Centuries later the New Worlders set off from Dartmouth and ports surrounding for the Normandy landings, and there are moving memorials to those that did not return. The castle at the harbour mouth is a doozy. There's a variety of follies and houses that lean to one side. Downside, it's cheaper to eat out in London. But in all we had a good week.
News of the attempted bombings in London came to us on the 21st as from another world. The unbearably shocking shooting of poor Mr De Menezes was relayed to us by a friend of B's just as we set off in a launch for a waterside lunch. She was speaking to that friend, incidentally, to make sure her former employers sent a condolence card to the family of Giles Hart, a human rights activist she'd known through work, who was killed on 7/7.
Now we're back, we're edgy and restless, hoping the bombers are caught before they regroup.
I'm told that when S arrived at our well-appointed three-storey holiday house in Dartmouth (I came on later), he apparently burst into tears, crying out, "I want to go back to our old broken house!"
Well, yes, it usually is fairly untidy, Spike, but it isn't actually broken...