2022 has been an especially difficult and painful year for so many reasons and it won’t help to air them here. Besides, as my neighbour wisely says, ‘we are, all of us, in the shit, but some of us are in deeper than others.’ Still, the strain of the last nine months has been almost unbearable, so when - at last - we have some respite, we decide to take some proper time out and book not one, but two breaks. His and her choices, if you like.
Our first trip is to Norwich, and UEA where I studied. It’s Freshers’ Week when we arrive and it’s a delight to see the campus filled with eager young faces - they all look so poised and confident to me. It’s a far cry from when I arrived in what I thought was a very cool fake fur coat and my one suitcase. I spent much of that first week in a state of constant anxiety or close to tears, but there seems to be far more help and support for these young people which must be a good thing!
We visit the Sainsbury Centre, where I catch up on some favourite works (lots of Francis Bacon and Antonio Saura) then head in to town. We’ve treated ourselves to a short stay at the utterly lovely 38 St Giles Street, boutique bed and breakfast in a beautiful Georgian building in the very heart of the city. I’ve printed off some ‘Norwich Nooks and Crannies’ walks which we use as a basis for our wanderings; I thought I knew the city well, but it’s joy to discover so many hidden corners that I’d never stumbled across as a student. After all the walking, we reward ourselves with memorable meals at Benoli (parmesan croquettes - sublime) and Farmyard (quite possibly the best creme brûlée I have ever tasted).
After all too brief a visit, it’s on to the Cotswolds and the Bell Inn at Langford where we’re breaking our journey before heading back to West Wales. For me, the evening meal is a little disappointing (we later find out the gas had run out which probably didn’t help), but our room is quiet, very comfortable and breakfast is first class which more than makes up for it. Soft, buttery morning light bathes golden stone buildings in gentle sunshine as we pack the car. We’re only a few miles from Kelmscott, so we make the most of the weather by taking a short walk in the grounds of Kelmscott Manor - William Morris’s summer home, of course, and must-see for anyone with a passing interest in design, the pre-Raphaelites or social history.
Frankly, coming home, is a bit of a hard landing after all that luxury, but we have another break (rather more rugged - his choice) later in the year. And, in the meantime, I’m being a bit kinder to myself so I’ve stepped away from anything with a deadline or extra pressure. I’m running for pleasure, not for a particular race, I’m gradually self-publishing my previously published novels and novellas (next up, ‘Moonbeams in a Jar) and, *whispers* I’m pleased to find that taking some time out - turning off the white noise of persistent worry - has made space for some new ideas. I’ll plant the seeds and see which ones grow.
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