Talking of Summer somehow always makes me think of rushing away from the Motel for a day or two and letting someone else
get on with it (though who, I can't imagine!). Of course, what it all boils down to is that there never really is the
time. That as it may, David brought over something rather interesting today - a collection of small booklets from the
English Tourist Board. The series is called Where to stay '76 and they really are exciting. The idea is that you
select whatever part of the country you're looking for ... maybe a romantic, hidden-away hotel by Lake Windermere, or perhaps
it's a secluded, thatched cottage in the Yorkshire Dales. Anyway, whatever it is, there's a phone number, the price
and full details of just about anything you'd want to know.
I must say it's a superb idea for people like myself who are apt to just rush off somewhere on the spur of the moment
for a couple of days and the whole set of booklets only costs five pounds. David's already earmarked a promising little
retreat in North Wales. He insists there's no better way of re-charging the batteries than just hiding somewhere in
the country and 'talking to the trees'. I think I know what he means.
I'm very pleased to hear Mrs Rawlings decided to accept the money for the vase, even though she knew that really
it was amlost worthless. Maybe she realised that, by swallowing her pride, she would make a lot of people happy.
It's easy to forget there is probably as much fun in giving as in receiving.
I must say that she and Carney deserve each other. They're so well suited for one thing and it just goes to
prove what I've always said - when it comes to love and romance, age just doesn't come into it. I suppose too,
that on top of everything, folk need companionship, particularlyas they get older. When you find yourself less able
to cope with the hardships of life, I would imagine a shoulder to lean on is a very real relief. Maybe it's my imagination,
but sometimes too it seems that as the years slip by, you discover a deepening respect for those around you.
I talked to benny today when I popped over to see Diane on her uncle's farm. He's certainly had his troubles lately
and I wasn't surprised to find him rather glum. To begin with, it looks like he's being pursued by a lady called Josie
(who's staying at the farm) and he just doesn't know what to do about it. People like Benny have a habit of learning
things the hard way and I wish I were able to help. Unfortunately, as always on these occasions, he'll just have to
do the finding out himself. Advice, as I remember my old father telling me, doesn't hold a candle to experience.
Benny's other main problem though, is to do with his parents and in particular, his father. I find it really so
sad seeing children trying to understand the idea that they'll maybe never know one of other of their parents. Of course,
we're only human beings and often these things are unavoidable, but I still feel that people should be as frank as possible,
as early as possible, when it comes to telling the child. Naturally, that's only my opinion and there's many who would
disagree with it. Neither Hugh nor I have, thankfully, ever been faced with this problem - either in childhood, or in
adulthood - and I can't say I'm sorry.
I think Jill was a bit naughty, pretending that she'd had a wonderful time with the two TV personalities the other evening.
She knows what Stan's like and how he felt about THAT part of her dressmaking prize. Still, it all sorted out in the
end, even though it took Mrs Witton's gossiping to do the straightening. Talking of Mrs Witton, she told me something
today that I find hard to believe ... in fact it had me in fits!
Apparently, it's all to do with a Mr Haynes who we had staying with us. He, so it seems, is an expert in budgie
breeding, specialising particularly in the talking variety. Anyway, so far as I can make out, our Mr Haynes told Mrs
Witton that he'd noticed her wonderful diction and begged her to come along to his room last night so that she might teach
a 'new talker'. well, I've heard of some excuses in my time, ranging from inspection of etchings to butterfly collections,
but teaching budgerigars to talk beats them all! The sheer ingenuity of it! Mrs Witton tells me that she rather
quickly remembered a previous engagement - and fled! Hugh believes that she was secretly flattered, but then, men
always think like that.