I snicked away this morning - well after I'd been to Kwik Fit in Chelsea to pour £255 into their coffers for a puncture I had picked up yesterday - to Aldeburgh with Jack. He's at Bath Uni in his second year pondering what to do next. And though we think we're busy these kids of ours are twice as energetic. They pour more time into their academic studies over a year than we did in a week and then they party like there's no tomorrow....
So he'd kind of tricked me into suggesting he needed some me-time so we could discuss quietly and in a vaguely neutral territory - well at The Wentworth - what he should do next.
So here we are: a blazingly sunny day with a Force 8 gale to spoil it. Nothing could ever spoil Aldeburgh for me but even two jumpers and an overcoat failed to save me feeling the wind rattle my bones. You could have heard Britten's War Requiem if you'd listened carefully enough.
Anyway we were too late for lunch and the fish and chip shop closed early so we had a bog standard late, late lunch in some jumped up cafe with Chelsea prices - unusual for the town - and then he went to work and I went to to sleep.
In the evening we dined too well as guests of Michael Pritt's. His family have owned The Wentworth for sixty or more years and each year we come and stay he's done something more to keep the balance between old fogey and old, old fogey. This year he's improved the bedrooms, put new wall paper up downstairs and added a few more pictures. Essentially though, the spirit of the hotel remains the same.