“There’s nothing for you here” said Dad, ominously, and I took that as permission to finally leave the Flatland for the North. But I have endeavoured to get back every week, and expect I’ll stay over a couple of nights each time as rules allow, so I can get the folks out and about as well as ticking down south.
I popped back last week to take Mum for a doctors appointment, and wondered if I’d feel in any way nostalgic and misty-eyed about MY village with its 1980s sign, trendy new pizzeria, Proper Pub and Big Skies.
Well, no, not at all, though I did feel a pang of guilt that I didn’t nip in the garden at the Sun .
The Southworths may be more sentimental about the village green than I am.
Oddly, Waterbeach has some admirers from the heart of beery Sheffield who I’ve discovered on the dreaded Facebook.
“What a lovely place to live ?” Well, there’s a great pub, a good curry house-cum-guest house,
and a micro
pub library with copies of the Beach News reporting on Parish Council shenanigans going back to 1881.
But the only essential feature, Chung Hwa apart (and it WAS as good as ever), is my parents garden.
I stayed over in the campervan, a mile away in Horningsea in what’s referred to as the Quy Walks Layby.
Baa Baa Toure seemed more sentimental than me.
NB No trip to the Sun this time, but I’ll be back inside after the 17th May, this time without the substantial meals.