Today we had complicated arrangements for doing a sort of family reunion. It was still only a partial reunion. From photos that Facebook threw up (You have memories of this day to share with x, y and z: you know the kind of thing) the last time we had everyone together, including my son and his then girlfriend now his wife, was some 14 years ago. Of course, the youngest members of the family did not even exist at that time.
Anyway, my daughter and Inset off with Granddaughters Number Two and Four and Grandson Number Two, to drive over to Southport to meet my Spanish sister and her family and friends at the house they have rented there for the long weekend. It’s a very nicely renovated Victorian detached house by the way, with rather more bathrooms and better plumbing than it had originally. We arrived in brilliant sunshine and congratulated ourselves on having chosen such a fine day to get everyone together. By the time the Spanish contingent arrived it had started to rain.
My Spanish nephew complained that the wind in Southport is much colder and stronger than anything they ever have in El Puerto de Santa María, across the bay from Cádiz. I didn’t remind him of the cold rain and wind we experienced the last time my English sister and I went out there to visit them. In fact, on that occasion the wind in that bit of the Iberian peninsula was so strong that our plane was unable to land at Gibraltar airport and we were diverted to Málaga.,we also experienced some very stormy weather in El Puerto itself. Memory can play tricks.
Anyway, we all got together. My English sister also turned up, having escaped her bossy daughter to drive herself the couple of miles from her own house. Strictly speaking I think I agree with her daughter that she should not drive with a bad back and severe arthritis but there it is.
We had some rather indifferent fish and chips for lunch. Belated Christmas presents were exchanged. The small cousins mostly played well together despite the language problems. Then we went on a visit to the Botanic Gardens, almost a ritual for the family. My Spanish sister tells me she plans to take her Spanish family and friends to the red squirrel reserve at Freshfield, weather permitting. I wonder if her son will remember the occasion when he was small and we drove into the carpark and hit black ice. Amazingly I remembered to steer into the skid and my car spun around. The small Spanish boy cheered and asked me to do it again. I wonder if he also remembers noisily frightening away the red squirrel that was about to eat from my son’s hand. Ah! Nostalgia!
We managed to visit the Botanic Gardens in the afternoon. My now grown up Spanish niece reminisced about visits there in her childhood and the aspects that have disappeared and which her own children will not see. The rain managed to stay away while we visited the park, fortunately.
Then our party headed for home. We’ll do a repeat performance on Monday, with family members unable to attend today, and with a pub lunch rather than indifferent fish and chips … hopefully.
Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!
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