The bank holiday weekend took me by surprise. Not realising we had two days off work, meaning a total four days of freedom, I had to come up with a last-minute plan. Where to go and what to do? To stay at home, do next to nothing and just enjoy being lazy was very tempting. But I knew I'd be bored by the second day. So instead I sent a text to Ian to see if it suited him for me to come visit the farm. He, of course, said yes.
Booking a ticket from small rural village to small rural town meant a disjointed journey over five trains and six hours for a route which could have been covered by a two and a half hour drive door to door.
But it was worth the trek. After picking me up from the station we drove to a bison farm where we dropped a delivery to their farm shop then had afternoon tea in their cafe. Sharing toasted hot cross buns with melted butter was the perfect introduction to an Easter holiday.
Back on the farm we slipped right back into the household dynamic we developed over the summer. Except this time with the addition of his constant moaning and reprimanding about keeping doors closed to keep the heat in. Argh to the headaches of winter.
Saturday morning he took me to his gym on a free visitor pass. I swam in the hotel spa style pool, half way between exerting myself properly and not really trying, just enjoying the feeling of being somewhere luxurious. Followed by a long sit in the sauna and a gloriously warm, clean shower, we drove home in the near silence of post-exercise bliss. The best breakfast ever was his own homemade sourdough toast topped with real, salted farm butter and poached local eggs, plus a mug of strong black coffee. We ate and sat and sat and sat, neither in a rush to go anywhere.
By afternoon time the need was upon us to drive to town and go to the supermarket. Ian, having lived 4 years in China, took advantage of my presence by asking Tara to prepare Chinese food for us. Mostly he wanted dumplings and would be content with whatever else thereafter. Shopping done, he went to feed the cows while I sat on the couch with a beer and a notebook. Tara served our dinner in the sitting room and we had the special treat of delicious food shared in good company with a movie and more beer.
Sunday was a different story. Less self-indulgent and more compromising. The weather was beautiful and I had a bright, fresh morning run before going to church with Betty. For a girl raised Catholic, the Protestant service felt like a much friendlier affair with cheerful music and singing and post-service coffee and biscuits and standing around to chat.
Back on the farm Ian had the turkey in the oven while the old folks had the vegetables, potatoes and puddings covered. All I had do to was make the gravy. Easy peasy. The next three hours were, however, not. To sit and smile through endless, tedious small talk required exerting the highest levels of self control to remain calm, polite and fidget free while retaining an expression of feigned, mild interest when inside I was screaming 'get me out of here'.
Don't get me wrong, old people are lovely, but maybe just not lots of them, at the same time, in the same room, for an entire afternoon.
