Mum has often told us about her 15 year old self riding her bike up Box Hill. So this afternoon, ignoring any sort of forecast, we drove her up.
It was a trip of reminiscence for us too as we drove through and around East Horsley, showing mum where we first lived in the UK. We wound up pulling into the Duke of Wellington for a drink.
What a changed pub! It has been beautifully reinvigorated. While it was always a welcoming and cosy pub, it was looking a bit tired the last time we visited.
Well, tired no more. It’s like a different pub. And we sat and enjoyed beer, cider and a cup of tea while the staff fussed over the girls.
Note the wallpaper. While it looks all traditional and chintz-y, it actually features scenes of drinking, homelessness and a mugging. Very clever.
From the Horsley we drove, via Dorking, to Box Hill. Reaching the car park, mum was emphatic that she wasn’t getting out of the car, sitting with Mirinda’s e-reader while we squelched forth with the manic dogs.
As we approached the lookout, the weather deteriorated to the point where Freya was in danger of being blown away. We didn’t cross the road, preferring the relative safety of the flatter picnic section.
There were no picnics and only a few other idiots out and about including two filthy little girls who were intent on patting the dogs while we waited for each other to use the toilets. I was about to warn one of them about Freya’s dirty paws then changed tack, realising that Freya would probably get muddier from the little girl.
Clearly the little girls (and the rest of their family) had decided a day out in the mud was the best way to spend a grey and dismal Saturday in January. We watched them changing into car shoes for the trip home. It occurred to me that their shoes were the least of it.
There was terrible rain on the way home which kept Mirinda’s concentration set to maximum. The road vanished from sight and even an ambulance, lights flashing, was driving slowly though clearly in a hurry.
We safely made it home and I cooked up foamy chicken which was enjoyed by all.
I almost forgot! One of the big bits of the day was taking down the Christmas lights. I’d noticed that everyone in our street had stripped their houses of any obvious festive decoration by twelfth night, leaving us the only conspicuous exception.
I could hear them all nattering about the stupid Australians at the end of the street who have no idea when to take their lights down.
Well, I have silenced their tongues for another year.
