On Friday I was happily researching the final names on the Walton on Thames memorial when I had an urgent email from Eurostar. It seems there’s going to be a huge, unpleasant general strike in France next week. It’s going to last until December 8 which, unfortunately, was the day we were scheduled to return from Paris. But no, there will be no trains.
We were given two choices: cancel or book something after the strike is over. After a bit of soul searching, and considering the fact that Mirinda was unavailable for comment, I decided to opt for an extra night. I figured she’d not want to miss out given it’s (sort of) to celebrate her graduation. So, now, rather than returning Sunday we’ll be back on Monday morning.
But, while the French national strike is annoying it’s not as bad as the stupid South Western Railway guards who are having most of December off because they think they are more important than the people who pay their wages. That’s the people who use the trains.
The traffic strike starts tomorrow, Monday. Today was beautiful by contrast. The weather was delightfully bright and crisp. The world was a joy of autumn chill.
And to celebrate, we decided to go and visit the Midhurst Craft Fair, something we first went to years ago but then never returned. It was on this weekend so we decided to forego a visit to a garden centre, instead heading off through the glorious countryside to Sussex.
For starters we indulged in a cheeky lunch at Fitzcanes Ice Cream Cafe.
We didn’t have ice cream. Instead we both had eggs (Benedict & Royale) though there was some confusion over who wanted what. No confusion with my hazelnut latte, though it could have had a little less syrup.
We were lucky to find somewhere to eat. Fitzcanes was rammed so we, ever hopefully, reserved a table for ten minutes in the future. We then went for a stroll up the main road.
It was on our stroll that we discovered that everywhere in Midhurst was equally full. After five minutes we turned around and headed back.
Oddly, by the time we were sat eating our eggs, the place was almost empty. Clearly we had arrived at the Midhurst Sunday lunch peak hour.
Last time we attended the craft fair it was in Dawn’s old school (directly opposite Fitzcanes). This time, however, it was in Rother College where they name their classrooms after poets. (I mention that merely because Mirinda’s place has names for rooms rather than numbers.)
The fair was fantastic. Lots and lots of beautiful handcrafted pieces in all manner of materials. Many things that we wanted to own but resisted.
I would have loved some of the bowls but couldn’t work out where to put them. These days, like the t-shirt rule, if I buy anything for the kitchen I need to remove something to make room. I have to justify it. Sadly, I can’t.
Mirinda was very strong in resisting some truly beautiful jewellery but did not resist a stunning little wooden box. It looked very Japanese with an unusual lid. Perfect for the display cabinet in the library.
Having wandered all the way round we then headed back to Max for the drive home.
After such a gorgeous day, the weather was turning a bit steely grey. There were some sharp little showers which felt like tiny shards of ice but were never enough to make anything wet. In fact, the weather could not be described as wet by any stretch.
Back at home I made pork with green butter and played fetch with Emma along the extension to the front door. While obviously not as good as a walk at least she had a bit of a run.