A new wedding ring

A new ring and a new haircut

This week, we made a trip to London to meet Ann's friend Sylvia. I am still reluctant to go too far in the city, so we drove to Stratford and stayed in a local hotel. I booked in while Ann chatted over coffee then, having a couple of hours free, I decided to get a haircut. The nearest to the hotel was called Blue Tit, an odd name but apparently a bird favoured by the owner. I got an early appointment and was dealt with by Roland, a very slim gentleman from Latvia who did a competent short back and sides. His fees, however, where somewhat north of the fee I usually pay in Clare, and infinitely more than my usual hairdresser - Ann - charges. At least I looked neat for the photos when later I met Ann and Sylvia for a meal.

My new hairdresser

Dickens' writing chalet

When we first married, Ann and I were broke. Although we were both earning, Ann had been supporting a daughter as a single parent, and I had to support five children and an ex. My dad gave us a little money towards the wedding, from which Ann bought a hat in Coventry, and she chose a very thin Samuels ring with her sister in York. Now, nearly thirty years later, we decided on a romantic whim to renew our pledge to each other and celebrate with a more solid gold band. By coincidence, I had noted a Beaverbrooks on my way through the centre, and the lady there, Gina, could not have been more helpful and welcoming, delighting in our romantic story. She found the ideal ring and declared it a miracle, as normally lady's rings only went up to size R, but this was an isolated larger ring, just made for Ann's finger. Gena sat us in the wedding alcove, and brought out champagne to celebrate, taking a picture for the record. She then insisted on  gift wrapping the ring as she would for any newlyweds. We rounded off the day in the cocktail bar of the hotel.

Candles of hope

Next day, we drove to Rochester for a spontaneous day out. Ann has been a few times, but I only twice despite living in Kent, so the city all seemed new to me with its ancient, cobbled streets and wonderful old houses with their Dickens connection. In the cathedral, we lit candles, then visited Dickens' writing-chalet, sent apparently as a flatpack by an admirer in France for Dickens to assemble. It is too fragile now for the public to enter, but they are in the process of renovating it. I tire and become breathless quickly, and the numbness in my fingers prevents me from typing fast. I am even reduced to tying my shoelaces like a child, having to watch where each loop goes, but we were invigorated to enjoy the freedom of new places, and are determined to get out and see more while we can.

Walking with the dogs through the woods today, I thought it not too late in life to try and learn a little of the many wildflowers blooming in the May sun. This one is a pretty little blue thing, apparently called Alkanet: not a name that trips off the tongue. It doesn't seem to have much human use, but is a good pollinator, attracting bees and other insects, so is clearly valuable to nature where it belongs and thrives.

Alkanet - a bright blue hedgerow plant