Well I 'm back from Austria, where we really did climb e'vry mountain (well, one) and sing 'The Sound Of Music' in sun-dappled meadows peppered with alpine flowers. It would have been rude not to.
It was so relaxing it's hateful to be back, especially at work. When you go away you're meant to forget all about your stresses and the people who get your goat on a daily basis. But that's easier said than done. On occasion, while lying in my fluffy robe gazing at the moutains which surrounded our Tyrolean spa, I could feel the rage boiling over. By the end of the week however, after being massaged back to life and floating in darkened rooms, I felt myself again. I'm trying to keep it that way.
It was possibly the most relaxing holiday ever in The Town Where There's Nothing To Do, as it is now officially known. There wasn't even a cake shop - rare for Austria, though there was a shop where you could by lederhosen and other national dress. Needless to say we browsed.
But I did get time to catch up on some reading. Stuart Maconies Pies and Prejudice was a treat. He's such an amusing writer. It was incongruous reading this in the Alps, but perhaps all the better for it, as I could picture England as whole, rather than sitting in London thinking northwards. Also enjoyed Malcolm Pryce's The Unbearable Lightness Of Being in Aberystwyth. If you've not read any of his Aberystwyth books you must. Inventively, the small Welsh seaside town is as dark and dangerous as Raymond Chandler's LA, and it's this noirish twist that makes the books so worthwhile. Start with Aberystwyth Mon Amour, you won't be disappointed. I also read Ian McEwan's 'novella' On Chesil Beach, which was as quick to read as a magazine article, but three or four times more satisfying.
So apart from sudden hailstorms with hail stones the size of gold balls, we had a most gorgeous time. One thing that puzzled me though, was that I've never seen so many burkas this side of Abu Dhabi. For such a small town, the place was awash, and I'm not joking. All holidaying it would appear, but never doing anything but staying in the rooms, and that goes for the kids too. Strange.
So while Mrs F-C still languishes at home, probably in a dressing gown, possibly not, I'm winning bread, man. But at least I get to blog again.
8 comments:
I'm sure it's a typing error, but the evocation of "gold balls" is wonderful. Glad you're back, with that latent rage simmering away. Here's hoping you have an awkward encounter in a patesserie or accidentally tune in to Sarah Kennedy on the radio to really get it all bubbling over again. Not nice for you, obviously, but it makes fun reading...
Graham, I imagine that gold balls are a common decorative feature around FC Towers, and can generally be found scattered in a devil-may-care fashion between the brandy decanter and the fibre-optic lamp, providing a charming conversation piece at cocktail parties.
Nice to have you back, Mr FC. Remember to whistle a few bars of "Climb Every Mountain" when you feel that post-holiday calm beginning to slip.
It's true, F-C Manor is festooned with gold balls. You won't find any golf balls though.
Welcome back, and I've read two of you holiday reads, makes me feel quite intelligent.
Sounds a perfectly louche and elegant holiday, especially the bit about the lederhosen. Hope your neck muscles remain unknotted for a good while.
i too am currently enjoying 'Pies and Prejudice'. He certainly can turn a phrase - and makes it seem so effortless. Top chap.
I was browsing in Waterstones in Aberystwyth about a month ago, and picked up one of Pryce's novels, but put it back again, thinking maybe it was a novelty. On your recommendation then I will now procure it.
I also forgot to return your 'I love you' before you left. Please accept a belated one.
It's good to be back.
Nice to see you back. Perhaps a trip to the west end to see the new Sound of Music show with that charming reality TV show winner in the title role would be in order - or perhaps not!
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