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The old lady tried to get breakfast quietly, so as to not awaken the fat lady. Having been a mother for decades, the quiet sneaky rustling sounds immediately awakened the fat lady. She squinted one eye open. It was daylight! The day had begun, a rare English countryside day, and here she was, still in bed, wasting precious time! She jumped up and hit her head on the top bunk. Rubbing her head, she looked at her watch. It was only 5 am. "Is it ever dark here in June?" she wondered. She remembered Edinburgh in November, and how the days then were so short she needed a flash to take photos after 3 pm. " I feel like Alice in Wonderland."
The fat lady rolled out of bed, such a lovely, comfortable bed, patted down the soft duvet affectionately, and crawled over to the kitchen for the instant coffee packets. Bleary-eyed, she made herself a cup in the new microwave, bought just for them, and sat down at the little dining table with her mother. "G'morning, Dirtbag," she mumbled. "How'd you sleep, Scumbag?" asked her mother, the two names being their little loving terms of endearment for each other. There was a lull in the conversation while the fat lady finished her cup. "I didn't even know I was asleep," she said, reaching for the next coffee packet, thankful there were plenty more. Being ADD, it helped her to wake up and focus. "What are we doing today? Aren't we meeting a bunch of people today?" she inquired, yawning. The fat lady alway lived day to day, hour to hour even, not concerned about tomorrow: a lifestyle that made her not-so-spontaneous mother furious. "As I told you BEFORE," the old lady stated pointedly over her hot tea, "today we meet Paul and Sonia and her parents Ann and David, who live at the old Bell Inn, where your grandmother was born. That's at 3. We then meet Barry and Lisa and Linda, and Simon. Then you know Cathy and Phillip here. And his brother and their children and his mother, and I've fogotten the dog's names, except Poppy. (The fat lady's head was spinning). This morning we'll visit the old church. And I want to see the Maltings, where your grandmother lived. I must ask Cathy how we get there." "I know how to get there," offered the fat lady helpfully. "You go back down the long drive and turn left. It's not far." "Now just how do YOU know that," accused her mother, who, of the two was definitely the self-appointed expert on the area, having been there several times, not just twice like her daydreaming, inattentive daughter. "Duh...Like there was a sign there that said 'The Maltings' huh huh!" responded the sarcastic fat lady. The old lady sat up even straighter and sniffed, "I'm waiting for Cathy." "FINE!" countered the slouching fat lady, knowing better than to argue. "When do you think she'll be up?" asked the old lady. "Are you kidding?" the fat lady wondered, "Have you forgotten what it's like to be a mother? Of young boys? And with a farm to run? She's starved for time. She'll have been up for a long time now!"
And sure enough, soon Cathy appeared, knocking at the door. She had a piece of paper with her. "I have e-mail for you!" she announced cheerfully. Both ladies smiled widely, happy in the certain knowledge that their husbands had remembered and missed them. The old lady took the paper. It had but one message: a very pleasant welcome to England from the man the fat lady called her mother's online boyfriend (one of many). "How sweet of him!" thought the old lady. "How typical of husbands not to write!" sulked the fat lady. "By the way, how do we get to the Maltings?" asked the old lady in her sweetest voice. Cathy replied, "Why you just go back down the drive and turn left. It's not far." The fat lady smiled smugly at her mother, who pointedly ignored her while thanking Cathy for her help.
The fat lady noticed the lovely day outside. "Look! Little puffy clouds! I'm off to take some photos!" The fat lady sort of skipped out the door, neatly hooking her little point-and-shoot camera with her right hand as she passed by it. Not to be outdone, the old lady hurried right behind, after grabbing her sweater, and the picture-taking competition began in earnest. "Stop taking pictures of the same things I've taken a picture of!" yelled the fat lady. "I could say the same to you!" huffed the old lady, nudging the fat lady's arm just at the critical moment. "Look at this old hinge! " "Look at this old brick!" Together they excitedly ran about the farmyard. They met Cathy's mother-in-law who lived on the farm in the converted brick stables, now a lovely home. They met up with Cathy again as they took pictures of her horse, hens and puppies. Cathy sighed that her hens, pretty as they were, weren't laying. She invited the ladies in for coffee. The fat lady's eyes gleamed, and she started to accept gladly, but the old lady quickly declined the offer because of her Victorian ideas of politeness (learned from her mother). The Old Lady realized that Cathy would have to give up some valuable time if they accepted her invitation. When Cathy's mother-in-law saw the fat lady taking pictures of her own hens in their separate pen, she proudly announced that HER hens WERE laying! Indeed, it must be eggs from here that we have been enjoying.
The ladies returned to their room for more film, then set off on their adventure again. However, the old lady spotted Phillip Burton, the young handsome farmer/landowner and asked him how to get to the Church. The fat lady rolled her eyes. Being ever so polite like the English are, Phillip stopped what he was doing and escorted the ladies across a field and up a hill where they could see a broad vista. He pointed out the sights, like the far spire of Thaxted Church, and advised them of the way to go from there. The old lady, pressing her luck, asked the way to the P.O.W. . Phillip looked puzzled and scratched his head as his mind raced through every American movie he had seen, trying to place what a P.O.W. was. Did she mean the WC? The fat lady rolled her eyes at her mother again. "She means the pub, the Prince of Wales. Evidently it's abbreviated on the Internet with those initials, but she thinks she's being cool and that this is the 'in' way to refer to this pub." The Fat lady was WRONG AGAIN..as she found out later that this is how it is printed on the maps, and the Old Lady was taught to refer to it by the initials from her British cousin! The old lady shot the fat lady a quick glare. Phillip told them how to get to the pub from there, but the fat lady thought she detected some reluctance. "Either that pub is a male bastion where we would be problematic, or he thinks the Indian food there may be too hot for us, OR...the BLACK CAT really does hang out in these fields!
To be continued.....