An English Garden

Sadly we had to leave our Ipswich friends this morning, as they rushed off on political business. If there is any reward for hard work and commitment to social justice, one will be an MP next year. I wish I lived nearer to help in the campaign, but I am sure in the north-east any help I can give will be needed, in view of the dangers of the dreaded UKIP.

On our way, we called on other friends who live a very different life. Some would say, living the dream, in a beautiful rural cottage, with a lovely garden and orchard, making chutney and jam, baking bread and importantly for them, keeping clear of worries and upsets from the issues of the wider world.

We had such a great time, in different ways, with all of our southern friends, who are so different in personality, outlook, and way of life. It does make me wonder how friendships are formed and how they keep going.

I am writing this as Mr C drives us up the A14 towards the A1 and back to Newcastle to deliver all the baby luggage we have transported from France, before we head further north and home, from where this will be sent.

Sent from my iPad