Mahinda’s Little World

It’s a dark and stormy night…

Okay, maybe not stormy. It is dark, though. I’m walking along a long, straight road, white lines stretching away into the darkness.

It’s overcast and there’s precious little by way of moonlight. In fact, all I can see is the outlines of the trees crowding each side of the road, black silhouttes against the only slightly lighter sky.

So I walk on. The distant mooing of cows, coming from afar over the mist-clad fields, only serves to make it even more eerie. There hasn’t been another soul visible, and the single car that sped by earlier, almost knocking me on to the verge, seems a distant memory.

The trees and undergrowth close in on either side make it feel somewhat claustrophobic, and every little susurration has a sinister note. Owls hoot suddenly, and the undergrowth rustles menacingly with every bolting rabbit or badger. The disturbances further away intrigue me - the closer ones spook me.

I’ve been walking ten minutes or so, with about the same to go. It feels like an eternity. My heart is pounding. I try not to think of wolves, bears or rabid squirrels.

It’s 2.50am and I’m somewhere between Moreton-in-Marsh and the small hamlet of Dorn, deep in the Gloucestershire countryside.

I’d been at Paul and Rowena’s wedding, at the rather lovely Manor House Hotel. Some of us had sat in the bar drinking ’til late, then gone our separate ways - the lads heading to the Swan Inn, just across the road, the Manor House residents staying put, and me starting the trek back to Dorn.

I was staying at Old Farm, a B&B on a proper working farm. I’d been pretty late in finding a place to stay, and everywhere seemed to be either full or a bit pricey. Just when I’d resigned myself to forking out, I’d found the Old Farm website. It promised rooms in a lovely 15th farmhouse, for a very reasonable £40, with locally sourced breakfast - including sausage, bacon and eggs from the farm itself! Needless to say, I rang up immediately, salivating, and booked myself in.

Dorn was about a mile away from Moreton as the crow flies (or as the footpath runs), but closer to two miles by road*…and I wasn’t going to brave an unfamiliar footpath, in the dark, wearing wedding clobber!

* Country B-road, no pavement. Fun.

The Wedding

The wedding itself was lovely. A short civil ceremony in a very warm room, to be followed by champagne cocktails (I think they may well have contained raspberry purée) in the gardens and then back into the room for the reception meal. After that, it was outside again and finally back into the function room for a disco.

The hotel garden made a lovely setting - pretty with lots of seating. You just had to watch out for the concealed steps

Rowena looked gorgeous in the Big White Dress, and Paul looked pretty smart in his gear. Just as well, really!

It was nice to see the old school bunch from the stag do - banter a-plenty…

*salacious details removed on request*

On the subject of the stag do, Myles turned up on crutches - during our kickabout, he’d actually broken his fibula. Ouch. Naturally, we all felt a bit guilty for the ribbing we’d given him in Tallinn for being such a great big girl.

The Reception

At the reception, I ended up sitting next to Emma G (née B), a friend from our uni days - Paul (etc.) had kept in touch, but I didn’t really know her as well as the others. On my other side were Ian & Nancy, with the rest of the table comprising Myles & Victoria and James & Sarah. I’d not seen James for a very long time indeed - he’s now back in England (he’d been in France for a while)…and a father. Eeeek. If you’d have polled us back at school about whose genes were least beneficial to the species, it’d probably have been him. I mean, who wants more ginger people?!

Anyway, the meal was lovely, and then it was on to the speeches. Rowena’s father’s was pretty good (a little fairy tale about her life), and Paul’s was entertaining. Phil’s started off badly - Little Paul was on hand for the A/V stuff, i.e. a PowerPoint presentation hooked up to a projector…and it went a little bit mad. Susie (Mrs Phil) stepped in and sorted it, though. It proved to be an excellent speech, with a good lot of pictures - Paul and Phil had been best mates from the age of about 2, which showed.

I was happy to find that the hotel bar served Hooky Bitter (Hook Norton Brewery)…and even happier to find it served in manly glass tankards

The Rest

More chatting, slightly more drunken this time, followed the meal and speeches, before the disco started up. I have to confess to not really dancing very much.

After the happy couple’s first dance (I wish I could remember what the tune was - definitely Beatles, but I can’t remember which song), It started with 60s stuff and moved on through the decades. As such, the last few songs weren’t really the best for the occasion. Oh well. The last song, though, was a real "everybody puts arms on shoulders and goes mad" number, which was a great way to end the night. Probably Come On Eileen, but again, I’m not entirely sure. [Phil points out that the first dance was Something, with the night actually ended by the Proclaimers and 500 Miles…that makes much more sense!]

More food was served at something like 10pm, which was very welcome - crispy prawny things and sandwiches, mostly. I particularly liked the rare beef sarnies - proper red raw gobbets of cow slapped between bits of bread. Mmmmm.

It all ended at 12.30am, and a few hardy souls retired to the hotel bar. Little Paul bought a round for Mike, Debs, me and himself, and we sat chatting for a while. Mike and Debs left, so Paul and I joined the remnants (schoolmates, Steve, Fiona(?) and Louise I think, plus a lad I didn’t know) for a while.

Silly banter was had, then we sloped off to our beds. In my case, via the aforementioned trek back to Dorn.

The Farm

So, I got back to Old Farm at close to 3am. On went my torch, as I walked through the entrance and towards the farm buildings. It really was dark.

Managed to open the guests’ door, aided by the security light in the courtyard, to find some corridor lights on. I tiptoed up the stairs, managed to remember where my room was, and settled down in the sumptuous king-sized bed for a good night’s rest.

The Morning After

Awoke far too early (8.30am) and stumbled down to the breakfast room to find the place’s other residents - an older lady whose name I didn’t catch, and Joe & Kate (I think), a couple who were there for a wedding on that day. At the Manor House Hotel too - I told them to watch out for the steps.

Old Farm only has three rooms, so breakfast was a friendly affair - we all had a nice chat around the table. As last down, I was also last to finish.

One thing we noticed in the breakfast room was that the photos of the pigs were above the photos of the children. Intentional?!

The breakfast itself was nothing short of BRILLIANT. Cereal followed by home-grown sausages, bacon and eggs (scrambled), with locally-produced mushrooms, bread, butter and apple juice. The bacon in particular was absolutely fantastic.

I was convinced to try some of Sarah’s recently (the day before, I think) produced damson jam, which the farm’s kids had pronounced "the best jam ever". Maybe not quite the best jam ever, but definitely up there.

After breakfast, I grabbed a much needed shower and a quick lie down before checking out at 10.30am - I bought some apple juice, bacon and sausages from the farm shop…how could I refuse?!

Then it was back to the Manor House Hotel to say one last goodbye to the wedding party, who’d be partaking of tea between 10.30am and 11.30am…or so I thought. It was actually 10am-10.30am, and I got there at 10.50am so missed most people. Still, it was nice enough.

Feeling slightly hung over, back to MancLand I drove, via a few country lanes for good measure - the countryside down there really is lovely, in a "ye olde middle England" kind of way. In fact, just about everything in that part of the world is old - old sandstone pubs, old windy lanes, magnificent old churches, right down to the 300-year-old mulberry tree in the Manor House Hotel’s courtyard.

The Chelt

The wedding was on Saturday afternoon. On Friday evening, I’d driven down to Cheltenham to visit Mike and Pam, who I’d not seen since June (or thereabouts).

They fed me with pizza and plied me with wine before dragging me to the Swan, a rather pleasant pub. There we had a few pints before heading back to their flat for yet more wine and conversation.

Poor Pam was limping around rather badly - she’d fallen while bouldering and hurt her ankle rather badly. Not broken, fortunately, but still pretty bad. Get well soon, Pamela.