That magical light

We're currently in Huntingdonshire, or at least we would be if Huntingdonshire hadn't been unfairly swallowed by Cambridgeshire in 1965. We've come to visit Lisa and Mark and their daughters Poppy and Rose, in the charming village of Spaldwick. I was meeting the two-month-old Rose for the first time, and she's a beautiful-looking baby. How strange, therefore, that I continually referred to her as "he!"

We woke up in Wiltshire this morning, in the midst of the mother of all dawn choruses, which I managed to record with the machine I bought on Friday.

We had rehearsals during the morning for Much Ado About Nothing. The music I've written is beginning to sound rather lovely and I've really enjoyed working with such a super group of people. I've laughed a great deal this weekend. 

I have, however, felt ill all day on account of all the rubbish I've stuffed into my face over the past few days. I take this opportunity to state publicly that a major diet and health regime will begin tomorrow, so if anyone reading this sees me secretly scoffing a bar of chocolate, you have my permission to cruelly mock me. Call me fatty. Call me anything. It's for my own good! Nathan says if you cut me I'll bleed saturated fat, and he's not wrong. I reckon I'm 3 stones over-weight and am not happy about it.

The journey from Wiltshire to Huntingdon took us cross country through all my old childhood stomping grounds. From Oxford we travelled north along the A34 through south Northamptonshire towns like Brackley and Towcester. I regaled Nathan with stories of haunted houses and woodland adventures, remembering great friends like Tash and Ted who lived in this corner of the county when we were growing up. 

We crossed the M1 at Collingtree, the home of Fiona's parents, and then trundled along the A45 through Billing and round Earls Barton and Wellingborough. We pulled up in my childhood town of Higham Ferrers to stretch our legs and peer though the windows of our old house in one of the back lanes. As we walked around the house, we could see the walnut tree in the back garden which we'd planted on my Dad's 40th birthday. It's absolutely enormous these days and I'm sure the current owners of the house would be astonished to realise it is actually only 30 years old. The tree was a surprise, but I remember my Dad getting so worried as we waited for the tree to be delivered, thinking he was going to get some kind of stripper-gram!

It shakes me to the core to realise that I'm 40 next year. Perhaps I should plant a tree somewhere. I like the idea of being able to visit it from time to time to check on its progress and make myself feel incredibly old! 

As the sun sets on a glorious summer day,  we head back to London through the dusty, heavily-scented half-light which makes this time of year so profoundly magical. It's almost ten o'clock and the sky is still light blue. There's a yellowish light on the horizon. I feel sick though. I don't care if I never eat again!