Ah umnae havin ya, it was pure dead brilliant

Arriving in London on 30 November, Graham, Al and I began a trip for the memory books. Al had a jammed schedule of business meetings, leaving Graham and me to explore the city. Winter declared its presence in London with icy temperatures and a late afternoon snowfall.

Graham and I dropped our bags at the hotel and made our way for the Tate Britain museum. It was humming with small uniformed school groups and a smattering of German tourists and backpacking youth. We strolled past several memorable pieces (Damien Hirst, Lucian Freud among them) and reached the painting we sought: John Singer Sargeant’s Carnation Lily, Lily Rose.

Everyone has seen this painting reproduced as calendar art, posters, stationery, playing cards, etc. But in person it seems sliced out of a bigger canvas. The little girls lighting Chinese lanterns in their Cotswald garden at twilight surrounded by stargazer lilies played their enchanting trick on me. Graham studied the brushstrokes and we noticed all the details – a filament of string connecting the lanterns that appears, disappears and reappears as the light hits it across the painting. Tummies grumbling, we went down to the Tate’s café and shared a delicious illy coffee and a cheddar and pickle sandwich.

Time for shopping! Graham was on a mission for some new natty clothes at Harrod’s. We went straight up the side escalators that were decked out in Peter Pan scenes at every floor (except for the Dodi Fayed and Princess Diana statue on one level) The children’s floor did not disappoint. It too was hopping with holiday cheer, countless toy demonstrators – even a magician. An entire section was transformed into a Peter Pan and Wendy themed maze leading to Father Christmas himself taking requests. We very innocently asked if we would be able to go in since we had no appointment, to which the elfin helper said, “Certainly young man, right this way!” I didn’t know if Graham would be intimidated going without his sisters, and I was so proud when he spoke bravely to ol’ Saint Nick, getting a chuckle when St. N said, “Do you like puzzles and games? What about computer games, Graham? Do you like those?” and Graham replied, “Oh no, my mom doesn’t really allow Wii in our house. But do you like Legos? What’s your favorite Lego thing, Santa?” They had a sweet conversation that ended with a sticker, a chocolate, a pin and a free copy of Peter and Wendy courtesy of Harrod’s. Go Graham! He did some fantastic shopping and we mopped up at Zara kids for the girls, too.

That night, we were giddy as we walked across to Hyde Park to take in the Winter Wonderland. Indeed it was, full of little Bavarian village scenes, hot sausages, piping hot (and spiked) cider, little shopping booths lining the walkway. Deep inside the festival were rides galore. The sky was dark and giant snowflakes fell so thick they stuck to our hair, our lashes and our coats. Christmas tunes delighted us as our eyes feasted on all the twinkling rides. We bought £20 in ride tokens, and started out on Santa’s Sleigh mini coaster. The ride was a kids’ coaster and we sat on the front row, mushing on the reindeer around the track three times. So fun. We next tried the tobagan hill, but when we reached the top, I was too scared. It was high and slick with wet snow and accumulating flakes. I was truly afraid it would be a wilder ride than we needed, ending in us in a heap at the bottom with hockey-player faces. So we skidded/slid/gingerly walked down the entrance ramp and thanked the workers for understanding. Our adrenaline was pumping and we opted for the Black Hole coaster which lived up to its name and gave us a huge thrill! Our final choice was the hanging coaster. A big green track and the kind of seats that buckled over your shoulders, this was the grand finale. We rushed back to the hotel, singing and jogging, stopping only for a crepe with Nutella and a snowball fight in the park. There is noone better with whom to attend a carnival than a 7 yr-old boy!

Dinner was a demure affair at Nobu with Daddy and men in suits, yet Graham held his own, mastered chopsticks, devoured sea bass and even had a nip of my sake. Mmmm!

The next morning I listened to the news to hear all about football (the FIFA kind) and airport closings. I finally woke our hibernating son at 10:30 am so that we could find the Illustration Cupboard and collect some books we’d purchased over the internet. We walked there and found ourselves lingering until lunchtime. The unique shop offers original illustrations by award-winning illustrators such as Lauren Child and Inga Moore. We really loved the Brian Wildwood pieces but they were beyond budget. In the end, I did find some real treasures, and splurged on storyboard layouts for Robert Ingpen’s work on Peter and Wendy. Graham insists these will be perfect in his new room in California.

Lunch with Nick, Katie and Toby at the newly refurbished Savoy was charming and wonderful. We had so much to say to eachother we could hardly find time to order the food. Catching up was wonderful and I hope we see them stateside for a visit this year. We finished our time together with a stroll through the festive streets of Covent Garden. Later, Graham and I popped over to the Purdey store and received an invitation to view the Long Room, where the queen has her family guns fitted. He sat at the head of the table where the war cabinet met in WWII and where many world leaders have gathered for heady events in history. The room is teaming with storied guns, books and photos depicting the history of Purdey & Sons. What a treat.

Dinner was a French affair at L’Atelier de Jöel Robuchon (just nearby where we’d been earlier with Katie) and we savoured tasty morsels like a sardine tart and a fois gras torchon.

Overnight a blanket of snow fell on London.

The next morning, Gatwick was closed again as were rail stations. We squeezed in a tiny bit more shopping at Hamleys and went out to Farnborough to fly to Prestwick, Scotland. Lucky for us our departure and arrival airports escaped the pervasive Siberian snowfalls plaguing Britain. Graham thoroughly enjoyed the flight to Scotland and spent the time getting to know our friends’ new puggle, Rhum. We got to know Marion and Harry and had fun catching up with Emma and Chris.

In Scotland it was nightfall when we landed, so we could not see the seaside view en route to Knockdolian. We could smell the farmy goodness of wet, dark countryside. The roads were snowy and icy as we rounded the last turn for the estate. Entering the doors we encountered warm fires, solid stone floors, one large black lab and a house steeped in tradition. Richard directed us to our rooms up the sturdy plaid-carpeted stairway. We tidied up for supper and gathered in the living room as we would do each evening during our stay. Proper cocktail hour ensued. Dinner was roast leg of lamb with creamy chopped Brussels sprouts, new potatoes and other goodies. We were joined by Marta and John, and John (a Beretta expert).

The next morning, after a full English breakfast (read: stewed whole tomatoes, black pudding, proper bacon, sausages, poached eggs, toast, suet toast, porridge, orange juice, coffee, tea) we met our loaders and caravanned out to the first drive. I was assisted by John, which was a real treat. He had no idea how I’d shoot so he offered a cornucopia of advice. After than drive, they promoted me to a local loader (Moment of pride!) and allowed John to assist others and eventually he took his own peg. My loader’s name is Carson. He is the quintessential Scottish man with a face that tells a thousand tales, a white coarse beard and a twinkle in his eye. His pipe and his accent completed the picture and I can hear him speaking now as I type. My favorite words he used were “doesna” when telling a tale and “good gurl!” when I shot well. Only on one drive I shot so poorly that the beaters gave him a razzing when they cleared the hill. Something in thick Scottish brogue about his shooter only downing two birds. Och.

Elevenses were port-infused Bovril for us and tom”ah”to soup for Wee Graham. The second to last drive of the morning was magical. The snow fell all around softly and floated straight down. I sang, “Winter Wonderland” and marveled at the majestic sight. The last drive of the morning was formidable. Suddenly the wind came on strong, pelting the snow, now wet and smarting, into my ear, my cheek and my right eye. My peg was below some gorse on a hillside and I had approximately two seconds to sight, aim and shoot. My fingers became so numb I could not bend them around the gun. Quitting was not an option, so I shoved handwarmers into my gloves and gave it all I could. The overhead shooting combined with the wind continually whipped my hat off my head. I turned around to check on Graham often. He looked like a marionette doll crumpled on a stone by the creek, hands over his ears, hat over his eyes, feet jutting out, bracing himself against the elements. It was hard. He did not complain.

Lunch revived us and brought circulation back to all the frozen parts. Afternoon shooting was much milder and very productive. Graham stayed back at the house with Boo (aka Marion) and built his Lego Land Rover.

And so it went with shooting and dining for two action-packed days. The Saturday drives near an old lime kiln, on a sheepy hillside, across a field at a bend in the river were all picturesque and phenomenal. The culmination of the entire trip, for me, was on the final evening. In the formal dining room, the scene: stoic portraits high overhead, giant draped windows to the icy cold hills around us, four silver candelabras down the center of the long table. Richard sat at one end of the table and a very eager Graham was offered the other head for a special treat. Graham remembered when to speak and when not (oh yes, in the very old fashioned Scottish way "wide ears and short tongues are best") Graham proudly tended the fire, made conversation, and charmed us one and all. When the pudding (dessert) was served and the cheese tray passed round, Richard not only invited Graham to come back but insisted that he must use the family 410 to shoot when he does. Our little boy was transported to the moon at that point! His little chest puffed out and his eyes danced. Soon after that, I motioned it was time to go to bed, and he dutifully nodded, kissed Daddy goodnight and gave Richard a warm affectionate hug. He floated up the stairs. Tucking him in I said, “Graham, we are so proud of you. You know why they invited you back, right?” “Yeh, yeh, yeh” he said it a quick way, emulating our British friends‘ linguistics “I remembered my manners, Mom.” So he did!

This is my country,
The land that begat me,
These windy spaces
Are surely my own.
and those who toil here
In the sweat of their faces
Are flesh of my flesh
And bone of my bone.

-Sir Alexander Gray