This is England

My Dad's Uncle Jack used to be a spy, he worked in British aerospace and Govt Central HQ over Cheltenham way. The last two bits are true, the first bit is, I sulkily admit....not. When I was wee and visited from Scotland I had myself convinced he was every inch a home counties spy. He was and still is, mildly eccentric, one of many versions of the wide and generous train of eccentricity that continues to run down the family tree. To my ears, his accent was a blend of Sean Connery with David Niven. Elstree Spy credentials right there. I have vivid memories of picnics with 70s hampers at some random side of a motorway, much to the frustration of my parents, much to my secret delight as I was convinced he was staking out some Russian car convoy. It's been an age since I last saw Dad's Uncle Jack. But he will always hold a big place in my heart and head because he is bountiful in personality, just like his sister was, my Grandma. I smile when I think of them and even more when I remember the family gatherings.

Visiting Mo and Graham in Englandshire always gives me the same feeling. It's like jumping into the comfort of another age, crafted by two very modern people. So we had breakfast in the garden with old school Holywood shades on, walked round the markets and eschewed the chainstores, watched Tess stroke every single dog in St Albans without permission, listened to Sam's description of every bird in the park, walked among the ruins of the Romans and scoffed waffles.

An impromptu visit to the Odyssey on the walk home was the same mix of yesteryear and today. Old school charm in a newly refurbished theatre. Like being in the cast of Goddfellas, sitting in plush movable chairs amid tables that hold your booze and nibbles while you listen to the act being introduced. It was Inside Out. Pixar had me 5 seconds in to their traditional emotional heartstrings puller of a Short before the film proper even started. I'm a sucker for a lonely lava maker. And I continued to cry at Inside Out. Emotionally flooded from start to finish. Bloody Pixar. They are cunning, pressing the buttons on at least 3 out of every 4 adults in any random audience. And this audience clapped when it finished.

Back to Mo and Graham's where the kids faded with happy tiredness and the adults got over excited about card games, washed down with a glass or two.

P.s. My 8 year old former self has just whispered "If I told you my Great Uncle Jack really was a spy, I'd have to kill you". The strain of eccentricity really found room to roam when it branched in my general diction.