The Olive Tree

CleanSteve offered to pick me up from work today and drive me along the valley to Nailsworth, the small town where I sell my aromatherapy potions. We thought we might have a blip walk. In the event, the snow was swirling around the car like dry ice, and Steve could've got a fabulous shot had we not been in the middle of the school driveway! Not a good place to linger, however good the shot.

Once in Nailsworth, we did our errands in double quick time, because the cold was nibbling our extremities. Coffee and cake seemed to be in order, rather than a walk. When I got myself seated in The Olive Tree cafe, I figured we might as well have the special offer lunch, so I had a salad and Steve a pizza, followed by gluten- free cake and coffee. CleanSteve said the cafe reminded him of visiting the care agency next door, which you can see through the window, the handsome brick building. My cousin and aunt worked for the agency, and later his parents had carers from there.

I, on the other hand, remember sitting out in the yard in summer (it's looking a little forlorn here, with a desultory snowflake or two) drinking coffee and shooting the breeze. One memorable day, we were driving in convoy to a funeral in Exeter, and the motorway was blocked by a random gunman, so we drove down to Junction 14, but had only got as far as Nailsworth when CleanSteve realised he was wearing his suit and the wrong shoes! It was either slippers or sandals, as I recall. So he threw me out in Nailsworth and did a U-ey, while my sister and I and her baby, sat drinking coffee in the bank holiday sunshine.

What is it about family weddings and funerals that one only remembers the farce: the men swapping kilts the night before because the've all gained or lost weight and can no longer fit their own; the fights; the dotty relatives with Alzheimers; the toddler nephew taking off all his clothes and leaving them in the hotel fireplace; the shortage of flowers because it's Valentine's day, the priest droning on about purgatory and saying that no-one will be excused, no matter how good and well-loved they've been? Worst of all, perhaps, were the imported kegs of beer that could not be opened because no key in the land would fit them!

As usual, I am rambling. Back home, I fed the garden finches, who were very happy to be given more suet and seeds, and now I am sitting watching the dusk fall and the snowflakes swirl.

PS This picture was taken from upstairs in the Olive Tree, which might explain the angles...

PPS I re-posted with more contrast and fewer words. Sorry I lost Lucia's comment!