40 Years On

I've always loved water, moving or static. A stretch of water, like a horse, offers the possibility of transport without effort, at least from the legs. I used to dream of building a raft, not necessarily to go anywhere but merely to float. That was as close to freedom as my young brain could imagine. If I'd only discovered Swallows and Amazons as a child it would have been my favourite book. As it was I had to indulge a retarded childhood through my own offspring, and the longing to be one of Ransome's gang was not diminished for all that. So offer me a long weekend in a huge Georgian former mill with its own waterfront and selection of small boats and I'm in heaven. I'd like to say that I skiffed, paddled and rowed up and down the Waveney for four days but I didn't. I stepped into one craft, felt it wobble, and got out again. I blamed it on a stiff wind that curled coldly up the river and denied the prospect of waterborne fun, at least for me. When the sun shone, and it did, I followed the others with my greedy eyes, my camera and on foot, but I didn't join them. Their pleasure was enough to satisfy me, but take me back there in summer and it will be a different story.

We celebrated the 40th birthday in numbers and in style. Our two resident chefs made dinner times so special that some of the finest Cambridge brains could only gasp and sigh at their brilliance, silenced for once. On Saturday night we gathered around the massive dining table in our finery, expectant and excited like characters in an Agatha Christie whodunnit. The wines had been carefully selected and each brought its own series of superlatives and well-deserved hyperbole, an oxymoron if ever there was one. The birthday girl was toasted and saluted and trumpeted and sent on her way into another decade. All good things come to an end.

Hugo behaved immaculately all weekend, tolerating the late nights and large numbers of people. He was petted and fussed and praised enthusiastically, even by the cynophobe, even when he was trying to sleep, and apart from a bar of fancily wrapped chocolate that he dropped when I appeared unexpectedly, nothing forbidden passed his lips. At one stage he picked up a fallen grape from under the table and dropped it at my feet. When we got home he went out for the count. We all agreed he is the best dog, ever, and it was the nicest group of people, and the merriest of weekends. Amen.