The calm after the storm

Early morning, with a clear blue sky and sunshine stroking the tops of the trees that line the hill at the back of my friends' house. A big change from yesterday when the wind was gusting and the rain falling. It was a typical "wet Whitsun" Bank Holiday Monday.

The local Sainsbury's in Newhaven was heaving yesterday morning when I went in for essential supplies - Tarte au Citron, roast vegetable crisps, and a bottle of Raspberry and Wild Lavender presse - queues at the Checkouts 6 deep, and very narrow spaces in the car park outside. But I had to go, since even though I had been told that I didn't need to take anything to the lunch we were going to, one can't arrive empty-handed.

Needless to say, we didn't sit out in the garden and eat under the gazebo that was threatening to take to the skies and fly away over the South Downs. Instead we sat in the conservatory and nattered and ate and drank, though not neccessarily in that order. I probably had about three glasses of red wine too many, but they did complement the rather fine and ancient Brie and fragrant Dolcelatte.

So later on this morning I shall leave the salt air and rolling Downs and head back to the flat farmland of the Waveney river. I shall not drive down to Newhaven docks and jump on a Transmanche Ferry for France. (I didn't bring my passport with me!) I shan't even go into Brighton and ferret through the local postcards in the main Collector's shop. (The last time I looked my collection was better than theirs!) Instead I shall drive through the Cuilfail Tunnel into Lewes, head up to Royal Tunbridge Wells, and then onto the dreaded M25 for the Dartford Crossing. Once north of the Thames it's the long slog north-east through Essex and into Suffolk, and I usually take a break at Ipswich at the large Tesco's at Copdock. (Average coffee but the opportunity to buy supplies for supper.) Another hour after that and I should be back in "The Saints".

It's a busy mobile world. There are still a few people in the 11 Saintly parishes who have never travelled out of the area in which they were born. Perhaps it would do us who travel without much thought good to stop and look with new eyes where we actually are once in a while. We might hear that "still small voice" that speaks in the silence.