Mary dropped me off at Sheffield train station at 15:01. At this moment, on Radio 4, Stephen Cleobury's choice of soloist treble chorister would be ringing "Once in royal David's city..." round Kings College, Cambridge. I was heading to Leicester.
Clive T (there are two resident Clives, just to confuse everyone) picked me up, and Clive W settled me into a bedroom in the brothers' end. I met Charlie Davis, who at five weeks looks like he's already in size 2 baby clothes. Andy and Eva had friends round for an evening meal. Afterwards we joined them, so everyone was gathered in the main lounge. Since I judged that very little was expected of me, I ploughed into a recent book (Single Mission) on the challenges of singleness and Christian service. Most folks opted to sample the midnight service at an outskirts parish church. This included persuading the two Chinese students girls staying under a hosting arrangement to join in. I chose an early night.
When the sunrise caught the cedar tree outside my window, I realised I couldn't work out the orientation of the house. That's no surprise, I get muddled at home. Annie had offered me a sack of sprouts to peel as contribution towards feeding the nearly 60 folks booked in for tea. But when I appeared in the kitchen Clive was already on his 70th, much to the amusement of the sisters. They obviously have some other way of gauging three or four each without actually counting. He stopped at 170, but one rolled under the Aga.
Springy are very organised, and ring a bell for meals - one of several spring-mounted on a board that summonsed the staff in the property's former existence. There was Stilton with the bread and soup that constituted a quick snack lunch. We broke into what Clive called a turtle cake, so thick with chocolate that it had to be turned over to cut portions. Then we piled into the minibus and headed for the Cropston Reservoir car park of Bradgate Country Park.
Clive had a missed call from Iain, who was heading up the Open Door Coventry party that we would be meeting up with. It was too cold for them to hang around for us, and they'd already set off on their walk (blame the turtle cake). I ambled along with Hamid, who'd come across from Birmingham to spend time with his in-laws-to-be. We chatted about his work colleagues and their techie questionings about faith, and whether we've got it wrong about celibacy and the rising generation.
Pretty soon we read the signals that the children along with the families had had enough, and we headed back. The sky was free of aircraft vapour trails. I hadn't consciously noted that since visiting Bystrany in rural Slovakia. Just then, Mary texted to say the Sheffield crew had just got back to the car park on their traditional walk.
Tea was a splendid affair, with full roast and mince pies. Hamid and I joined Clive and attacked the washing up. We all gathered for a spontaneous worship time. At around 8pm, the Coventry folks made their farewells. Then we had a round of 'Empire', which must rate as the fastest-growing-in-popularity game around. Caleb won, having sat inconspicuously in the corner throughout the entire proceedings. The local folks made their ways home: suddenly it was quiet. One by one, folks announced what they'd be doing between now and Sunday. It wasn't leaving me many people to
talk to on Boxing Day, nor opportunity to practise a couple of songs with the resident musicians for the meeting I had to take.
No matter, tomorrow there was nearby Victoria Park to explore, with its several prescribed jogging routes: flat, too. Before the snow.
Clive T (there are two resident Clives, just to confuse everyone) picked me up, and Clive W settled me into a bedroom in the brothers' end. I met Charlie Davis, who at five weeks looks like he's already in size 2 baby clothes. Andy and Eva had friends round for an evening meal. Afterwards we joined them, so everyone was gathered in the main lounge. Since I judged that very little was expected of me, I ploughed into a recent book (Single Mission) on the challenges of singleness and Christian service. Most folks opted to sample the midnight service at an outskirts parish church. This included persuading the two Chinese students girls staying under a hosting arrangement to join in. I chose an early night.
When the sunrise caught the cedar tree outside my window, I realised I couldn't work out the orientation of the house. That's no surprise, I get muddled at home. Annie had offered me a sack of sprouts to peel as contribution towards feeding the nearly 60 folks booked in for tea. But when I appeared in the kitchen Clive was already on his 70th, much to the amusement of the sisters. They obviously have some other way of gauging three or four each without actually counting. He stopped at 170, but one rolled under the Aga.
Springy are very organised, and ring a bell for meals - one of several spring-mounted on a board that summonsed the staff in the property's former existence. There was Stilton with the bread and soup that constituted a quick snack lunch. We broke into what Clive called a turtle cake, so thick with chocolate that it had to be turned over to cut portions. Then we piled into the minibus and headed for the Cropston Reservoir car park of Bradgate Country Park. Clive had a missed call from Iain, who was heading up the Open Door Coventry party that we would be meeting up with. It was too cold for them to hang around for us, and they'd already set off on their walk (blame the turtle cake). I ambled along with Hamid, who'd come across from Birmingham to spend time with his in-laws-to-be. We chatted about his work colleagues and their techie questionings about faith, and whether we've got it wrong about celibacy and the rising generation.Pretty soon we read the signals that the children along with the families had had enough, and we headed back. The sky was free of aircraft vapour trails. I hadn't consciously noted that since visiting Bystrany in rural Slovakia. Just then, Mary texted to say the Sheffield crew had just got back to the car park on their traditional walk.
Tea was a splendid affair, with full roast and mince pies. Hamid and I joined Clive and attacked the washing up. We all gathered for a spontaneous worship time. At around 8pm, the Coventry folks made their farewells. Then we had a round of 'Empire', which must rate as the fastest-growing-in-popularity game around. Caleb won, having sat inconspicuously in the corner throughout the entire proceedings. The local folks made their ways home: suddenly it was quiet. One by one, folks announced what they'd be doing between now and Sunday. It wasn't leaving me many people to
talk to on Boxing Day, nor opportunity to practise a couple of songs with the resident musicians for the meeting I had to take.
No matter, tomorrow there was nearby Victoria Park to explore, with its several prescribed jogging routes: flat, too. Before the snow.
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