Martha's Marvellous Munchies

Or: Toby and Friends. But that would spoil the pattern, and anyway, we were in the South. To be exact, Bristol, Reading and Wimbledon, which form a pretty straight line along latitude 51° 50' N or so. And after commenting in my previous post that I'd managed to take photos of all the important people, I realise now that I failed to take any of about half of the people Toby met. Including Jen, with whom we actually stayed in Bristol. In my defence, she's hard to pin down long enough to take a photo of - she is one unstoppable lady! As well as being manic at work and dashing around doing all the things she'd planned before we decided to turn up on her doorstep, she managed to invite a few friends round on Friday night and cook a delicious lunch for eight of us (plus puppy and baby) on Sunday. Phew! Makes me tired just thinking about it! Isn't that right, Toby? We had a hectic time in Bristol ourselves, trying to fit in visits to everyone. As always, there were so

At this point in the trip Graham returned to Texas to go back to work, and it will become obvious that he's much better at remembering to take photos than I am. Although I did try hard to get one or two of all the important people that Toby met. Chief among those, of course, were his grandparents on his mother's side. So here's Toby with Grandpa: And with Grandma, in the back garden. That's rhubarb over against the fence, which made its way into a rather nice dessert while I was staying (mmmm). We went for a walk to Hambledon lock and weir, on the River Thames, and Grandma and Grandpa got some exercise by pushing Toby up and down a rather steep hill. As you can see, it was a rather damp day, but had actually stopped raining by the time we started walking. Just a snapshot of some typical English countryside - hedges, fields, and rolling hills. Why do hills roll, anyway? Makes it sound like they go around turning somersaults. Back at home, and Toby looking very snuggl

When I was a child we drove up to visit my dad's family near Sheffield about once a year, and there was always a slight thrill when we swung on to the M1 and saw those big blue signs telling us we were heading to THE NORTH. Somehow those two words managed to convey an image of massive icebergs sailing under the glow of the aurora, while reindeer roamed in the conifer woods and polar bears fought by the light of the midnight sun. And then we got to Sheffield. And then I grew up and gradually realised that Sheffield is barely halfway up England, and there's a lot further to go before you reach the snowy wastes. On the way you pass through Yorkshire, which to be honest can do pretty well at being a snowy waste itself in winter, but we arrived in spring, to the much more inviting drifts of daffodils and crocuses. Graham's parents, as I may have mentioned, live in Todmorden. Pretty much all the towns in the area are in valleys, which makes it easy to get a birdseye view. If