Okay so some time ago, (so much has happened in between that I have to refer to my diary to remember what happened) we went to Auckland and got on a big plane. One medium sized book, a viewing of Finding Nemo and a snooze and we arrived in Hong Kong where the sun was rising. That - and a view from the plane - was all we saw of Hong Kong but the departure lounge was okay (if you like that sort of thing) as two hours later we got back on the plane and being blessed with a blissful lack of many other passengers had a row of seats each to stretch out on and stewards and stewardesses on demand to deliver hot and cold drinks and small snacks as requested. Another movie (The Worlds Fastest Indian) some crappy airline food and another sleep and we touched down at Heathrow.
I am told that the queues for non EU passport holders at Heathrow are horrendous and you get the third degree about the possibility you might be intending to work. But when we got there there was no one in the queue. Immigration man had a short chat to me about my occupation, commented that my boss was very nice to me giving me such a long holiday and slapped a stamp on my passport. He didn't think husbands occupation even worth discussing and stamped his too (though we were advised later that there is quite a shortage of tradesmen of husbands profession so perhaps they didn't mind if he worked). So we strolled through the nothing to declare lane and there we were in England. We had in fact disembarked and completed the formalities so fast that there was no one there to meet us. So we went and got a coffee. And discovered a language barrier - "long black" means nothing to coffee shop staff. After some debate about precisely what I wanted I was told I wanted an Americano. Okay so give me one....
Half an hour later spotted sister and brother in law standing at the arrivals entrance scanning the crowds coming through. Snuck up behind them and scared the hell out of them. Ha!
We piled our luggage in the car and set off with brother in law and sister to the village they reside in (for part of the year) in the Cotswolds. Along the way we catch up with gossip from both sides of the world and have landmarks pointed out to us. I am a little perturbed at the speed brother in law travels in tiny little lanes but avert my eyes - he's lived round here for most of his life (apart from the time he's spent in New Zealand which isn't inconsiderable) so he must know what he is doing. Love the dry stone walls.
BIL and Sis inhabit a delightful 16th century Cotswold stone cottage in a village with three hundred inhabitants, two pubs, a bakery and a post office. It is gorgeous. We are given a welcoming reception from my nieces which is very generous of them since they have been relegated to airbeds in the tiny little study for the duration of our stay.
Gossiped, ate, drank a bottle or two of wine and fell asleep.
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