The weather has turned pretty cold. At the weekend we were at Little Gidding on a retreat, staying at Ferrar House, which is owned by the Little Gidding Trust and run by Sue, who did not seem to be into silent meditation but was both welcoming and full of information about the place.

We travelled with Judy in the back seat and took the route across the Fens and through Ramsey, leaving around 10am on Saturday. This got us to Little Gidding, which is in beautiful countryside between Huntingdon and Peterborough, just after midday and in good time for lunch at 12.30pm. David and Bridget brought Claire (Carrington) and got there about a minute before the meal was due, which is pretty good for them.

We had a double room with an excellent view, which compensated for the shower having no hot water (according to my informant) and the bath running very slowly and then leaking through the plughole. On the plus side, the food was good (especially the Stilton and broccoli soup for lunch) and the house full of information about  both T S Eliot and the Ferrars and the religious community they had set up there. The latter seemed to inspire Eliot when he wrote the poem (last of the Four Quartets), although he apparently only spent an afternoon there.

I led a longish session on the poem (noting the allusions to Lady Julian), and after evening meal we had an entertainment, during which Dot and I sang a few songs (Feel Like I’m Falling Apart, Man in the Mask, Sunset Woman and I’m Going Down to Babylon), Judy read a couple of Eliot’s cat poems, and David played the flute. He also tried to teach us a song, but that didn’t work too well.

Yesterday we made our own breakfast and then read right through Little Gidding before having a short service, for which we were joined by Bridget’s friend Mary. We sung my All will be well song and I read the Lord’s Prayer in haiku. Bridget read John 1 in everyone’s least favourite version, the New English Bible, which appears to have been translated by people who don’t speak English or don’t understand poetry, or both.

Afterwards we walked up to Steeple Gidding in a rather chilly wind and enough mud to persuade Claire to turn back halfway. Lovely walk with good views and an enchanting church without pews in the traditional style. The previous night we had had a look through Little Gidding Church, which is almost next to the house use stayed in. Also impressive and atmospheric.

While we were at Little Gidding I witnessed my first Hunt, which gathered in the field opposite, with the sheep huddled in the corner as if knowing what was going on. It all seemed very disorganised, but later on I saw a fox streaking across the field about 200 yards away, followed eventually by the horsemen. Not sure what happened in the end. Dogs killing foxes is actually illegal, but there were plenty of dogs around – sometimes in the garden of our house. The next day Mary told us that some of the hunts took an eagle with them in a cage and released it at the end to kill the fox. Apparently the eagle is called Loophole, for obvious reasons. I have to admit I saw no eagle, although there were plenty of red kite in the area. Stunning birds.

Sue got some old silver out to show us before we left, which made us a bit late for our planned meal at the Fox at Folksworth. Nevertheless the meal was first class, and no problem. They even managed to split the bill four ways, which is no mean feat (Mary was joined by her partner, Brian). Folksworth happens to be one of the places my ancestors come from, and afterwards Dot and I and Judy went for a quick look at the churchyard (where I had been before). We found a couple of tombstones with Lenton on them, but didn’t stay long because of the biting wind.

Afterwards Dot drove home – this time by the standard route down the M11, A14 and A11, which turned out to be OK. The sky tuned very black near Norwich, and it was raining as we unpacked. Judy left quickly to put the cat out, though if the cat had any sense it would have wanted to stay inside.

Earlier in the week (Thursday) I went to see Dr Carlile, who impressed me by taking my symptoms seriously – although she still wanted to put my blood pressure pills up. I am having my blood thoroughly tested: it must be urgent, because this will be as soon as November 20. Felt pretty rough when we got to Little Gidding, but I had had a very bad night.

The piano tuner came on Friday. I may have to cut down on his frequency, because he charges a lot (£88), but we’ve had him for years and he’s a nice bloke.

In the evening we had a meal with a couple we haven’t seen for about 45 years. Cathy Songer used to teach with Dot in Muswell Hill, and we played badminton with her and her husband Chris on a couple of occasions. He is now very large (to put it mildly), but she has grown old gracefully. They now live in Lowestoft, having moved there from St Albans. The meal (at the Nelson) was very nice, and Chris insisted on paying. He also ordered an extra bottle of wine. He’s a take-charge guy. I left the tip. We invited them back for coffee, but Chris couldn’t walk that far. It wasn’t the wine; it was his hips – and his weight, it has to be said.