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Rich taking photos of Framlingham Castle

Saturday, unquestionably the brighter of this weekend’s two days, we went to Framlingham to walk around the edge of the castle. It’s another part of the country I’ve never seen before, and it certainly proved to be well worth a visit. Muddy, of course, but very picturesque, and the 900-year-old castle is remarkably well preserved, even if you can see the odd bit of red-brick patchwork here and there.

The only slight downer was the car playing up. It decided that every unlocking twist of the key was actually a lock command, despite already being locked tight shut. When we eventually got the door open it fell into an endless gdzzzg-gdzzzg gdzzzg-gdzzzg loop as it tried over and over and over to lock up again, but every time failed because the passenger door was open. The driver-side door was refusing - stubbornly, in my opinion - to do anything at all, so I had to clamber in and out from the opposite side.

So, that made for a very early start this morning. Dad’s over (apparently for an extended period), and had popped down to Sal’s for the weekend for his birthday. She’d booked us into an Italian restaurant ten minutes’ drive from home, but the car had to be fixed first, or we’d never get there in the first place.

Poxy thing refused to stay broken after a 6h45 alarm call and a scoot around to the guy who services it. He greased it up just in case that would help as an interim stop-gap, and showed me where to thump the door panel if it should stick again, but in the absence of any proper repeatable problem there wasn’t much he could do, except order a replacement part for a commonly-failing mechanism and estimate a fix date of Thursday.

Poo.

Still, it made the trip down to Sal’s quite safely, and back in one piece, and in between we all had very nice lunches at the restaurant, snuggly cuddles with the cat, yummy cake with cups of tea afterwards, and backwards-forwards treks from the bookshelves to the kitchen as we moved things out of the way of tomorrow’s carpet fitters.

Oscar is looking thin and increasingly bald, poor thing. He must be the only cat in the world that suffers from depression, and an allergy to dust, cotton and wool.

This entry was posted on Sunday, February 18th, 2007 at 11:36 pm and is filed under Journal, Picture story. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.