Lolling in Moon Fleet Manor

I celebrated my sixty first birthday very recently - I'm still taken aback by this amazing occurrence - I ask myself - how is such a thing possible?

I was standing in a tube train this year - swaying back and forth as the carriage doors slid open at Warren Street - a siren asked if I wanted her seat - I took up her offer - while the train raced on to Goodge Street, I stared my reflection in the window - I looked at my shock of white hair - would someone call me granddad in the street?

Anne, though, says the important thing to worry about is whether you have short telomeres or not - perhaps to reassure myself, I decided to have lunch at Moonfleet Manor - this is one of my favourite places -

I found this louche hotel quite by accident - I'd been visiting the old church at Fleet - only a remnant of the church is left after the great gale of 1824 -

I lolled upon a red sofa, in a high ceilinged room - upon the walls were hung tiger skins and faded photographs of scenes of the Raj - Richard glowered when he saw the headline of the Daily Mail - Teachers of Hatred it said - Baroness Thatcher had just died in her suite at The Ritz -

Two stuffed lizards were arranged over a doorway - deer and antelope skulls shone upon the pale blue walls - huge vases were stuffed with flowers - worn red carpets were underfoot - there were expanses of dark bare floorboards - battered wooden chests served as occasional tables -

I looked at a photograph of the Darjeeling Botanical Gardens - but my eye was soon taken by an oil painting of some glorious naked women - they had been swimming in a lake -

I chuckled over a copy of The Beano - I drank my cappuccino - I looked forward to an impending flight to Turkey - soon, Deo volente, I would be sitting in the shade of orange trees - Jane and Ken would welcome me into their beautiful house -