92

92

That's how old my dad is, as of yesterday. Tony and I drove north and met up with Mum, Dad, and my sister and brother-in-law to Wallington Hall in Northumberland. It belongs to the National Trust and has been a favourite family place since my sister and I were kids. You can find it on the National Trust site.

The day excelled itself. It was a perfect sunny autumn day, and they were having a Food and Craft Fair, which meant that Dad could watch a wood carver at work. We walked through the shady wood, past the lakes and the fallen tree where my children used to play, and through the walled garden which is a bit like walking into something from Alice in Wonderland. Father inspected all the gardens and greenhouses, got annoyed with himself because he couldn't remember the name of a particular flower (which I didn't know in the first place) and walked right to the end of the grounds. Walking all the way back might have been hard work, so my brother-in-law brought the car round. We rounded off with ice cream and birthday cake in the car park.

Mum and Dad had a wonderful day. Chatting to guides and the craft fair people, they let it drop that it was Dad's 92nd birthday, and people really cared about it. They were impressed, they were interested, they struck up a conversation. As the familiar accents made me feel at home, so did the warmth, that Northumbrian attitude of warmth, friendliness and welcome. I'd forgotten how good it is. Holy ground.