It’s an even brighter yellow than the opening sunflowers in the garden, and as small as, well, an old Polo. We’ve got it for a little over a week to test, and although it’s no road burner with only 55bhp, it does have ESP. Quite why, we don’t know; maybe it’s got more power than we think. Whatever, with its sunny demeanour and cheery character, it should be fun finding out.
We’ve not had as much of that in the last few weeks as we probably should, but surprisingly, the garden’s starting to give us something back. At last. Yes, the tomatoes are still a long way off being ready, but tonight, Nik harvested a fair-sized crop of all sorts of vegetables, more than filling the enamel bucket.
We’ve already eaten our way through a lettuce (the first two went to seed), made blackcurrant and raspberry liqueur, had plentiful bowlfuls of strawberries, and enjoyed more than a few handfuls of broad beans in our risottos.
Today’s tidy up garnered beans of all kinds (Dwarf French, Runners, Italian Red, and Regular French), and Charlotte, Kestrel and Red Rooster potatoes. We also used our first homegrown onion this week. The carrots and parsnips have been more disappointing, though, with only two carrot shoots showing from three varieties planted, and while the chillies are doing something, it’ll be a while until we start using those, too.
Even the herbs have failed. We’re perplexed as to what’s not quite gone right this year so far, but who knows, maybe the autumn will yield better results. By then, we might possibly have had more of the fabled summer sunshine, a much more important ingredient than maybe we first thought.
It’s referred to as the ‘classic car’ in some circles, due to the heightened number of breakdowns it’s had recently, putting its parts on at the most inconvenient time. But, classic car it might be, on Monday night, my 1994 Polo GT was the star of the show. Or our drive at least.
Yes, the exhaust has fallen off recently (Eurovision night to be precise, and more than likely down to perished rubber hangers), resulting in a very noisy journey home from Mark’s, and the cambelt has been changed too in the last few weeks, really as a precautionary measure. In all other respects, though, my faithful motoring companion shows little sign of its 157,000 miles and 15-year life.
It still feels as solid as a modern day Volkswagen (and hewn from granite when compared with its French or Italian contemporaries), and while the paint is starting to show rust freckles in certain areas, I was told on Monday night that ‘Evo Car’ (so-called because of the evo magazine sticker on the back window) was one of the best examples of the breed that Justin had seen.
He came to collect the spare front bumper I sold to him on eBay for £1, and had a G40 which was in the garage being repaired after being shunted by a Volvo. We stood chatting on the drive for around 45 minutes. I’d have offered him and his ferrying friend a cup of tea if I’d known we’d be that long. I don’t get engaged in that long a conversation when we attend Volkswagen events.
It was fun, though, and as we discussed the merits of the Mk1 and Mk 2 Polos, the sun making the light and sky more orange, I realised that maybe the silver shed isn’t quite so bad after all. It’s gone past the stage of economical repair yes, but that doesn’t mean it has to be run into the ground. It’s lucky if it does 6,000 miles a year now, and is quite literally a shopping car these days, but 19-year old Justin was impressed.
Which sometimes, is all that matters. Polo GTs are getting fewer in number, and only last weekend did I read a letter by a similarly pleased GT owner to one of the classic car magazines stating that she thought they are ripe to become a future classic. While that would be nice (and I’d like to agree), the handling and ‘fun factor’ probably isn’t up to the best in class, and the car didn’t get overly rave reviews at the time its tyres first rolled onto tarmac.
But, it’s what it means to us owners that matters most. And as most cars get bigger, heavier, and less individually styled, older cars are appealing to me more. Alongside the Polo, I’d like a metal-bumpered Mk 1 Golf GTI, a BMW 2002, and an Alfa Romeo 1300 Junior/1750 GTV among others. Are classics fantastic? Oh yes.
No, not the attributes of our cuddly moggy Oscar, but five of the words to one of the tunes on our Action Songs CD that we picked up in one of the geocaches at the weekend. We did three in total, but the children’s collection of happy melodies was undoubtedly the best find.
It gave us the most laughs anyway. On the way to the pub for Sunday lunch, we slipped it into the car’s CD player and awaited the assault on our ears. Yes, what we heard was very child like, although with words like ‘Flip it up, flip it out, and make it stand up straight’, you’d think we were listening to some sort of happy-clappy porn, and not a song about Peter Rabbit (and his ear).
The rest of the weekend was just as much fun. We were at Steven and Anthony’s, seeing their new house in St Neots, not too far down the road from Cambridge. It didn’t get off to a good start, though; the sat-nav made us drive the long route around (even if I should have known better), and we arrived 30 minutes late, after pootling around the town for 20.
But, what followed was very enjoyable.
We ate bruschetta, tomatoes, and cream cheese, followed by green bean and asparagus penne, finishing off with chocolate soufflé and strawberries. All very tasty, and some of it very ambitious; Steven had never cooked a soufflé before. He needn’t have worried, though, as it tasted as good as it sounds. We washed it all down with margheritas and white and red wine.
We then lounged in the lounge, and surprisingly, talked until 3am. Needless to say we breakfast wasn’t early, but we set off searching for treasure soon after, aiming the Qashqai for Great Paxton. The first cache done, we headed back for two more that were extremely well hidden in town. Then it was back into Great Paxton for lunch, trying to stifle our leftover giggles from what we’d just heard on the CD in the car.
Fantastic hosts, good food, interesting conversation and lots of laughter, with the occasional pointy ears and curly whiskers. Sounds like all the ingredients for a fun weekend to me.
Reviews are naturally subjective by their nature as it’s the opinion of the reviewer that comes forward, but we enjoyed such good food here, our dining experience is more than worthy of a few lines.
Mum and Bart (below) took us out, and have dined at the Flint House on more than one occasion recently. So much it seems, that on the Saturday night we visited, the personal service was second to none. It’s one of their favourite places in the town to eat, and it’s easy to see why.
Easy to find in the High Street, the unassuming exterior leads into a smart and welcoming interior; all wooden floors, white and deep-coloured walls, and coastal-themed pictures. We were seated in the bar area and were brought flavoured nuts and nibbles while we browsed the menu and took our first sips of the Adnams Fizz we’d ordered.
The area surrounding the Flint House is steeped in history. Situated off the High Street are a series of scores (possibly derived from the Norse ‘Skor’ meaning a cut or furrow), ancient thoroughfares linking the road with others below and behind the buildings atop. The narrow lanes are though to have been originally created by people treading paths in the sloping cliffs as they walked between the High Street and the beach village.
One of these ancient pathways, Wilde Score has direct links to the Flint House itself. The Wilde family lived in the building from 1588 to the 1740s. Constructed in 1586, the Flint House is the oldest house in Lowestoft, and although nearly all of the cottages in the scores are now just parts of the town’s history, the building which now houses the restaurant still stands. Sadly, the look-out tower built by local sailor Sir Thomas Allin does not, although I have my doubts as to these days whether you would need to see any Dutch man of wars approaching anyway.
Our own Dutch man recommended dishes from the extensive menu, and after we’d made our choices and ordered, we were taken and seated upstairs, in a table in the corner with a view of Gulliver, the town’s solitary and imposing wind turbine, who was barely peeping over the tree tops outside. For a Saturday night, we thought it quiet, but as the short waiting time for our meals elapsed, slowly the tables started to fill.
The starters duly arrived, and the ham, quail’s egg and salad dish was well judged and tasty. With plates quickly cleared, the mains arrived in good time. Bart and I chose the sumptuous lamb’s liver and lamb chop with new potatoes and vegetables, which was smooth, rich, and delicious. In especially good service, mum requested that the piece of fresh plaice that came with plaice goujons was replaced by more of the breaded fingers, which the chef duly changed.
The desserts were equally as good, even if we didn’t really need them. My banana fritters, with vanilla and white chocolate pannacotta were presented nicely, while Nik’s Eccles cake and earl grey tea cream sounded intriguing and tasted even better, all served up in a half-filled large teacup and saucer. The strawberry sundae meanwhile was (I’m told), very fruity and cooling, the perfect end to a perfect meal. All of the desserts looked great, with as much care and attention taken over them as our first two courses.
With the mint teas and coffees that finished off the evening, we were brought petit fours, which we didn’t eat. But no worry, they were wrapped in silver foil, and we took them home to enjoy later. It’s that word again – service – and something that will bring diners back again and again. If you enjoy good food, in very pleasant surroundings, with excellent service, then the Flint House is for you. It’s at the very least a four out of five.
