The jolly Reids' outing

It was a bit of a jolly Reids' outing over the weekend as 12 of us jumped on an easyjet flight to Gatwick, early Friday morning. As snow started falling once more over Scotland Ka, Lynsey Ann, Kenny, Dad, Mum, Aunt Anne, Uncle Ian, Aunt Tricia, Uncle Tommy and myself along with Dougie and Grace, Ka's Mum and Dad, all headed to Glasgow airport early on Friday morning.
It was Uncle Jim's 50th birthday and we were all heading down south to Banstead in order to attend his surprise 50th Birthday Party in his local Cricket Club, organised by our cousin, James, among others.
Aunt Ann came over from Fulham on the Friday to stay with Tommy and Tricia who had the run of Tommy's sister's house while she was on holiday, somewhere around the same area.
Colin and Jillian travelled over from another part of London in their glow in the dark car, on Friday afternoon, where they had been visiting Jillian's sister Claire and enjoying a bit of theatre in the city centre and to complete the family gathering, Uncles Tom and Laurence jumped in the car on Friday evening and drove down to Birmingham to hook up with Aunt Maureen on the friday night before heading on further down to Surrey, from her flat in Knowle, on Saturday morning.
For the whole of the friday afternoon we were unsure how we were going to make our presence known to Jim. James was on the other end of our text messages, no doubt stressing as he desperately tried to keep our travelling down a secret. He had planned for us all to surprise Jim on the Friday night, perhaps having us all sitting in his living room as he came home from work that evening. However, James explained that earlier in the week Jim had took the notion to start doing a bit of DIY, taking off the kitchen cupboard doors for instance, getting rid of some wobbly furniture legs, replacing them with piles of books and pulling carpets up. Plans also went a little astray for James when Jim contacted him during the day informing him that he'd be staying in London with business pals. Some blatant lying ensued and James sorted it out with the help of the business pals, who I assume cancelled their plans with rubbish excuses.
So on Friday night we made sure we were all in his local, the Woolpack, for his after work drinks. The Woolpack was a cosey, friendly pub on the Banstead High Street and turned out to be a rather busy meeting point to surprise someone.
After the women, perhaps inadvertently, intimidated some chatting couples away from the largest table in the bar, we all took our seats to wait, at first unaware that we'd picked the chairs closest to one of the pub's larger windows which looked directly out on to the car park. At around twenty to eight, cousin James rushed into the bar, breathless and a little stressed, blurted something about being back in half an hour with Jim and rushed back out again. It was his job to deliver his Dad round to the pub for his first surprise of the weekend. The Reids, Symingtons and McGarvas all waited patiently for another half hour, keeping ourselves busy with some beers, most of us not noticing the incredulous face of Jim appearing in the window at our side a little later as James tried and failed to rush him through the door without seeing us. Our first rendition of 'Happy Birthday' rang through the pub as he entered, laughing, embarrassed and confused. Tricia, Tommy and Ann turned up an hour or so later to join in the Birthday fun, the rest of us greeting them with a more general shout of "Whay-hey!" which turned heads around the pub once more. It certainly must have been one of the Woolpack's more livelier of recent nights.
After the surprise of finding a reasonable fraction of his family in the Woolpack, Jim had immediately started worrying about the contents of his cupboards and the state of his flat unaware that he had bigger surprises to follow.
After a short wander around town on the Saturday afternoon, we finally managed to settle Jim down in a small social bar on the Banstead High Street whilst James nipped home to await the arrival of Tom, Laurence and Maureen in the big Volvo. After Jim getting us all signed in for 50p a head we got the drinks in, Jim being made to sit with his back to the front door, thusly unaware of Maureen, Tom and Laurence nonchalantly strolling up behind and wandering up to our table to greet us. Once more I had the camcorder out and captured the moment as Jim laughed. James, standing at the side enjoying his Dad's reaction, rubbed his hands with a conniving smile. 2 surprises down, 1 to go.
On the Saturday afternoon, Mum, Grace and Lynsey Ann worked on the cold half of the buffet for a good few hours whilst James had organised Cindy and her Mum to work on the cooked half. Apparently Mum had a great wee sandwich making production line going on in her room whilst the rest of us where, you guessed it, in the pub. The Kingswood Arms to be precise, a short walk through the forest and down a posh street from our Inn. Another nice looking, traditional english pub, with timber frames around stone and wooden walls, burning log fires, nooks and crannies in which to hide and big club sandwiches. the kind of pub you always seen Inspector Morse supping an ale in.
The Banstead Cricket Club, although less attractive on the inside, was the main reason for the visit, of course. The Club lies just across the road from Jim's house, along a dark path, unlit at night until you hit the Club's steps, at which point a spotlight beams down on you as you arrive. This location made arriving at the party in secret slightly problematic.
Tom, Laurence, Maureen, James and James' girlfriend, Sophie, were all in the house getting ready to head round to the restaurant James and Ka had supposedly booked earlier on. Our taxis all pulled up outside his house, making us all have to disembark with trays of sandwiches and salmon crackers and then run across the playing field in the darkness as quietly as we could, avoiding the light shining out from the windows behind, in which familiar Reid shaped shadows moved.
At around quarter to eight in the evening, Jim finally wandered into a darkened Cricket Club behind Laurence and James only to find a large gathering of friends and family waiting for him. Cue another rendition of 'Happy Birthday', more laughing followed by the shaking of head and shaking of hands. Needless to say, everyone had a great time. More drinking, a bit of dancing, (mostly from the Scottish contingent I might add), a few speeches, heckling, the great buffet, photo opportunities (taken and lost), shots of sambuca and old man's vodka, wine spilling, Scottish translating, bear hugging, first aid, slagging, introductions and small talk. Everything a good party needs. All the while I darted round with a camcorder trying to take in some of the atmosphere, recording a few birthday messages, whilst getting a lot of dirty looks and mutterings from the less camera friendly.
Even after the main event, back at Jim's flat, the birthday boy himself was moaning at me to put the camera down and my Aunt Maureen growled for me to get 'outta her face'.
I've got some great memories for him on that camcorder, though I doubt he'll need the help to remember it all. As my Dad said to Jim in the Social Club on the Saturday afternoon, he'll never trust James again.

A fitting ceremony

Well, what a weekend. Along with the rest of the family I spent the weekend grappling with the extreme sadness of Gran Reid passing away whilst the funeral was organised and prepared for. The service was held yesterday in St. Vincent's Church, Gran's own parish with a congregation that Gran probably would not have believed. We ran out of orders of service with the church only half full as the people paying respect kept on coming. My cousin James even suggested we ask the priest if he had a photocopier handy in order to spontaneously create more leaflets. I suspected we were grasping at straws though and Kenny, James and myself had to stand at the door a little dumbstruck as more mourners filtered through the doors, some looking a little disgruntled at not receiving a leaflet. Inside the church some people ended up having to sit in the cry chapel, situated up the right hand side of the usual pews, in the bright airy building. The service was beautiful with the organ belting out the tunes to the lovely voices of the church choir as we said goodbye to Gran, making our way to the Philipshill cemetary after church to lay her to rest alongside Granpa Reid. A fitting ceremony to a great woman.
Back at work today I couldn't help but feel depressed not only at the loss of my last Grand parent but at the prospect of having to go back into work as if nothing had changed. Everybody milling about their usual business. Giving orders, moaning on the phone to sales reps, laughing and joking as if nothing had ever happened. Ignorance must be bliss.

A trip to Brussels

Well, Brussels. What can I say? What a great weekend. Plenty of booze and plenty of food in a great city. I've only now just about recovered. Dad, Kenny, Colin McG, and myself headed over on the plane meeting up with Jim and James on the Friday evening who tackled the Belgian traffic to be there on road. Colin Main then met up with us on the Saturday afternoon,jumping off the Eurostar, after much wandering around the main train station, which then made a motley crew of seven.

Greatly impressed by the city and it's people, I found the city folk all generally, very friendly towards us roaming Scots but that was probably something to do with the fact that most of the locals we did converse with were all after our money being bartenders, waiters and ladies of the night (only kidding with the last one!). The only grumpy folk we met were the rude female hotelier, who would have easily got a job at Fawlty Towers, and the tramp in the underground hurling abuse at the passers by (but all cities have one of those anyway don't they?). The Delerium cafe was a must for any visitor to Brussels with it's vast bar of supposed 2000 different beers. Perfect for a stag trip but not sure how many we tried of the list of 2000. We did see plenty of the town, hitting a few pubs in the European sector on the Friday night up beside the new Pariliament buildings. On our travels the following days we done plenty of walking through the famous medieval town square of Grand Place which houses the gothic town hall, old guild houses and market areas. Although we did not manage to see the statue of the peeing boy, Brussels' own kind of mascot named Manneken Pis, we did see the female version, the Jeanneke-Pis, a statue of a peeing girl. The only reason we found this was probably due to the fact she was sitting outside the Delerium Cafe surrounded by gawking or offended tourists.
So after another late night on the Sunday we all headed home on our respective routes with cloudy heads but entertaining memories of our time in the Belgian capital. A capital definately worth a future visit.

Future trips

Our honeymoon has now been booked. Woohoo! A week in Italy. Four days in the capital, Rome, followed by three days in the City of Water itself, Venice. Aeroplanes, taxis, water buses, speed boats and gondolas all included to ensure a pleasant, organised and safe journey. Okay, maybe not the gondolas (apparently they cost a fortune nowadays). Time to get the Lonely planet books out again! Brush up on the old Roman history before we head out. Of course, the trip wont be all museums and sightseeing but I'm sure we'll do some walking over there. Unlike Brussels, where I'm heading for the stag weekend. Kenny has organised the stag weekend with Dad and Jim and we'll be heading down to Belgium in mid June. Again, that should be fun though I very much doubt I'll end up remembering much of it! Kenny, Colin McG, Chaz, James, Colin Main (hopefully!), Dad and Jim will be heading out there with me. David, the boss in the work, was quite impressed with the idea of the stag, congratulating Kenny on his great choice. Apparently it has some brilliant pubs which he has experienced first hand on more than one football trip. Again, I cannot say I know a great deal about Brussels, and I'm certainly not sure I'll learn a great deal more. Kenny has warned me he will not be organising any Museum or Art gallery trips so I'll be on my own there.