Mrs Tyhurst attends the amphitheatre at Epidaurus

Mrs. Tyhurst has been slightly off the rails for a while recently and poor Mrs. Lawton has been rather wickedly neglected.

In fact, Mrs. Tyhurst is currently in Athens thinking about everything and wondering why on earth her (rather shapely) legs are resolutely resisting any suggestion of a change of colour?


So here is a little report of a recent jaunt:

Mrs. Tyhurst joined thousands of Athenians thronging into the amphitheatre at Epidaurus (yes, in the Peloponnese - do try and keep up).
Rather like a well-heeled Greek football crowd, it was to attend a performance of Euripides' "Trojan Women'.


Whilst waiting for her dear friend Evi to return from the loo, Mrs. Tyhurst quickly scribbled down some fashion notes: brightly coloured maxi dresses, very lavishly accessorized...sometimes tending towards a slightly 'tranny' look ?
She noticed a distinct tendency for Greek women to dress to attract. Is it that British women are more lazy? Or something to do with the weather? Or simply that we don't generally mingle with shipping millionaires ?

The amphitheatre has a capacity of nearly 15,000 and it was nearly full, apart from the late arrival of various visiting celebrities - a round of applause, flash of cameras, as another well-known actor arrives (yawn).
People perching on the rocks.
Mrs. Tyhurst was so glad of her sensible daps, although felt a tad under-dressed in her M & S holiday shorts and Indian print top.

The performance was entirely in Greek. Mrs. Tyhurst felt very moved sitting underneath the stars, gazing out to the mountains, thinking that she was doing something that people had been doing over 2,500 years ago. She really is a silly old sausage sometimes.

Earlier Miss Evi Papanikolau, Miss Irini Psalti, and Mrs. T. had taken lunch at a roadside taverna. Fried cod with a deliciously naughty garlic puree, mussels, squid served with local greens and crusty bread. They also visited the beautiful old town of Nafplio, former capital city of Greece. Mrs. Tyhurst showed an admirable level of financial restraint, despite a proliferation of amber shops (well, it is a little hot for amber, don't you think?) Miss Papanikolau slipped out her credit card rather suddenly - something urgently required to accessorize that little kaftan, apparently.

The previous evening (or had Mrs. Tyhurst missed a whole day??) had been spent at a rather charming penthouse apartment belonging to a film producer friend of Miss P's.
Lovely Steinway grand piano and a double bass. Mrs. Tyhurst made her finger a little sore playing it, but enjoyed it nonetheless.
Things were going rather well, until Elisavet ( the extremely kind and generous hostess) suggested some margaritas.
Now, Mrs. Tyhurst is rather partial to a cocktail or two, but unfortunately, the combination of a hot day on the terrace/jumping in and out of the jacuzzi wearing next to nothing and consuming the entire month's alcohol units in a few hours resulted in such naughty shenanigans that they simply cannot be repeated. Ever.
Well, Mrs. Tyhurst does have her reputation to think of doesn't she?

Mrs. Lawton falls in love

Yes, the intrepid two ladies have been off gallivanting again after their long winter hibernation.

They set off last weekend - Mrs. Lawton steering the Green Goddess in her habitual foot-on-the-floor style. Mrs. Tyhurst talked through current events as usual, including the story about her estranged husband's recent tabloid photograph at the G20 protests (wearing a flat cap and a decontamination suit would you believe?).

They stopped en route in Totnes. With a sudden rush of blood to the head, Mrs. Tyhurst sinned rather badly in 'Conker Shoes', buying not one, but TWO pairs of handmade shoes.
How very naughty.

Later, whilst walking along the quayside in Dartmouth, it was a little chilly and Mrs. Tyhurst regretted the decision not to take a pashmina. Well she was just getting over her Easter illness.
They quickly located 'The New Angel' restaurant...and shops-to-make-a-beeline-for in the morning. Then it was time for a simple, unpretentious snack ....
Beating a hasty retreat from the Royal Castle Hotel (having noticed a woman setting up her minidisc sound system...what kind of singer sings to backing tracks and feels the need for a smoke outside beforehand ???),
the two ladies settled down for several pints of wine and a pub dinner elsewhere.
They are certainly not too posh to frequent a local hostelry.

The next day was the much anticipated ferry trip to Greenway, former home of novelist Agatha Christie.
After a short climb through magnolia-strewn gardens the gorgeous Georgian building revealed itself through the trees.
Ladies who volunteer for the National Trust are so very pleasant don't you think?
Mrs. Lawton and Mrs. Tyhurst are seriously considering signing up, although there is rather a dearth of properties locally.
They were very careful with lunch, just a cup of tea for Mrs. Lawton (Mrs. Tyhurst, however just had to sample a piece of National Trust cherry shortbread).
Dinner was to be at the Michelin starred 'New Angel' restaurant back in Dartmouth that evening.

Mrs. Lawton wore a fetching pewter coloured kurta, and sensibly wrapped herself in a dark green handwoven kullu shawl (this had been brought back from Mrs. Tyhurst's travels in the Himalayas). Mrs. Tyhurst was wearing a simple linen 'Flax' dress (just because she is the kind of free spirit that the label suggests) and some rather cheeky little black 'Red or Dead' pumps.

Now, their evening started rather well: squeezing past Mr. Burton Race (who was outside), and taking a pleasant cocktail in the fabulously furnished upstairs lounge. Orders taken. One simply cannot stick to the 'set menu' can one when faced with so many delicious dishes ?
Mrs. Tyhurst was rather surprised at the simple nibbles on the table - marinaded olives and toasted seeds. (Was there a 'Lakeland Plastics' in Dartmouth?)
The food was divine...as one might expect, and it was so exciting seeing the plates dressed by John B-R himself in the open-plan kitchen. He was at arm's length from Mrs. Tyhurst, shouting instructions auctioneer-style to his minions. There was much leg kicking under the table, especially when Mrs. Tyhurst threatened to take a photo...it simply would not do, what with all the scandal.
But. (oh dear Mrs. Lawton) This particular establishment has failed Mrs. T's napkin test, and both Maitre D' and several other staff failed to identify the shallot puree that accompanied the roast veal kidneys.

Now Mrs. Tyhurst, being perhaps the sterner critic, has seriously questioned whether the 'New Angel' really merits a Michelin star. The service, although polite, was exceptionally fast. Perhaps the 'cr**** cr****' (don't you just detest that phrase?) has adversely affected business?
Either that or Mrs. B-R is digging her alimonius heels in. Quite frankly the two ladies would also dig their little pumps in hard.The man is an absolute bounder.... but one could so easily be swayed by his pannacotta.

The next day Mrs. Lawton fell in love.


Mrs. Tyhurst noticed that Coleton Fishacre, home of Mr. Richard D'Oyly Carte, was just over the other side of the river. With small whoops of joy they simply revelled in freedom and spontaneity as they popped over (in the car) on the ferry.
Coleton Fishacre is an utterly divine Arts and Crafts style house, with gardens leading down to the sea. Mrs. Lawton quite excelled herself clambering about in a heady mix of wild garlic and bluebells. The attention to detail inside is exquisite.
Savouring the experience later in the tearoom, Mrs. Tyhurst and Mrs. Lawton shared their mutual tendency towards voice intolerance ( stupid young woman in HEELS just blathering on in a ridiculously pitched voice) and they both laughed about Mrs. T's earlier disclosure about her 'behavioural hernias'.

But Mrs. Lawton is seriously in love.

It's simply not true

Mrs Tyhurst and Mrs Lawton HAVE been getting out and about a little...just in case you were wondering.
Of course, Christmas jollities did intervene...including dear Nick and Neil's civil partnership at Treowen House, in Monmouth. We are most sad to report that Mrs Tyhurst unfortunately succumbed to an unpleasant fainting attack.

(Rumour was that she rather disgraced herself. Ahem.)

A small trip in the early snows of the year took them to the rather lovely village of Tetbury. Mrs. Tyhurst had scarcely drawn breath before they were entering Tetbury.
They glanced at an admirable collection of cranberry glass in the local antique shop...in former days they would have become quite excited, but what is one to do with such things? More to dust and more for the children to sort out when they are gone.
Mrs. Tyhurst snapped up a delightful little pencil pot however at R.K. Alliston (so more upmarket than Baileys Home and Garden....which is looking increasingly like it has bought dear old Woolies stock, hoping to pass it off by simply displaying it in large receptacles.
Do we appear wet behind the ears? Je crois que non.
Then it was a rather dramatic re-enactment of The Little Red Hen as the two intrepid ladies left town in search of Shipton Mill so that Mrs Tyhurst could fetch a sack of organic wholemeal flour.
After a few wrong turns they rather stumbled upon the mill and were served by a charming gentleman.
There must have been a slight look of hunger in Mrs Tyhurst's eyes as he rather quickly disclosed that he was in fact married.
Flour secured, Mrs Lawton steered the Green Goddess in the direction of Cirencester where they hoped to lunch at The Brewery Arts Centre.
Now they were very impressed with the shop here, and Mrs. Lawton sinned quite badly, purchasing a rather gorgeous hand made silver bracelet. On dear, too late for lunch, so a quick visit to the local pasty shop sufficed.
It does one good to slum it occasionally - don't you think?