Country pursuits

Despite spending my teenage years in rural England, I never quite succumbed to its charms. I didn't ride, wouldn't shoot and couldn't see the point of traipsing for hours through muddy fields in green wellies and Barbour jacket with a faithful hound at my heels. I never returned from such outings with rosy cheeks and healthy glow, only with frizzy hair and freezing feet.

Once schooling was done, I headed for the Big Smoke - London - and have been a city dweller ever since. Yet once the children were born, I found myself looking forward to trips home to the countryside. Maybe it was nostalgia, maybe simply that it is much easier to take a toddler for a walk across muddy furrows than down a city street.

Whatever the reason, this year not only saw us indulging in long walks and cycle rides, but also spectating at various local events, including the famous Burghley Horse Trials. Burghley House was home to William Cecil, Lord Burghley, Queen Elizabeth I's most trusted advisor. It stands just at the back of my old school in Stamford - we used to do cross country runs through its park - and is quite magnificent.

Each year, Burghley hosts its famous horse trials - three days of dressage, cross country and show jumping (or for those of us not into all things equine, three days of champagne quaffing and great shopping) where riders and horses do things like this:

The good news is that we Brits are actually pretty good at horsey-things and rode seven out of the top 10 placed horses. The other good news is that green wellies and Barbours are most definitely out among the horsey set. It's all leather boots and fake fur gilets now. The stand selling these boots was doing a roaring trade:

But despite Burghley's fame and splendour, it was a smaller event at a little known stately home whose park backs onto my mum's garden, that I enjoyed the most. Owned by one of the richest women in Britain, whose family money hails in part from the Astor family, Grimsthorpe Castle was holding its annual family open day.

Apart from tours of the castle - Charles and Camilla stayed here not so long ago - there was a vintage car rally, a dog show and a truly excellent sheep dog demonstration.

I can't remember the name of the well-spoken farmer who was giving the demo, but he was fantastic. Using 5 dogs simultaneously, each with their own calls for left, right, stop and go (how he knew which dog was which, let alone remembered the designated calls, is beyond me) he herded a flock of geese into a U-shaped pen formed by children from the audience. Without raising his voice above a mere whisper. Yes, he conducted the whole demo with children AND animals and not one yell or expletive. Now, William Fox-Pitt may think the cross country course at Burghley was a challenge, but for truly awe-inspiring performances, the unnamed farmer got my vote.

The Return

I can't believe I haven't blogged for a whole month. My excuses: Christmas, overseas travel, scant internet access and, for the last two weeks, a total preoccupation with baggage tracing.

Let me explain the baggage tracing bit. We left Bahrain in mid-December for a Christmas trip to the UK and a week of skiing in France. All went swimmingly until we left the slopes for Geneva to catch the first of our flights home. The following few days went something like this:

Geneva airport, January 3rd: arrive 3 hours before departure time for Swiss Air flight to London Heathrow via Zurich.

Check in 3 bags, 1 ski boot bag and 1 pair of skis (belonging to my sister who will meet us at Heathrow to collect them).

Airport manic due to it being busiest day of the year and the baggage handlers having been on strike. Spend nearly 2 hours in queues for check-in and security.

Most flights delayed due to snow throughout Europe. Flight to Zurich leaves over an hour late. No-one can tell us if we will make our connection to London.

Zurich airport, January 3rd: arrive to find London flight has left without us - one of the only ones to leave on time that day. Bummer. Join massive economy class queue at transfer desk to be put on another London flight.

Told no seats on any flight to London from anywhere in Europe that day. Busiest day of the year. First on wait-list for next London flight.

Wait. Wait some more. Drink some really bad coffee. Go to gate.

Told by attendant we are no chance as we are a family of four. Then see him hand boarding passes to a family of four also on wait-list. Restrain husband from decking smarmy attendant. Go back to transfer desk.

Economy queue even bigger than before. Wait. Wait some more. Restrain narky children from decking each other. Get wait-listed for next flight to London.

Wait. Wait some more. Go to gate. Get told we are no chance as we are a family of four. Jealously watch passengers board.

We have missed our connection to Bahrain. No seats now until January 6th.

Return to transfer desk. Even longer economy queue. Bolshy husband marches up to first class desk and demands hotel for night and flight to London for the morning. I cower. He succeeds.

Spend night in airport hotel.

Luckily I'd packed our toothbrushes in our handluggage.

Zurich airport, January 4th: Board flight to London. Blithely assume our luggage does too.

Arrive London. Luggage does not. Neither does that of most others on the flight.

Stand in long queue to fill in lost baggage claim.

Spend night at my father's house.

Luckily I'd packed our toothbrushes in our handluggage.

UK, January 5th: Snow forecast. May even be the wrong type of snow - the settling Alpine "flocon" which grinds UK transport system to a halt rather than the more typical British slush. Decide not to risk early morning journey to airport and spend night in Heathrow airport hotel - same hotel chain as in Zurich. Maybe I could get a job as their inspector?

Heathrow airport, January 6th: Oh God! It's snowing Alpine flocons. Gatwick airport is closed. Luton and Stansted are cancelling flights.

Check in is quick as only have one remaining bag.

Board early. Spend over an hour on the stick while ground crew desperately attempts to de-ice wings. Pray. Pray some more.

Finally we take off. Treat myself to some duty-free to get over the stress.

Abu Dhabi airport, January 6th: Arrive late. Find connecting flight to Bahrain is from another terminal. Grab kids and run.

Take a leaf out of bolshy husband's book and barge to front of security queue manically waving boarding card. Startled Arab security man lets me through. Board plane with minutes to spare.

Arrive Bahrain. No luggage.

Fill in lost luggage form.

Luckily I still have our toothbrushes in our handluggage.

Bahrain, January 7th to date: lost count of the number of hours spent trying to ring baggage tracing at London City Airport. Number permanently engaged.

After 5 days, tracing is transferred to Swiss Air. Ring them. Customer service only open between 8am and 10am Swiss time. What kind of service is that?

Finally get the right number. Am put on hold. For ages. Long enough, in fact, to note their surprisingly apt choice of "on-hold" music, namely: The Three Degrees' "When will I see you again?" (yes, when will I see my Chrissie presents?); Barbra Streisand singing "We have nothing to be guilty of" (yes you bloody have - you're guilty of never answering the phone); and finally Oleta Adams singing "I don't care how you get here, just get here if you can". Quite.

Post script: had a call from Bahrain airport yesterday. One of the four missing bags has arrived. And guess what - it's the skis. Now I have to figure out how to get them back to London!