Hatfield not hoodies

One of the things I have noticed about getting a wee bit older is that you start to appreciate things you would have previously dismissed – things like a bit of peace and quiet, a strong cup of tea, a lay in bed and time to read the paper. For some time I have sought solace in the past, appreciating history and gaining reassurance that certain aspectsof lifewill remain intact after you’ve gone like they did before you came along. I’m feeling a litte sorry for myself given I have a head cold that is really getting me down. On Sunday, we went to Hatfield House for the first time since we moved to Hitchin in 1987. I had been there before, though, possibly in 1968 or 1969.
Historic landmarks are starting to please me and Hatfield House was no different. I enjoyed walking around the house,gaining confirmation that it was in fact a Jacobean house, despite protests from Olaf, my younger son and history don in the making, that it was Tudor.
Going to such landmarks – last year we had a splendid day at Belvoir Castle –makes me realise I want to be middle class again. As Stephen Fry said, talking about his new but disappointing drama, Kingdom, “we like these things because we want to remind ourselves that Britain is not just full of pikeys, chavs and hoodies”.
Fry, who I have always liked as a funny and eccentric man, has a point. We are immersed in a nation that is really trying its best to go the dogs, and I am not talking about a golden Labrador but a pit bull with a snarling attitude. A place like Hatfield House makes you realise that all is not lost with the world, even if quiet days at a stately home represent another blow to your youthfulness.