A cold front, rain and a diary of outdoor events signals arrival of high summer

The sunny, warm June was an aberration. We all knew it. The cold front swept in with July. And though there were still stunningly unusual bursts of heat (as experienced on the recent Norfolk trip), the blustery fourth of July bbq and packing rain gear along with the picnic stuff seemed more typical. And more English.

From that Norfolk beach, however, I have to admit I was envisioning a gorgeous night for the outdoor opera in Trafalgar Square on the 13th. Regular readers may remember me getting absolutely drenched during The Barber of Seville last year (see 19.7.09), so I thought the law of averages promised a great night. No such luck. While not last summer's downpour, the evening was cold, cloudy and provided enough intermittent drizzle to get the brollies up. Still, we managed quite an elegant picnic on the stairs below the National Gallery in the 90 minutes before the action started.

A pitcher of margaritas, a variety of dips, pates, seafood salad, vegetable and cous cous salads, sausages in a honey mustard and sesame seed sauce, a generous cheeseboard complete with quince paste, rustic loaves of French bread, English strawberries, copious amounts of South African white wine. It should have provided elegant fodder for a long night of watching Placido Domingo anchor a much-publicised production of Simon Boccanegra. The famous tenor can call his own shots these days, thus taking the role of the baritone pirate-turned-Doge of Genoa. The tour ended in London after stops in Berlin, New York and Milan. On the way, most reviewers agreed that it wasn't Domingo's best, and his singing at the low end of his tenor range creates a different opera from that which Verdi intended, but the man's star quality ... and the heft of the supporting cast ... made for a success.

I'd like to comment one way or another but, truth is, I didn't get to pay much attention. At 10 minutes before curtain my stomach started giving odd twitches and by the end of the prologue I was writhing in pain from what later turned out to be food poisoning. (Not, I hasten to add, from my picnic, as everyone else was fine.) I made it through the first act, hanging on to my boyfriend for dear life and trying not to disturb the crowd around me by groaning too loudly. One thing's for sure: when you're not feeling well, you really shouldn't listen to Verdi. The drama of the music elevates pedestrian pain to death's door.

The stomach had recovered and the sun had returned by Saturday morning when we drove into Bedfordshire for my boyfriend's company picnic. The weather was still a factor, however. I'd donned a fetching little summer dress to match his quintessentially English pale trousers, blue blazer and panama hat, only to be trembling with cold whenever the wind blew. Still, we were able to get the top down on the car (with the heat on), we spent most of the day outside and my turn at the archery butts revealed that I can still shoot. (Two bulls eyes out of six arrows.)

Post picnic, Milton Keynes was the natural stopping off point on the way to our Sunday plans at the Festival of History (see the next entry). A “new town” established in the 1950s, often the butt of jokes, Milton Keynes is best known for its roundabouts, concrete canyons and indoor ski slope. It is not, generally, a hot spot for tourism.

Perhaps it should be, at least for the knockout combination of South Lodge B&B and the Wavendon Arms.

South Lodge is highly unusual for England in its bold modernity. Yes, we have plenty of modern design worked into old buildings, but rarely do you get a completely new building, purpose built with all the latest styles and technology. Our room had a Californian feel to it, dominated by a low king-sized bed and flooded with light from the opposing glass wall and the skylights set into the sloping ceiling. An impressive television and sound system with DVD player (there’s a library to borrow discs from), a sleek black fridge/wine cooler, light switches with a variety of mood settings and a loan of the owner’s iPad to research local restaurants on the in house WiFi network scored high on the “boys’ toys” ranking. I, meanwhile, fell in love with the huge bathroom with its large modernist tub, glass-walled shower and brightly coloured, slightly metallic floor tiles.

Back in the bedroom, that glass wall … with a tint on one side to assure both our privacy and our view … looked out onto a scene worthy of a Chelsea show garden, with well-maintained drifts of perennials setting off repeating circles of lawn, paving, decking and fountains, with a striking, circular white wall set with blue mosaic and pierced with circular openings. Beautiful modern art complements the design, and if you’re lucky you’ll get to see the family mastiffs gambolling in their own lawn to one side.

The theme of surprising modernity continued at dinner that night when we came through the door of the Wavendon Arms. From the outside it’s your bog-standard late Georgian/early Victorian pub. You expect to enter and find dark wood, crazy-patterned carpeting, a panelled bar, and perhaps one room converted to gastro-pub dining. Instead, we walked into light colours, glass dividing walls, cork wall coverings, low, sleek leather seating and fabulous chandeliers and mirror frames constructed from bone-pale driftwood. We did indeed find a gastropub at the back, but in a purpose-built addition with cathedral ceilings, a magnificent central fireplace with a hanging chimney above it and plenty of windows looking out onto the beer gardens around.

And the food? Worth a special trip, frankly, as this is one of the best gastropubs I’ve experienced. It’s a modern European menu with clear Italian influences in both the food and wine list.

Perhaps it was the chill in the air that led me to my hearty, wintery menu choices, because my seared pigeon breast with bacon and black pudding, followed by a rare ostrich steak wrapped in pancetta, with beet and potato Dauphoise, was admittedly not a light summer meal. But, good lord, it was tasty. The man started with the “scallop of the day”, on this Saturday matched with the traditional black pudding and pea puree. His steak that followed was a good way past his requested “rare to the bloody”, but the friendly staff quickly whisked it away to procure another, giving him a chance to sample some of my ostrich and declare my dish the winner of the evening.

Impressed and feeling indulgent, we steamed ahead with dessert. The final course was not quite up to the quality of what came before. My chocolate fondant was obviously a “cheat”, with a glutinous centre poured into a pre-cooked ring of cake and heated. Sticky and delicious, but the two parts hadn’t melded together to become a proper fondant. His cheese plate was good, but unexceptional. The standout was clearly the half bottle of “Bowen’s Folly” late harvest Riesling from South Africa, an outstanding dessert wine we’ll seek out again.

Warmed and comforted by that substantial meal, we made the 10-minute walk through the brisk evening chill without too much discomfort. At least it wasn’t raining. Much.