Meeting friends in the singular

It was last January when the arrangments were made for our wedding, including the stag night. Many people were suprised at the timing of the invitation, but as many of my friends are still in the Air Force and need that kind of notice to plan thir lives, but in for leave, etc. But even then if the call came, they would have to go anyway.The choice to meet up in London came as having to choose somewhere central, but easy to get to. And so thanks to the net via Facebook and a RAF website details were posted and invitations sent.

Throughout the year I sent out reminders to people, postings on message boards. And so yesterday it was just a wait to see who would turn up. One or two had messaged me saying they could not make it, most didn't. Oh well, nothing could be done now.If the worst came to the worse and I sat in the bar and no one turned up, I would go and find the poshest place I could and have a meal .

And then I wouldn't worry about how to get back to the Kent coast the worse for wear.

Before setting off, Mother dearest threw us a curveball. In fact she had done that a few months ago without us realising. When she comes down for the wedding on Wednesday, she is to stay with friends in the town. A few days ago we got a call from them asking us to go round so we could say 'hi' before the wedding. We thought it was a courtesy thing, but it turned out there was a reason.

As you may know, Mother is a big lady, and is not mobile at all. It's one of those things; she is trying to lose weight, or says she is. She walks around her house with a zimmer frame, and she can walk as far as her rubbish bin round the side of the house once a day.

The fact she is planning on coming down on the train is a worry, but she says she has arranged help at stations she needs to change trains at. Anyway, that is something that we will worry about nearer the time.

So, Friday night we walked down to where her friends now live; a flat in an old shchool building just down the road from us, and they only moved there four months ago, and it not a bad place.

As soon as we walked into their place I saw the problem; they live on two levels with the bedrooms and bathroom on the ground floor and the living room and kitchen up the stairs. Mum cannot do more than a couple of steps, and only once or twice a day; being in a place with a whole flight of stairs that she would have to tackle if she wanted to eat/go to the bathroom is something that is just not going to walk. The do have a stairlift that has a weight limit, but set lower than would be ok for Mother. Much lower.

It seems her friends had been unhappy with some of the answers to their questions Mum had been giving them, and decided to ask me. At least I was being honest, and told them straight out it would not work. So, what to do?

Well, Saturday morning I had to call Mother to see what she had to say. She says that she thought they lived in a flat with no stairs; her friends say she had known for months. Whatever. Whatever, indeed; but we now had just 4 days to find a place for Mum to stay that is disabled friendly and something near the centre of town.And I had a train up to London to catch. So, Jools went round various places and found a ground floor room on the seafront. Thank goodness for that, but the fact we were running around four days before the wedding when this is what all our planning over the months had been done to avoid. Sadly, Jools now sees the reason I say the things I do about mother, and it gives me no pleasure to be proved right. Again. Sadly, liars do get caught out eventually.

Anyway, I caught the express service up to London, and was soon whizzing my way through the Kent countryside in bright sunshine. At Waterloo, after spending a penny; which thanks to the credit crunch a penny now costs thirty pence! I hailed a taxi, and told asked him if he knew the Wibbley Wobbley on Surrey Quays. He didn't, but getting his A-Z out he said it would be an adventure. So, we set off through the light Saturday traffic.

The pub is on an old dock, now set between flats and old warehouses that are now loft conversions. Its an old boat, but is full of character, but those uneven floors would be trouble later on I warrant. I had a copy of the Times to read while I waited, and so I settled down on a trestle table on a small barge tied up bedise the pub. I fed a small duck some chilli nuts I bought, the clever creature washing the coating off before eating the nuts.

I got a call from a friend, Adam, who was about two miles away asking for directions. So, at least I wasn't going to be alone. As the day went on I got many text mesages appologising for not being able to be there. And it became clear that it was just going to be Adam and I for the evening.

Although disapointing, it did mean not having to worry about having pints bought for me with the chance of there being a double vodka in it; and I had already thought about if it was just the two of us. We walked to the main road and hailed a cab, who whisked us to Butler's Warf to the Italian place Jools and I had went to the other week.

A four course meal, a cheeky bottle of red, expressos and a Limonchello or two later, and the world seemed much better. We waled to a bar I knew near Borough Market for a large Irish Whiskey or two, before it was time for Adam to head to Kings Cross for his train to Cambridge, and I to Charing Cross for my train back to Dover.