Forever Autumn

The calender says the month changed on Tuesday, and the weather knew; for the last 36 hours the wind had blew and each evening has gotten colder. Driving home this morning I could see the English Channel a mass of white horses with the ferries riding the waves like a bucking bronco. As I lay in the bed, the wind caused the curtains to billow out, I wrap the duvet closer to me and close my eyes.

These weeks when Jools and I are on different shift is strange; we have half an hour together in the morning, and maybe 40 minutes in the evenings, before each of us heads off in the car to work. We share the news, about either the factory or the cats, have a cup of coffee and then we're alone again.

We talk about what to do the weekend, places to go, maybe somewhere to have lunch, things to buy for the garden or, as this morning, wind damage to our fence. But, the week passes, and tonight is my last shift, and the weekend begins at one minute past six in the morning. And my choice is whether to try and sleep some, or stay awake and so let the weekend feel even longer.

Last night was a quiet shift for me at the factory, apart from the quality checks, very little for me to do, and so I began Bury my Heart at Wounded Knee ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bury_My_Heart_at_Wounded_Knee )and straight away was stunned at the Europeans deceit and cruelty. This will not be an easy read, but I look forward to it. At the factory we do covers for the Folio Society, and one of our current projects is a pressing of this; I read the preface and was very interested, and Jools bought me a paperback version for my birthday.

The night shift flew by I can tell you.

Mother dearest is back home, and as yet I have not spoken to her. I am used to her selfishness and barbed tongue. Someone else may say she don't mean what she says, or I look for the bad things in her first. And they may be right. But, I feel that we have done our duty and had her stay, we made her welcome and she was just not that interested in our life here, just our cats. I am sure she will be telling her friends how wonderful things are here, and how great a time she had; just a shame she could not tell us that. Maybe it was jealousy, she is certainly jealous of Jools, and has kept that well hidden for a long time, but her remark that I was only taking pictures of Jools and not her was a killer.

I have calmed down, and our life will go on as it ever has; I will put thoughts of my Mother in the place where the other ones are and move on and look forward to our life together. In the end I don't need vindication or a blessing from my Mother; I am happy with our life, and whether she likes that or not, I don't really care.

All her talk of losing weight and changing seems to have brought a false dawn, as Jools' father thinks she has put weight on, not lost the 100 pounds she has claimed. Certainly she is less mobile, much less than when I stayed with her back in April; which is her choice, of course.

I don't like to end on a downbeat note, so here are our plans for the weekend. On Monday we passed through a beautiful village called Wickhambreaux; it has a pretty church, two water mills, a stream and an inviting village pub; everything we need. And on Sunday we are going to the Isle of Sheppy to watch a steam locomotive and for me to take pictures; a pub lunch at Harty Ferry may also happen of course.

And we will have all that time together of course; which is priceless.

One last thing; on Tuesday night there was a documentary on Radio 2 about the evacuation that took place in the early years of the war; if you get a chance listen to these eye-witness accounts on the BBC i-player.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00mc0q0/Operation_Pied_Piper/