Sunday 27th December 2015

Saturday

Boxing Day

A day for traveling and visiting.

We live in Kent, and my only blood relative, Mother, lives some 200 miles away in Suffolk. It is possible to travel there and back in a day, but it a long drive, especially in December when the days are so short and the nights long. But twice a year, as a minimum, we make the long drive North, and it seems that Boxing Day is a good day for such things, as apart from those heading into city centres and malls for the sales, there are few others about.

Or that was the plan anyway.

Although, as is always the way when you want to be on the road earlier, if not earlier, we sleep in until ten to seven, and by the time we have coffee, feed the cats get dressed it was just before eight when we left home. Clouds above were clearing, and it was the promise of a fine day. And the M20 was almost empty of traffic, which was a real pleasure. I put my foot down and we began to eat the miles up.

We arrive at the tunnel before nine and are through without dropping below 50. A dash along the M25 to the start of the A12, then into Essex for real. But even then, traffic was light, and I almost began to enjoy myself as we headed north, through Chelmsford, Colchester and then into Suffolk, round Ipswich. And of course, north of there, the good roads ran out, and we were stuck in a long line of slow cars, but this gave us time to admire the countryside, dotted with church towers.

I almost thought of stopping off in Blythburgh once again, its a few years since we last visited there, but I felt we needed to press on with the clock now well past ten. Anyway, I had my eye on another prize; a church were a lot of my relatives are buried, and I hope to find a particular grave. However, I that was much nearer Lowestoft. And anyway, more than half the traffic turned off towards Southwold, leaving the road clearer, although there are always those who try to get past no matter that they are already driving at the speed limit.

The church was locked, which came as no surprise. But I found many family graves through the small churchyard, but not the one was looking for. One final look round and with time getting on, we had better get back to the job in hand; visiting.

My Godparents are now in their 80s, and 2015 has brough to them; kidney stones, partial kidney failure, a knee operation and a driving ban among other things. So, reaching Christmas seems an achievement. But, the passage of time affects us all in different ways, with Heather it seems to be an attachment to the past, which means that on repeated visits the same stories are repeated. I suppose this is fine, and we sit and listen and swap news. They lost their only son just over a year ago, and now his partner has a new beau, a new father for their grandchildren. The world can be a difficult place.

Next up to my Mother's, where, if anything, things are crazier than normal. Well, I suppose just a general increase in the madness. All is cordial, I make jokes which she takes to heart, she has been smoking heavily, and the house inside is now stained a nice nicotine brown. Which is not attractive, she does at least stop for the 70 minutes we are there. We swap presents, and I refuse to open the one she wanted me to open. Two reasons really, one to be awkward, but the second is that despite being my Mother, she has no idea what to buy for me. Once home I did open to the present to find half a pound of nugat. I know I sound spoilt and rude, but it is all a waste of money, to buy things for the sake of it.

Well, we take some more, at every turn the conversation is turned back to her and the expensive lunch she had on Christmas Day. I tried to tell her about my life, but you can see her eyes lazing over. So, I give up and we make our excuses and leave. The events were not really a surprise if I am honest, and so we don't really talk about it much. I am sure as we get older we get stuck in our ways, I am sure I do, so maybe I am being hard on Mother. If she wants to smoke and eat Pringles, who am I to deny her that?

We go to visit one of my oldest friends and his wife: Dougie grew up in the house opposite my parents, and was the victim of an overbearing Mother. But he broke that, and is a well-balanced fine fellow, father to a daughter and step-daughter, and carer now for his Mother. It is a couple of years since we last met, and so had much to catch up on; them becoming Grandparents in the New Year being a red letter event. That I can remember their daughter being born, growing up and now is to be a Mother herself.

We stay for an hour or more, and it really is a joy. It was Dougie that got me hooked into photography, so I have so much to thank, or curse, him for, depending on my point of view.

It is already half two, and we really need to be thinking about going back home. So again we make our excuses and bid them farewell and wish them and their wonderful children the best for the new year. I decide to drive across the country to Bury before picking up the A11 and then the motorway south rather than take the meandering A12. And in doing so we pass through Bungay, and I get the idea to check up on another old friend, Rambo as we pass through.

For some reason we fell out of contact about three years ago, so what better time to build bridges? Well, he is in and answers the door, but fails to invite us in even though he knows how far we are from home. But then Rambo is not like a normal person, thanks to his strange parents. However, even from rambo this is odd. Not even a niff of a cuppa and we did not cross the welcome mat. We turn and walk back to the car, and Jools drives from here on south.

The roads are quiet, and even the jam on the M25 caused by an accident had cleared by the time we got there. Again there was no queues over the river an into Kent. Darkness had fallen, and once on the final leg of the journey, we slowed down to a cruise. Cars rattled by at speeds up to and indeed over 100mph, we putted along. Past Canterbury and onto Dover an home.

I had to football on the radio: City slumped to a 3-0 defeat at Spurs, which is par for the course for City on Boxing Day. Man Utd lost to Stoke, which raised a cheer in me. I managed to find 5 Live on the DAB radio, which means digital clear reception, which is a revelation after a lifetime of listening it on medium wave.

Once in, we fed the cats and had cold Yorkshre Puddins along with cheese and crackers for dinner.

It was the end of a very long day, and it will be 6 months until we have to do it all again, thankfully.