Sunday 29th May 2016

Since 5th May I have spent about 6 days at home, at least two of those days were spent orchid chasing. No, make that 3 or 4. Or 5. So that when the bank holiday weekend comes round, I would like to spend at least one of those three days, doing nothing at home. But every Whitsun Bank Holiday, we have to travel to Suffolk and back to visit Mother as it is her birthday on the 27th, and this year was to be no different. What was different was that this was our first trip up since Boxing Day, so 5 months since we last met and spoke, so should have been OK. No?

Well, as I explained to my frined Rob, when we talk there seems to be interest in what we do, or have done, but after the initial question, there isn't a follow up, so there is no ebb and flow of conversation, so it all becomes stilted, which explains why after no more than 2 hours, we have run out of things to say and so take our leave. Her house is in such a state that I dare not even have a glass of water, let along have something to eat. Piled up in her kitchen beside the sink is a stack of at least six Fray Bentos tinned pies. This is something of a British thing, I had no idea whe ate stuff like this, but with all her cupboards filled with yet more food, there are few places to store the new food she buys each week. Beside the cooker, there are two stacks of cup-a-soups, each one eight packs high, and each pack containing at least 5 packs. 40 cup-a-soups is prbably enough I would have thought.

But then, this is the life she has chosen, and as her circle of friends has now shrunken to just one, Janet who lives opposite, she can do what she wants, when she wants. Which is quite right; it took me several years to get that into my head, and if she wants to spend thousands of pounds a year on catalogue shopping, stuff that remains unopened on her bed, then that is her choice. I spend my time chasing orchids, photographing churches or listening to music. It is our choice, and after a lifetime of work and bringing me up, then she can get to choose what she does with her time and money. Just seems a shame to me.

Mum seems to have no interest, other than what could be considered polite, in anything that I or Jools does, even with a holiday to Japan to talk about, the question was of food, when we mentioned Conga Eel, she replied that she had had seafood linguine last week from M&S and it was OK. Nothing about Japan.

She did ask about photographs, and I had to say, that I am not being nasty when I say this, but when we have brought photos up in the past, after 5 minutes her eyes glaze over. She feigns hurt, but I think she knows this is true. I am not nasty, just honest.

In order to sweeten these 12 hour road trips, we either visit friends, orchid sites or churches, because after about 90 minutes, we are on the road and looking for somewhere for lunch and what to do before heading back home. As was the case this time, we visited an ancient meadow filled with orchids, and on the way back called into see an old friend, Rob who lives just off the A140.

However, we are getting ahead of ourselves a bit here. If you want to know my past history with Mother, then previous postings regarding such visits at this time of year or at Christmas might shed some light.

We wake up just before six, and despite the weather warnings, it seemed to be a fine day, if a little cloudy. We do the usual things; feed the cats, make breakfast and get dressed, before loading the car up and getting on the road just before seven. With about 200 miles to go, and an almost empty road ahead, the radio played and all seemed right, even if we were off to see Mother. It wasa good run up the M20, then to the tunnel with traffic now hardly pausing at we go through the numberplate reader and dive down under the river.

We turn off at the A12 junction, which is quiet so the usual grand prix start wasn't needed. Into Essex now, and the sun came out and it looked fine. Even iff the occasional boy racer tore past at over 100mph, it was pleasant enough and we crossed over the Suffolk border and so travelled back to the 1950s. I joke about this, and in fact the roads are fine until we get north of Ipswich, past Woodbridge and Whickham Market, where suddenly, the road narrows and the speed drops to a maximum of 40mph.

Despite the countryside being attractive, especially in the spring, when you want to just get where you are going, do your stuff and head back south, that people in front of the train of cars snaking through the countryside slow down to 30mph as soon as there is a bend or they can't see further than 20 yards. There are a couple of stretches of dualcarriageway, and we try to get past the slowest cars, but we all can't before the road narrows again.

We reach the outskirts of Lowestoft, so I take the familiar roads to Oulton Broad, joining the queue of traffic over the bridge, past the Wherry Hotel, over the level crossing and on to Mothers.

The rest of the visit, you can guess from above, it was all civil and pleasant, but there is an air of disconnect that I could not ignore, and I suppose after the 3rd or 4th long pause which signified that we had reached the end of her interest, or that Jools and I were fed up bouncing the conversation off each other, I said that it was time to hit the road. We hugged and kissed, but in a kind of formal way that you normally reserve for a person you know only distantly. And we go.

Out through Oulton Village, to Somerleyton and then to Beccles and Bungay via Haddiscoe over the marshes. The sun was out and it was a fine warm afternoon, and an hour past opening time. Back in last August, I had called in at The Bell in Wortwell for a pint, so I thought it might be enough off the main road to be quiet enough to get a seat and maybe something to eat. In the end we settle for a coffee, For Jools, and a pint of Norfolk Nog for me, with packets of crisps. We sat in the beer garden, laughing about things, attracting dirty looks from the only other person in the garden. Should be not be enjoying ourselves?

We drink up and leave, driving to an ancient meadow, which if we were lucky would be filled with orchids. We called in at Wink's Meadow last year, and I wanted to sample the array of colour variations this site has to offer. I remembered where it was, so we park outside and climb over the metal gate to get in. The meadow is full of buttercups and orchids, an incredible sight, and three other people looking round and taking shots. I fill my boots, snapping the whites, salmon pinks, bi-coloured and purples, all marked out by the green ribs in the orchid hoods. It was glorious, but time was getting on, so we retire to the car, program the sat nav from Ron and Sarah's place, and drive back out through the narrow lanes to the main road, then to Diss before turning down the Ipswich road.

They were recovering from a bout of Delhi Belly, so we don't stay long. Long enough to be far more engaged in conversation that with Mother. Ron makes a fine pot of tea, and that gives me strength for the journey back home. They have cleared a tree from their small garden, and there is so much more light there now, and we could have sat there all day watching the blackbirds and robins coming back and forth, while their cat, Maggie, slept on.

At half three, we said goodbye and left, driving back to the main road driving south in thick traffic to the A14, then turning east before taking the A12 south.

It wasn't a bad trip, Chris Packham was on the radio, playing some good tunes, but I could hear much of what he was saying between records. In an hour we were at Dartford, crossed into Kent and were powering down the M20 towards home. We didn't hit a jam at all on either leg of the trip, so arrived home just before six, in time not too be so bad to the cats.

I feed them, amke a coffee and we finish some of the dark chocolate Jools had bought that week. Insalata caprese for dinner, with the last of the three cheese bread. And the day was done.

Just before bedtime, we are both sitting in the garden surrounded by candles and cats, looking at the stars coming out and the planes and bats flying over. At least we won't have to make the trip again until Boxing Day again.