Sunday 11th June 2017

It would appear that it is over 12 months since I last visited Mother Dearest, or Mum as I have to call her to her face, apparently it's the law or something. Anyway, there was no avoiding it, and as it was her birthday last month, when we were on our holibobs and having avoided traveling up over the bank holiday, it had to be this weekend. And if I'm honest, the trip was planned with one eye on the weather, staying in Kent on the Saturday to get the best of the sun for the Bees in Pegwell, and maybe get lucky with sunshine at Wink's Meadow on Sunday when I hoped to find the Frog Orchids again.

But the whole day would mean that we would do little else than drive about 210 miles each way and for what turned out to be 90 minutes with Mum. Those of you who have ready these posts for a while will know there are issues between us that go back years, and maybe its because I have become old and grumpy or plain selfish, but I really resent even these infrequent visits.

But then again, on a splendid summer's day, it was going to be a great day for a road trip, and maybe see some orchids too.

We could have gotten up at dawn, or just after, but in the end decide to wake without an alarm, so it was half six before we were up, then nearly half seven before we loaded the car and drove off down the street; next stop Suffolk.

The roads are at least quiet on a Sunday morning, and so with Radio 6 playing quietly we blast up the M20, with me thinking all the time of the orchids we were passing by and I could be out snapping instead. No problems getting out of Kent, down into the western bore of the tunnel, under the Thames and into wonderful Essex.

Traffic was amazingly light, and driving, even on the M25 and in Essex was enjoyable, with the sunshine playing on the ripening fields as we zoomed along and up the M11, past Stansted and Saffron Walden and into Cambridgeshire, which is almost East Anglia. Is actually. The road was lined with bright red poppies, bobbing in the light breeze, and brightening the journey greatly.

We had left without breakfast, and I thought a fry up at the cafe at the Fourwentways junction would be just the ticket. We arrived mouths watering of the thought of bacon and eggs dead on half nine. Only to find it not open. Maybe it doesn't open until ten, or they don't think people eat late on Sundays. We have no choice but to press on, stopping at the garage on the Newmarket bypass, filling the car so Jools does some food shopping. Shopping for food when hungry is always dangerous, so Jools bought sandwiches, two lots of sausage rolls, Wotsits, juice, chocolate, macaroons. We would not go hungry.

So drove on, munching and slurping away. On to Bury St. Edmunds, past the sugar beet factory, not working this time of year so not stinking, and onto the A143, which winds it was through the Suffolk countryside passing through Diss, Bungay, Beccles and onto Great Yarmouth; it is a road I know very well, as I have used it when commuting to Cosford when in the RAF, and is usually quicker than the A12 up the coast. And north of Bury, the road passes through picturesque villages and fine looking churches at which I will stop at one day.

One day, but not today. As I have orchids in mind.

At Harleston we turn off, taking the Halesworth road, then turning off towards Metfield, where there is a special reserve, and if you know where to look you might find a rare orchids. And yes, there always is.

I know the way to the meadow so very well, through the attractive residential area, across the fields taking two turnings down a dead end lane, and there on the right is the meadow. I get out the camera and we walk through the wood, climb over the 5 bar gate and make our way to where we saw the Frogs last year. Frog Orchids that is.

I know they are there. Should be there. I look, walk a pace or two, stop and look again. Minutes go by, and then, in the middle of the path is a spike, nearly in flower. It was then I noticed I had walked by two more spikes, both in flower.

I get down to snap them, and further along we find six more spikes, some redder than others, and none more than 6 inches tall. Done it again, the mk 1 orchid eyes are still working well.

Finally I seek out the Marsh Orchids sheltering under a dead tree trunk, happy that my memory is so good I can remember these details. But time is getting on, nearly eleven, and there is the visit to do.

So we walk back to the car, open all windows and make our way back to the main road, turn north east towards Bungay, making really good time on the flat roads, still quite empty of other traffic. Once north of Beccles it feels like I am in my old back yard, going through villages like Toft Monks, Haddiscoe and St Olaves, over the river before taking the turning to Oulton, and Mum's.

All along the old Herringfleet road, huge rhododendron bushes were still in flower, looking dramatic beside the road, I used to drive at 60mph along here, but on this occasion I drove at 40, taking in the scene like I was sipping a fine wine. It does look so beautiful.

But we are here to do a duty, to visit Mum, so we press on, arriving in Outlon just before midday, and driving through the Pound Farm Estate, rows and rows of 60s bungalows and houses, now looking different from what I remember with the now nearly mature plants in the garden. Mum is one of only two of the original owners of the 8 houses in her street, other have moved on or have sadly passed away.

Anyway, Mum's house looks neat enough from outside, not that she really goes outside unless on her mobility scooter to go down town once a week. Inside she is dressed in her dressing gown, and greets us but then carries on listening to the radio on the TV. She tries to engage me in conversation whilst listening to Les Dennis being interviewed. I lose my temper and remind her of manner when people visit. She is on the defensive and I am angry.

But we settle down and spar, talking about this and that, she wanting to know if we have brought any pictures fro her to look at. But Mum, you're never interested, we did that before and your eyes glazed over after ten minutes. I am not being cruel, just stating the facts. She changes the subject, which she does when she doesn't want to talk about things any more.

Time passes, we had been there for 90 minutes, conversation has died, so we make our farewells and leave. We stink of cigarette smoke,, her house is stained grown, and there are Pringle tubes everywhere acting as make do ashtrays. Also, her apron has burn marks where she has gone to sleep whilst smoking. Its not a good look. She is old now, looking like her Mother, hunched and not moving only when she has to. We all get old, even our parents I suppose.

Anyway, back out into the sunshine, to the car and back into the countryside, retracing our route back to Beccles, Bury and onto the motorway heading south. We make good time, andwhilst we drive, talk about what has happened, nothing that different from other visits, but just as pointless really. But probably won't go up again until Christmas.

We are at the Dartford crossing in just over two hours, passing miles and miles of queues in the other direction, but we motor on.

We get home at just gone five, time to feed the cats, time to make a brew, and time to review the shots I took. Dinner is to be burgers, bought the day before, and fried in a pan, not on the bbq. Not best, but good enough. Two burgers each in under ten minutes, washed down with beer, and feeling much better. But time has beaten us again, darkness falls, so we sit int eh garden once again, the fountain burbling away and as cats circling us, wanting attention.