Tuesday I was expecting Mum to be transferred, so there was the expectation of a quiet day and then going to see her at James Paget in the evening, but at half nine I get a call saying that the transfer had been postponed again as she had to have more leads removed.
She is as disappointed as I am, as she wants to be nearer home, meaning at least she has more than just me as a visitor, so a better class of conversation. Not only that, but as nice as a private room is, she has no one other than the occasional nurse to talk to; but she has freeview on the TV, so she has the radio on all the time.
All this means yet another trip south to Papworth, although I am feeling stiff with the five hours minimum of driving per day, so after breakfast I drive down to the south beach for a walk along the sea wall to have a stretch.
It is a warm morning, surprisingly so. I have shorts on as I am washing my jeans, but even with my lilywhite legs on display, and no coat on either, it was pleasantly warm, even if other walkers have coats on. Some also have scarves, woolly hats like it is the middle of winter.
To my surprise the beach has gone; this is where Mum used to bring me every day in the summers before I started school, as there were no shops or amusements here, just the beach and sea. Much cheapness for a young family trying to make ends meet with what was then a huge mortgage to pay each month.
I think the same storm that wrecked Shakespeare Beach back in Dover swept much of the beach here too, much of the part I used to play on has gone, and even though it is high tide with the gentle waves lapping at the foot of the sea wall, it was clear even as the tide went down there would be little sand. And the beach itself was closed by the council, with warning signs and barriers blocking access.
I walk to Lowestoft Ness, the most easterly point in mainland Great Britain. There is something there now; a towers and a direction dial sculpture on the prom, where in the past there was just a sea wall and behind a sewerage plant. It is better now, but not much to look at really.
I walk back and get in the car, sigh and set off for Cambridge, making my way back to Oulton Village before turning onto the Somerleyton road and then to the 143 and south.You know the road by now, so not much to describe it; I just want to get down it to the A11, then to Cambridge and to the hospital so I can have a cuppa before visiting hours begin.
Mum is down, I am tired. Talk is limited, as I do little other than eat, sleep and travel, but the nets are now all washed and I am in the process of hanging them back up the windows. And despite my limited skills in making the rehanging look neat, they are at least clean.At three I make my farewells and begin the long trip back, before the rush hour starts on the A14 through Cambridge, rushing to get to Bury and the bottom of the 143. And from there it is about a 90 minute or so run back home.
I am back by half five, and it is already getting dark. Another day gone in a flash. I hang some more nets before the light fades, then prepare insalata for dinner, and open a bottle of wine to slurp, making sure I don’t go over the top and get too angry/morose again like last week.
There is football on TV again; Holland needing to beat Sweden by seven clear goals. Was never going to happen, but they play well in the first half and were 2-0 up by half time. There was no belief from the start of the 2nd, so I channel hop hoping to find something diverting. I don’t.
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