Friday 1st December 2017

Another long day ahead.

We were due to awake at five, as that was when the alarm was set for. But my mind decided I should be awake at four, staring at where the ceiling would be if it were light enough to see. Scully laid asleep beside my right foot, clearly very happy to be dead to the world at four in the morning.

We do rise at five, and go about our business, feeding the cats and making breakfast then clearing up, so to be ready to leave the house at quarter to six, thus hoping just to avoid the rush hour at the tunnel.

It was a grim day, rain fell steadily as we drove down into Dover and along Townwall Street, then up Shakespeare the other side. Not much other traffic about, which was nice, but would change. We talked about what we would find, and if Mum would really be released, and maybe she would be at her house when we arrived.

Darkness persisted until nearly eight, by which time we had traveled up through Kent, being joined by thousands of other cars, onto the M25 and inching towards the tunnel, getting there about 75 minutes after leaving home. Not bad. But already matric signs were warning of delays the other side of the A12 junction, maybe it would not be bad when we got there, I thought. The queue began just after the off ramp, and so despite dreading the A12 junction, as two lanes go into one on the exit onto the road to East Anglia, it is always fraught, and sometimes dangerous.

But we get on safely, then I can relax as we drive north and daybreak begins to spread from the east. We stop off at Colchester for 2nd breakfast. Though it mitigation I had just had some fruit earlier. A coffee and a Cornish Pasty for me, eaten in the shop as we had so much time.

Onwards and northwards, and all going well until we got to Ipswich, with tailbacks at the roundabout to join the A14. That passed it was really just head north now. The rain had cleared, but we did get frequent showers, meaning that the idea of any walking seemed to be out, and it was then I had the idea. The idea to take the coast road, at least some of the way from Aldeburgh north instead of taking the main road, thus seeing many new churches.

At Saxmundham we turn off and head for Aldeburgh, famous for being home to Benjamin Britten and also the festival he helped to create. The town sits beside a wide shingle beach. I have been to Aldeburgh several time before. Nover to park the car and wander round the shops and eateries in the centre, just to pass through on the war from or to Thorpness, the drive along the top end of the beach very enjoyable.

Aldeburgh is arty, and has been for many years. My thought was to look at the parish church, and thankful with the low rise town and large tower, it was easy to find. Although at the new roundabout I was tempted by the road leading to Church Farm, but though the centre of the town better.

I was right, as the main road passed right beside Ss. Peter and Paul, and had a very large and paved car park, although they did want I think £4.50 to use it.

I wasn't sure if it would be open, but there was a welcoming sign on the door beneath the tower at the western end of the church.

THere is a small "porch" in the base of the tower with a locked door for the bellringers. Ahead I walked to the double door and pushed.

Upon entering, the church. the nave spread out well on either side, and beyond broad columns were two wide aisles, looking contemporary with the church.. Altogether very impressive.

I heard hushed voices in the southern chapel, and looking over I saw someone reading with the aid of an angle poise light, and one other person listening. It seemed to be a list of names, maybe prayers requested by parishioners.

I tried to be quiet, but the quadruple click of my camera as I go my shots seemed to echo around the church, so I limited my shots near to the chancel.

I heard the final lines of The Lord's Prayer, and knew the service was at an end. I went over to apologise for disturbing them, and they said I had done no such thing. In fact, they insisted I had been there a week before, with a friend, taking shots. Not me I said, I have no twin and no friends.

The vicar, because it was he, was very kind, asked about what U was doing, mentioned Mr Knott, as he was familiar with his Suffolk Church website, but unaware that it also stretched to Norfolk, Essex, Cambridgeshire, The City of London and possibly soon, Rutland.

Ss Peter and Paul, at least to me, seems unusual as being a whole church, despite being Victorianised, the nave and aisles look of the same age, and so seem to complete a whole. Of course there is nothing wrong in unmatching buildings, indeed, making them more interesting. But all in all, pleasing to the eye.

Back outside, I much admired the porch to the south, with arches in the east and west side, probably for processions I thought, being correct at least for one.

It seems to be open all day, most of the day. And free, except the car park. I walk back to the car where Jools was wating and we drive to the town a few hundred yards away, but there are no parking spaces and an Adnams delivery dray had blocked to road ahead into the centre of the town. So we turn left and take the lane at the back of the hotels to join with the coast road to go north to Thorpeness. Only I see a car park, and the shell sculpture on the beach. And with the sunlight highlighting the white horses on the North Sea a few hundred metres away, I decided to risk and park a few minutes without paying, hoping that a warden would not come in the ten minutes we were on the beach.

the light was sensational, looking south to the village, and into the sun, a birdwatcher with a scope could be seen, and a woman with an Afghan hound walked as the dog lolloped beside her. And the village lost in the mist of spray from the waves, lit all yellow by the low sun. It was still not yet ten. To the north the beach curved up to the village of Thorpeness, with the House in the Clouds easily visible, and the menace of Sizewell C behind.

We go north, through Thorpeness, and seeing no parking spaces even in December, we don't stop. It looks interesting, but also at the same time, false. Houses built to look old, water towers made to look like castles. I hear its all holiday homes now, too expensive for locals, which should about right for coastal East Anglia, except in Lowestoft and Yarmouth of course.

We get to the house at eleven, and begin yet more clearing out of stuff. We find a drawer beside her bed that once held chocolates, but a mouse had eaten the pack of six Kit Kats and filled the drawer with droppings. We find more old chocolate bars and empty wrappers. It is more evidence of a poorly lived life. After two hours of sorting, we are done, like we have barely made a difference at all.

And from there it is a short drive to the hospital, where we have lunch while we wait for visiting time to begin.

Mum is in bed, and looks pale again, bags under her eyes and not as healthy as two weeks ago. She is excited about the thought of going home, but there is money worries as the local council want to charge her for more than the basic six weeks of care she is to get. And what she will get is minimal, 3 30 minutes visits per day. We try to make it clear that she has to be sure she can get along, and that going back to her old ways is not acceptable. That if she cannot take her own rubbish out, wash her own hair and do the other stuff needed, then she should seriously think about moving into a home. She says if she does it will be in Suffolk, meaning that we will not be able to visit much.

We all live in denial to some extent, but Mum seems to do so more than most. She wants to know if there are Pringles in the house. And where this and that is. I have no idea, we cleaned so much all she had is now in different places. She will have to look for stuff. She will also have a catheter fitted, a surprise and a source of potential infection. This is because whe cannot make it to the toilet every time, but it won't be in forever, either.

We are done in an hour, and with at least a four hour drive south, we want to get a few miles under our belt before darkness falls completely. We talk about Mum, of course, and that she cannot and will not change. She might not smoke again, but she will sit in her chair, not sleep in her bed, and live off shortbread and Pringles. Not good for a diabetic.

Darkness falls, and we press on down the 143, past towns and villages that I now know so well until we get to Bury and can put our foot down. Even on the A14 we make good time, and it all seemed to be going well as we joined the M11 at Cambridge and turned south, when the matrix signs said major delays between Thurrock and Dartford. We had half an hour to decide what to do.

There was no change by the time we got to the M25, so we carried on south hoping to get to the Blackwall Tunnel and into Kent that way. The M11 joins the North Circular, which then divides, with one half going to Docklands and the other half joining the A12 and going to the tunnel Traffic was awful. It took an hour to crawl to within a wile of the tunnel, inching past traffic lights, lanes merging and dividing with no real reason for it. In the background Canary Wharf towered all lit up, we have plenty of time sitting in queues to admire it.

We finally make it through the tunnel, and of course there was the possibility that traffic would be as bad on that side. But it wasn't. The road became the A2, and after passing through an industrial area and dense housing, we came to Dartford, passed under the motorway and into Kent.

And there the story would have ended with an hour blast to Faversham and Canterbury then home. If it wasn't for the matrix signs. Delays at the end of the motorway it said. We thought maybe some resurfacing work. But upon leaving the motorway, we found the entrance to the A2 blocked. After waiting for ten minutes for a lorry to inch out of our way, we go back up the motorway one junction, turn round and then carry onto the Thanet way to Ramsgate, then taking my old commute home. Man, we were both tired, we had been away from home for 15 hours, ached with all the sitting and were so tired.

We arrived at quarter past nine, we put on the kettle, had a brew and I reviewed the shots before we had a good supper of cheese and crackers.

I really hope we don't have to make these trips much more, it is killing us. I just wanted to sleep for a week.