Friday 8th December 2017

Jools and I are awake well before dawn, having had something like less than 6 hours sleep. It felt like I had had less. I had made up my mind, I would be leaving as soon as possible.

We get up, both have showers then go to see how Mum was, she was sitting in her armchair listening to the radio, and apparently waiting for us to make her a coffee. I do make her a coffee, but point out that she is supposed to be getting up from time to time. But some words fell on stony ground. Apparently.

She has prepared a shopping list, and tasks she would like done before we leave. So I go to Tesco and Jools tries to sort out her bank on the phone. The upshot was that we don't get to leave her house until half nine, then stressing about getting to the tunnel before three when the queues would likely to start building.

It is a another glorious day in Suffolk, the sun shone from a clear blue sky. Again. It was a shame not to be making more of it, rather than spend the middle of it driving 200 or so miles back home. IN a perfect world, this should take a shade over three hours, but thanks to the poor roads in EA, four and a half hours is a good trip, anything more than that can be expected.

You know the route by now, out of Oulton through Somerleyton and Herringfleet to St Olaves, then down the 143 down through Beccles, Bungay, Diss and so on. I decide to change route thanks to traffic news on the radio, taking a road to Ipswich, and joining the A14 and then heading east to take the A12 south. Jools, as she had driven up in our car, went down the A12 ll the way, and as it happened got home 20 minutes before me, but hey.

I had the radio on, but with Tom Ravenscroft (john Peel's son) on the radio, filling his three hour show with bleepy bleep electronic music and jungle, I switch it off and enjoy driving. If enjoy is something that you can describe going down through Essex. It is more like something to be endured.

It is a relief to reach the junction with the M25, and the thought that I was only 20 minutes from Kent and an hour from home. And no matter how busy the motorway was, it could not be worse that the A12 with the crazy, stupid greedy lane hogging locals. The motorway at least has four lanes, even if the outside line means driving at close to the speed of sound. I would be home quicker.

Over the bridge, and into Kent. Phew. At it was well after one one and Radcliffe and Maconie on the radio, so plenty of good music and reportage to listen too. I slow down and enjoy the drive down through Maidstone, Ashford before stopping off at Hythe services, where I realise I had not had a drink all day, ot even a brew at breakfast. I buy a peppered steak slice and a bottle of coke and fill the car up ready for its return. I call Jools at home and arrange for her to collect me from the port at half three.

I empty the car and Jools pulls up beside me. Just have to walk to the terminal to drop the keys off, and I am done. A five and a half hour drive, less than 5 hours sleep. I was pooped. But I think worn out after nearly three weeks of such drives, and I have had enough. Jools and I are in agreement, we want to get our lives back. We have done our bit for Mum, but there has been any really gratitude on her part. Not why we did it, but it would have been nice, you know. We have seen very little indication that Mum wants to change, a realisation that she needs to maybe, but when given the choice of getting up and making herself a brew or watching yet more Corrie, the TV wins out. Every time.

Back home and I make a coffee, and we share the remains of the ginger cookies that we have left over. It is all over.

I put on a succession of New Order twelve inch singles on the record player, and they sound great, I hope the neighbours enjoyed them too, as I had the volume turned right up to 11.

As I had eaten fish and chips twice that week, I say I will cook chorizo hash for dinner, which goes down very well once cooked, and fill the house with spicy smells. And being a Friday there was Mastermind followed by Only Connect. And by then we were both walking round like zombies, so went to bed. It was ten past nine, but we were home, and no trips back to Suffolk planned at all!