Saturday 3rd November 2018

It is a truth that you don't know how ill you were until you begin to get better.

I had been suffering with a cough for maybe three months now, usually at night when I went to bed. I had been forced to sup from bottles of cough syrup to enable me to drop off, and in later weeks, sleep was being broken by me coughing in my sleep as I turned over. At times my chest ached with the coughing. And worse of all, it seemed never to end.

I was planning on going to the doctor, but my inner voice told me, what could I say, I cough a lot? So, I bore it. And I did through the day too, sucking on cough sweets as I worked though the day and a dry coughing fit would render me incapable of talking.

And then, late last week, it just stopped. One night I went to bed, laid on my other side and dropped off. And slept deeply for nine hours, except when Scully brought me in a mouse for me and would not be quiet until I looked at it under the bed. The lay in the dark as she ate it, crunching through the bones.

So, I can sleep long and deep at night, and no longer cough my way through the day either. All rather marvelous, and so worries I might have caught the plague or ebola go unfounded.

Once my back is better, I can think about exercise again and tackling my weight. Again. I mean, we all have good intentions, but this time I really must do better. I heard from my friend Tony that he has given up sugary soda and cakes, maybe I should give up, or partly give up booze, as it is pure calories. Or, give up the meals for half the week that seem to demand the accompaniment of a glass or three of red, of a bottle of Belgian#s finest.

We shall see.

Jools asked me what the plan was for the weekend.

Sheffield Park, I replied.

Train then, she said.

No, the other Sheffield Park, but that is also nearby!

Sheffield Park is in Sussex, a good two hour drive from Chez Jelltex, and in preparation for the trip, Jools had done the shopping on Friday, meaning we had nothing else to do on the day.

Jools did not ask why we were going to Sheffield Park, just accepted it.

After breakfast we set off, driving up the M20, soon to be Europe's largest lorry park, where only two lanes are now open and for 25 or so miles there is a 50mph speed limit whilst workers strengthen the hard shoulder to allow for mile upon mile of nose to tail lorry parking, which is the sum of the UK's only Brexit preparation.

Even worse is that the motorway that links the M20 with the M25 west, the M26, is to be closed both ways indefinitely to allow for more lorry parking, this will make the simple business of getting about more tricky. If we have fuel for our cars, of course.

We cross into Sussex, and the sat nav takes us south off it to East Grinstead, then by back lanes through woods and rolling fields towards Haywards Heath to Sheffield Park. All the time I was looking at the sky, looking for signs of the clouds clearing, the forecast clearly spoke of sunny intervals, but this was just solid cloud, and dull.

We arrive at Sheffield Park just as the gates were opening, paid our entrance fee to get in, and then the age old problem, which path to take? I look at the map and point vaguely in the other direction and say "that way".

We are confronted with the first of a series of lakes, each surrounded by a mix of trees, some still green or evergreen, but others yellow or red leaves showing well. Just not dramatic in the dull light. Above us, the clouds had began to clear from the north, but would it ever unveil the sun way to the south? As the time neared to half ten then eleven, the clearing reached the sun, and it was like that scene from Wizard of Oz when it went from black and white to technicolor. Amazing.

Not sure how long the sun would last, we and the other photographers rush round getting shots of the park, showing off its autumn colours.

By now the gardens were getting busy, so we beat our retreat back to the car ten drive the half mile down the road to the Bluebell Railway station of the same name. I already knew there were no train running, but the station buffet would be open, and would be very much cheaper than the team rooms the National Trust usually charges for.

We have a sandwich each, some crisps and I have a pint of Harvey's Old ale, which was rather wonderful.

After a quick look round the station shop, we go back to the car for the drive back home, following the same route as took when we came, the clouds had rolled back over, so we had had the best of the weather and I felt lucky we got the shots we did.

Back home I put the radio on the listen to the footy; City were away at Sheffield Wednesday, and start well, but miss an early penalty, and seems it was going to be one of those day. We had not won there since 2001, nor won in the league in November since 2008, so the omens were not good.

But in the second half, City went up the gears and rattled in four goals in quarter of an hour, and looked like Barcelona at times, but that might have been the poor opposition. But the upshot of this result, and the fact that Sheffield Utd lose is that, for 24 hours at least, Norwich are top of the league, and our rivals, despite employing our old manager, Paul Lambert, were rock bottom after drawing 1-1.

We go to Whitfield in the evening for some card action, but Jen and John both have colds, and we are still pretty tired, meaning that we only play one game of meld, which Jen wins, and Syn scoops the jackpot in Queenie, meaning we were all done by nine, and able to be home and in bed by ten.