Sunday 15th October 2017

Sunday dawns, we have no idea what the day will bring. Wherever I will end up in the evening depends how Jen has recovered after the shock of Saturday.

There is coffee, there is MOTD and there is bacon. To all intents and purposes, a normal Sunday. After clearing up, I help Jools in the garden until half ten, at which point we both have a shower, then drive to Whitfield to see the remainder of the old folks.

Jen had talked until half five, at which point the whisky and vodka finally kicked in, and slept for four hours; poor Cath had just an hour and looked grey and tired when we arrived.

Jen is fine, however. She has accepted what had happened, and as the day went on chased both Jools and Cath out, leaving her to the house with her Mother. She is still upset, obviously, and as each of the neighbours come in after finding out, the tears begin again. But Jen is made of strong stuff, and is a marvel really.

I volunteer to feed the chickens, and so treat them to lettuce and sweetcorn, the sight of which has them so excited.

Cath goes home to grab some sleep, and once more of Jen’s neighbours drop round, Jools and I go home to have lunch and for me to prepare to drive back to Suffolk. Still no news of a transfer for Mum, so with things having settled down with Jen and Jools being OK, I say I will go up for three more days. But this will be the last days of my sojourn in Suffolk.

After loading the car, I set off at one, dropping Jools off at Jen’s, and then driving out along the Alkham Valley to the start of the motorway.

Although it is much further driving from Dover to Papworth, if the roads allow it can be done in about two hours, the same as the shorter run from Lowestoft. Just depends on the traffic.

And after some slow traffic at the tunnel, along the M25 and up the M11 through Harlow and past Stanstead to Cambridge was an easy run, arriving at the hospital at quarter past four.

Mum is bored. Very bored. I have little news other than the flesh out the details of what happened to Tony and how everyone was. I leave again at five fifteen as dinner was about to be served.

An easy cruise down the A14, and then up the 143, with darkness falling, I have a clear run, driving at the speed limit and getting back just after seven, but it being dark means that I can’t see the numbers on the key safe, so have to ask Madge next door to borrow a torch to be able to let myself in the house.

I had bought a small lasagne when I filled up the car, so warmed that up and some garlic bread as well as raiding what is left of mum’s wine cellar. And as I had emptied to its current state, it seems fair to me to complete the job, there being on last 2007 vintage bottle. I mean if it is left any longer it might become undrinkable, and wouldn’t that be bad?

I call home, then listen to the radio, surf the net and finish the wine, trying to stay awake until MOTD and the day’s football. Not sure much of it made much sense, but hey.

Saturday 14th October 2017

This will be the day forever remembered for what happened from half ten onwards. But there you go, shows you can get up in the morning, unaware that how shitty the day will end up turning.

With Mum still in Papworth, it was obvious that I would be going back to Suffolk at the end of the weekend, and with Sunday afternoon the best for traveling, already the time was running out, and I was barely out of bed. We went to Tesco, got a few things for Jools to have whilst I was away, and we were back again warming through croissants and making a second coffee before nine.

I then went to B&Q to get a spade. We were both going to work in the garden, so we both needed one. That was about half nine, Jools was working at the bottom of the garden well out of hearing range of the phones in the house.

I get back, put on some shots and boots and begin to dig. We were clearing one of the beds in the garden to plant the new fritillaries we had bought. I had been working for about half an hour when I heard Jools' mobile go. By the time I worked out what the noise was it had stopped, but then the landline began to ring. I went into the house, trailing muddy footprints, but I felt I should answer the call.

It was Cath, Jools' sister, and I could tell right away that something was wrong. Let me speak to Julie she said. Wen I called Jools she said she would call back, but I said I think you need to take this one. So, Jools came up, sat down on the wooden bench and Cath told Jools that their Dad, Tony, had died. No easy way to say this, no way to butter it up.

So, after the tears, we wash our hands and jump in the car to drive to Whitfield. When we arrived there was a police car outside, there was no mistake.

Jen was in bits, of course, and in denial. As we all would be. Tony was still in the bedroom where he fell. We were waiting for the ambulance to take him. We were all numb really. Jen was jabbering away, stuck in a lopp of saying the same things, asking the same questions, saying its all a nightmare and he wasn't even ill. 5 minutes later it repeated.

I have heard about shock, and seen in when there is an accident, but not seen it through grief. All we could do was be there and to support and make cuppas laced with Jack Daniels as asked for.

The police were still there, and they were able to confirm some of the details, but not speculate on what had happened. The ambulance came and took Tony away. I took Jen in to see him once last time. There was no doubt he was dead, his colour said that. This was my father-in-law.

Jen continued the repeat cycle of questions and answers. And drinking tea laced with bourbon. It didn't slow her down much, nor the denial. Then came the anger.

Cath stayed and Jools and I came home. Still trying to come to terms with it. He had been ill, and so maybe not a surprise, but still, still a shock.

Jools goes back to see Jen and I stay at home. Life goes on and football returns of course. It seems so wrong to say I spent the afternoon editing and listening to footy, but it is life and life does go on. I also carry on working in the garden, removing more "grass" in preparation for planting and the building work that is to come.

Jools came back at about six, and I was halfway through cooking chorizo hash. Back to normal, and yet surreal too. I had put a bottle of pink fizz in the fridge, so we toast Dad once dinner was cooked, and we eat, once again to the sound of a Radio 4 comedy. I was good to laugh.

Jools went to bed at eight, worn out by the day. I stay up to watch football; City drew 1-1, with our goal in the last minute of injury time.

All in all, and odd kind of day.

Friday 13th October 2017

Groundhog Day.

Awake at just gone seven and then wait for the phone call from the hospital.

I call at nine and find that the doctor had not done his round as yet, but again she takes my number and says she will let me know if there is news or not about a transfer. So, I wait by the telephone until midday, packing the rest of my stuff and piling it by the back door.

Come midday I call again and was told, by a different nurse that the doctor had again done his rounds by nine, and that Mum was still waiting for a bed, and that beds at James Paget were like hen's teeth. So, no change.

At all.

I load the car up and check the house but still manage to leave my coffee pot behind, but that fact I would not discover until I got back to Kent.

And at one, I am ready to go, all loaded up and the route so well know. But it is a Friday, and traffic would be heavy, probably until I got back into Suffolk.

At least at first the roads would be quiet, across to St Olaves and then down the 143 to Beccles, Bungay and so on. Man, I know every bend in this road now! The radio is on, and it is fairly bright, there are worse things to be doing. Until I turn onto the A14 of course.

And it is mental, as usual on a Friday, nose to tail all the way to Newmarket and then crawling to Cambridge, past the top of the motorway and out through the other side, and finally a half hour wait to get round the roundabout to Papworth. This is the spot where the dual carriageway ends, so Friday rush hour traffic trying to funnel from two lanes into one.

I arrive at four, giving me 90 minutes with Mum. Which with all being talked out is 75 too many.

But with dinner being served at quarter past five, that gives me the excuse to make a move, saying I will be back on Sunday. I am back at the car, in theory just two hours from home, but that could easily be doubled on a Friday. There is Steve Lamacq on the radio, playing some fine tunes and interesting chat, then Iggy Pop, amen.

Sure enough it is mad on the motorway down past Stanstead, three lanes of nose to nose traffic, all leading to join the M25, then jostling for position for the off ramp, filtering to the eastward direction. And then wait to join the motorway, and crawl eastwards towards the bridge.

It is eight when I cross into Kent, and the traffic just melts away. Of course it is dark now, but with the roads quiet, I put my foot down as I headed south.

In Folkestone I stop off at Burger King for dinner, zipping home with burgers, fries and drinks, as I know Jools would be waiting. Arriving home just before nine, in time to see Monty and for us to have supper.

I am home, if only for a few days.

On Brexit Treason and being at war

Some talk show host called on the Chancellor to be tried for treason in not backing full scale preparations for a no deal Brexit. In the past I have suggested that some of the leading Brexiteers should be tried for this in selling the country to the media barons they work part time for, or putting their self-interest above what is best for the country. That a radio show host should make such statements on social media because a Minister of the Crown decided what was best was to take this course of action shows what a mess we're in currently.

Late, Hammond himself in a newspaper interview called the EU the enemy. Then tried to backtrack when it was reported on the news. I meant in a sense that "we're " united he blabbered. Quite who "we" are is unclear, can't be the cabinet, government of Parliament that's for sure.

On top of this, yesterday it came as no surprise to learn that after the 5th round of talks between Britain and the EU, the EU have decided that there has not been sufficient progress to allow trade talks to start, and is likely to be the case until December And if that is the case then where talks are going will have to be looked at. David Davis had a more upbeat assessment, but then its not his call as to whether progress has been made. This is because he caved in on the timetable back at the start of the first round of talks in June.

And the rabid brexiteers are calling on Britain to walk out of talks if this continues. Like they know the consequences if they do, or maybe they do, but are not saying.

So, in summary: the Chancellor is a traitor who also seems to think Britain is at war with Europe.

Thursday 12th October 2017

And here we are again, after calling the hospital for news, being told I will call you back. I wait and wait, and of course, there is no call back. At midday, there is a shift change so I can get some news from the head nurse, as the one who is supposed to be looking after Mum lets me down. Again.

IN the meantime, I pack and tidy up the house, although not straying too far from the phone, just in case. The final act is to remove two decades of plush toy collecting, all now stained brown and good for nothing other than the bin. So, its into the bin they go.

By midday it is clear the call is not coming, so I call the ward and am told there is no bed at James Paget again for Mum, so she is staying. And this was known at nine, before I called the first time, meaning it was a morning wasted. I am beyond angry, maybe that is what happens when institutions become inefficient? That is hard, Mum is no longer an urgent case, just needs somewhere to go to recuperate, she already has a bed and support, just out of reach for all her friends as I am the only one prepared to travel the five plus hour return trip even just one day.

THe night before I had seen a couple of churches near to Diss, just a few minutes off the road, so I will stop off at them on the way down to do some snapping and to stop my head from going bang.

It is a fine day, but I spend the first 45 minutes driving to Diss, then following the sat nav nearly into the town centre, then off up a farm track, through a wood and ending up in the yard of an abandoned farm, but clearly the farmhouse was still being lived in. And in the corner of the yard is the gate with the church of Frenze beyond. Even better, as it is in the care of the Church Conservation Trust, I was fairly sure it would be open.

And it was. A simple building, little changed from around the 15th century, peppered with memorial brasses and ancient pews looking at a simple altar. There is also remains of some very old glass in the east window, which with the compact I could get some shots of those.

But in such a small church, there is only so many shots one can take. But saying that I seem to have missed a couple of monkeys carved into a pew end. So, seems that you always need to take more.

With Harry Hill on RadMac on the wireless, I drive the eight miles to the other side of Diss to Shimpling. It appears there is a village in Suffolk with the same name, and a church with the same dedication; just to confuse things.

But Shimpling in Norfolk has a round tower and a spire on top, looking like some kind of medieval rocket about to launch. You reach it down a farm track, then along a muddy/grassy lane to the edge of the churchyard and the simple gates. St Peter is another under the care of the CCT, and I saw a sign for it at Frenze, making me only then realise it was so close. It also has a timeless quality, very rural, church to a place that is more of a street than a village.

But time was getting on, Harry Hill had finished on the radio meaning it was three, and with over an hour to go, I set the sat nav for Papworth and drove to the nearby A140 then back along the familiar 143, getting stuck behind tractors and slow moving lorries. At Bury I stop to fill up and get some late lunch, turns out a sandwich and a Coke is three forty, but add a pack of crisps and its three pounds. So a pack of crisps is minus forty pence?

From Bury it is just half an hour through Newmarket and Cambridge and out the other side, away from the heavy traffic queuing up to join the A14 towards the A1(M).

Anyway, I arrive at the hospital at twenty past four, and so have 70 minutes with Mum. I am all talked out with her, just nothing much to say, so Jools have brought up her scrapbooks from Japan, and a book made for the completion of the last project I worked on. So, Mum looked at those, asked questions and so passed half an hour.

Half five is when visiting hours end, so I have to leave. I could return in an hour, but I have to go back to Lowestoft again, and deal with rush hour through Cambridge. And it was pretty bad, but traffic kept moving, and I made Bury in an hour, and home in an hour and a half later. Nearly eight o'clock.

I make a sandwich and crack open a bottle of wine. Home tomorrow I thing to myself.

Wednesday 11th October 2017

Whatever happens, I am going back to Kent this weekend. I hope that when Mum is transferred, her friends will take up the slack with visiting duties, so I won’t have to come back, and I can pick up my old life, working from home and all that stuff. If not, then I will have to return next week. I know that it is a very real possibility.

The doctors do their rounds at nine in the morning, anyway, they have sad since Saturday that Mum can be transferred, and with day by day, fewer and fewer leads and pipes and lies are attached to her, so that is not a reason for her still being in Papworth.

No, the reason is that she is not now an urgent case, so has to wait in line for a bed. And anyone who is in a more serious condition jumps ahead. Just the way it is, really. I call the hospital at nine, hoping to find that I would not have to drive to Papworth; the nurse said there is no news, but not to travel until she calls back.

So I wait.

At midday, I call and am told by the same person that at nine there was no chance Mum would be moved that day, as there had been no confirmation from the admission’s clerk at James Paget. Meaning I would have to leave for Cambridge ASAP to get to the hospital in time.

I swore under my breath as I pulled my shoes on, and went to the car.

Trees were showing yet more gold and reds as the seasons turn, but on the road I got stuck in lines of traffic as tractors and trailers made their way from farm to field. There was no way past them, as the line of traffic was too long.

I arrive just before three, Mum is bored. And I have no real new news for her from what I said the days before. I say again that she needs to think seriously whether she can live in the house any more, as she pays various people £60 a week just to do the basic stuff like clean and do the garden; her neighbours take out the bins, whilst she sits and smokes. Or did.

After an hour I leave again, to get on the road and though Cambridge before the rush hour really starts. I just put my foot down to get past the slower traffic, and end up back at Bury in an hour, then from there it should have been 90 minutes from there, if there hadn’t have been any farm traffic.

With tractors and the fading light, getting any kind of speed up was impossible, meaning I got back home at half six with darkness having already fallen. Another day in paradise having almost passed by. I find some things in the freezer to have for dinner, and cook some jacket potatoes for supper too.

I call Jools and we discuss stuff to do at the weekend, and say that with Mum still in Papworth, and if she was still there Friday afternoon I would have to return after the weekend.

Assessing the assessments

The British Government has commissioned at least 50 impact assessments on the UK economy, detailing how the different Brexit scenarios would make and cost. Briilliant work, so we can all make informed judgements on whether hard, sofe or no deal is good and what it would cost the country and us personally.

Only the Government is refusing to publish them, thinks we don’t need to know, and that we should be happy with a “trust us, we know what we’re doing, Guv”. This is enough for the right leaning, Brexit supporting papers, but this morning 210 MPs signed a motion that they should be released.

I mean having facts available so that Britons can make informed decisions is a marvellous idea. News on that as we get it.

Other than that, Donald Tusk said unless there was “sufficient progress” by the end of the year then the whole process will have to be looked at. He has said from March the only realistic choice for Britain was between a “hard” Brexit and a no deal. As ever, he is right.

Meanwhile the Brexiteers have been getting their excuses in early, blaming Remainers, the House of Lords, the BBC, The EU; anyone but their perfect Brexit religion of course. The EU have made their positions clear, and said these were non-negotiable. So every time Britain suggests movement on one of these, the EU says “no”, so time passes and Britain suggests it again.

In this way, six months have passed since the rounds of talks begun, and really very little progress has been made, if any, on the three basic issues. And with each week and month that goes past, there is less time for any potential trade framework talks.

Despite saying Britain is planning for all eventualities, including no deal, only if there was then there would be much building work in Dover for instance. And none is taking place. Recruitment of customs officials, office space, lorry parks are needed. And seeing that it took DHB a year to replace two roundabouts on Townwall Street with traffic lights, building office blocks is going to take more than the 18 months we have left.

John Redwood has bemoaned that the EU is not talking about anything important; I mean the Irish border of the lives of 4 million people are not important! Britain under David Davis agreed this timetable back in June, so no point in complaining now.

In a radio interview, May would not say, knowing what she knows now, would vote to stay in the EU or leave. A cowardly answer, but not as cowardly as not supporting EU nationals stuck in limbo as their lives are used as bargaining chips, something during the referendum campaign it was said would not happen.

I will close by saying that if May wanted to frustrate and wreck Brexit, she would be doing pretty much the same as she has done since being elected as PM last June. She has been that bad, and yet there is no better candidate to lead the country, in wither her party or the opposition.

Sad, isn’t it?