Mild indisposition

Today we should have walked, but I seem to have what used to be called a sick headache. I felt so dizzy and sick when I woke up that we did not go. I am sorry that we missed it; I greatly enjoy our walks and seeing the people in the group. The headache lingers. I shall have an early night tonight. We have to visit the nursing home tomorrow and Dan's father is coming for lunch on Sunday. On Monday morning it will be my shift in the charity shop.

On Sunday evening I must write some emails. I am long overdue to email cousin Cheryl in Melbourne. I haven't got much to tell at present. There are no recent photos to send; I have sent the pictures of our bigamist great-grandfather's gravestone and that of his sister, who accompanied him when he left his family and went to Canada.

I am feeling low. In France we avoided the presidential election by watching DVDs in the evening. It is harder to avoid the forthcoming general election. I detest this government. My darling daughter lost her benefits when she was ruled (on a system of points awarded). She appealed and when the hearing came up it took fifteen minutes for the judge to reinstate her benefits and back-date them. What a waste of public money. It caused her distress. My poor baby; she was good and honest to the core and incapable of malice and cruelty.  My son used to be a good person but I no longer know him. He has hurt me and deeply offended his father. I suppose that he is still living on benefits; he has done that most of his adult life. There is nothing I can do.

I have been listening to my iPod but also catching up on television. I love the Talking Pictures channel (343 on Sky) and have recorded some films. I am also recording the series Secret Army from the 1970s. We spent about four years abroad in that decade, from 1974 to 1980. I seldom watch television now. I have never watched Big Brother, I'm a Celebrity or Strictly Come Dancing. Katy used to watch Britain's Got Talent when she came here to stay. I am unacquainted with Downton Abbey and watched only a few minutes of the first episode of the current Poldark dramatisations. I did watch The Moorside, the quite good programme about the Shannon Matthews case.  Dan enjoys the old films that I record. He also loves car programmes. We both watch The Antiques Road Show and Flog It!

In two weeks' time we shall be at The Hay Festival. We have booked a room in a bed and breakfast establishment this time. This will be the best accommodation we have had for the festival; last year was in a tent, the years before at a place called The New Inn at Brilley. The New Radnor Barn will be luxury. Afterwards we shall spend a night or two at Pound Farm as guests of my niece and her family. Angela is one of the few relatives with whom I maintain contact.

Nearly bed time. One more lot of eye drops.  Another painkiller for the headache. I did the ironing today, tomorrow I must polish the silver.  By the end of July I hope to have the dining room I have will have waited fourteen years for.

Home again

We arrived home last night, a little before 9.30 pm. On the outward and return journeys we got the ferry before the one we had booked. I have done most of the unpacking and some of the laundry. We visited the old man in the nursing home; he ate most of a chocolate iced doughnut and drank some tea. I shall not see him again until next Saturday as I have my second vitrectomy tomorrow.

Friends invited us for supper, which was eaten in their garden. We brought back cigarettes and Armagnac for them. One of them has given up smoking. His wife is resolved to do so but their business is so busy at present that she is smoking to help deal with the stress. I sympathise but I am fond of her and would like her to give up that habit because of the long-term health risks. While we were there her neighbour dropped in with invitations for all four of us to her fiftieth birthday party in September. It will be in the upstairs room of a local restaurant. We shall go if at all possible. If our daughter had been still with us, I think that she would have invited her as well. Katy loved a party.

Emmanuel Macron has been elected President of the Republic of France. We watched very little television last week because of the coverage of the presidential elections. Marine le Pen makes the dreadful Theresa May look almost human. Macron is, I suppose, the lesser of the two evils. We shall see. Our car was searched at Calais last night, by young French soldiers with formidable guns. One traveller, obviously annoyed at having his car searched, asked the young man if he was old enough to carry a gun. The soldier replied "I do not speak English". He was quite dead-pan. I admire his panache.

I shopped for clothes for my new great-nephew when we were in Vence. I bought a little two-piece outfit of denim trousers and top and a little blue-striped T-shirt. They are bigger sizes than the baby needs now.  My niece is going to visit her cousin and his family later in the year and will take the gifts with them. I have a silver articulated fish that belonged to my late aunt and shall send that to the new baby's sister.

We shall return to Vence towards the end of June. Before that we shall go to Hay-on-Wye and to visit my niece.

I am tired; time for bed. First I must lay the table for breakfast.

Two weeks to homeward journey preparations

I have just had a lunch of low-calorie vegetable soup, a brown finger roll and a bar of chocolate marzipan. I must start ironing and continue cleaning. Most of the packing is done. We leave circa 5 am tomorrow. I  have just read on Facebook that the snow fell low on the Alpes-Maritimes last night. I am wondering how our journey on the Route Napoleon will be on Saturday. We must shop when we arrive in Vence. We are taking a few groceries but most shops close on Sundays in France.

I like the apartment we have in France but I am happiest of all here in this little market town. We have a very pleasant, roomy flat in a central location with easy access to everything we need. We have got to know a lot of people. We were overwhelmed by the number of people who came to our daughter's funeral last year. Dan is vice-chairman of the Probus club and chairman of the bridge club. He plays petanque and shoots clay pigeons. We are happy here and I am always glad to return. On Thursday May 4 I shall wake up, shower and have breakfast and then put the suitcase on our bed. I shall start packing, just as I do here for the outward journey. Around midday we shall walk into the town and have lunch at La Regence. It will be another early night. This is the day I shall  be looking forward to; I shall  be fretting to come home, albeit silently, from Monday of that week.

The journey is a long one. When I have had my second vitrectomy I shall offer to do some of the driving to and from Dover. I drive so seldom now. I have renewed my driving licence and I think that my vision is good enough apart from the floaters. Dan is not a patient passenger so I like to leave the job to him. I do not drive fast enough to please him and I am nervous about overtaking. I think that perhaps we shall go out into the country together and I shall practise a little while before I start driving on town roads and motorways.  

Tomorrow night we shall stay at the Ibis Hotel in Besançon, the town where Victor Hugo was born. It is a fortified city and has a lot of history. I would like one day to stay a few days and look around. We have tried a lot of different towns and hotels for our stay-over, but this hotel and this town are what we like best. The restaurant is very good. The only problem we ever encounter is sometimes at breakfast time. There are coachloads of oriental people. They are not Japanese; those people are very polite and besides. one cannot mistake a Japanese face. If we do not go down to breakfast very early these travellers appropriate all the food. They take petits pains and croissants, yogurts and fruit and put them in their travelling bags. The restaurant and kitchen staff are very kind to us and bring us food. It does not always happen. The latest in the year we have stayed at Besançon was in  2015. We had delayed our trip because Katy had an oophorectomy on September 26. She stayed with us for two weeks after the operation. We came home in early November. The day we left Vence we drove up into the mountains and parked in the square in Castellane as usual. Everything was closed and shuttered; it was cold and misty. We travelled on and had lunch at the Courtepaille near Voiron. I doubt that we shall drive down that late in the year again.

Yesterday we visited Dan's father. He is very confused; dementia is gaining a hold on his mind. He is incontinent now. Dan found him some snooker to watch on the television and we had a cup of tea because there was fresh milk. The house is dirty. We still feel Elizabeth's absence greatly. I tried to make him understand what caused Katy's death but he is very deaf and will not use a hearing aid. He will not long remember what I said anyway.

I must email the manager of Steep House to let her know that we shall be away. I have reminded her of our cell phone numbers. I am still smarting from the television business. I know that is petty and foolish but I would have expected the woman to familiarise herself with my uncle's state of health before suggesting that I bring in a television for him. I shall bring the carers the usual large box of biscuits. I know they like their sweet things to eat in their tea breaks. In the last few years I have provided a lot of those.

Impatience and Guilt

Today I finally had my hair cut and styled. The blonde, agreeable-looking woman is called Kate and she charges less than my last stylist. There are no tip boxes so that saved another five pounds. I am also very pleased with the cut she gave me. Before going out I changed the bed linen and did three lots of washing. I have started to pack the suitcase and my overnight bag. I shall have to charge both of my mobile phones before I leave. Tomorrow I have the charity shop in the morning and we must visit Dan's aged father-in-law in the afternoon.  The only appointment on Thursday is to have my eyebrows waxed. The rest of the day will be spent ironing, packing and cleaning. We shall go to Wetherspoon's for supper. The Red Lion is a pleasant old coaching inn and is the last place I had a meal with my daughter.

I visited the nursing home today. There was a staff meeting in progress. I had to go to the desk of the sour-faced receptionist to find a pen in order to sign myself in. I took jam doughnuts and chocolate and made tea as usual. The old man was awake; I sat for a while outside because his door was closed and I thought the staff were changing him. Then I knocked and went in. He ate a little jam doughnut and complained that his tea had no sugar. I had put a little sugar in but went to get more. He drank a little tea but kept asking me to take the cup away; I finally did and put it on the tray. He would not stop asking me to remove the cup that was leaking into his  bed. I am usually patient but today I could not cope with it. I shouted at him. This was a shameful thing to do and I knew it, but it was more than I could bear. I am tired of this; I am tired of visiting him. I am tired of doing battle with the nursing home management about the shoddy workmanship of the lazy handyman. I am tired of senile dementia and incontinence. My son is lucky that he has abandoned his parents. He will not have to look after us when we are old and demented. He will get nothing when we die unless we both die while we own the French flat.

When we turn seventy in June holiday insurance will become substantially more expensive. I suppose that this is understandable. We shall also be leaving the European Union. Our Denplan membership covers our teeth.  I know that such insurance is vital. We are both fit and healthy but old age is encroaching. Next year we shall have our last expensive holiday when we celebrate our golden wedding anniversary. These holidays have been every five years since 1993, when we went on the Orient Express for our silver wedding. I wonder if we shall see our diamond anniversary; we shall be eighty-one if so. I have been married longer than any of my three older brothers. The middle one has been married forty years to his second wife. The eldest one had a silver wedding anniversary with his first wife; the next year they were divorced and he finally married the woman with whom he had been living part of the time since 1972. The youngest one's longest marriage was from 1989 until 2006, although it was an on-and-off marriage the last three years. Two of husband's siblings, despite being brought up as Roman Catholics, have also been divorced. The eldest of the three sisters separated from her husband after twenty years. The youngest of the three boys has been divorced twice. I wonder what my pious, narrow-minded mother-in-law would have had to say about that. The second of the girls has been married nearly twenty-eight years. She could not be married in church because the man she married had been divorced twice. However, her husband was welcomed because she was a single mother. The second boy, Kevin, died just before his seventeenth wedding anniversary.  He drank a solvent containing cyanide. He had a degree in biochemistry, although it took him six years to get it.

I am tired; time for bed.

Chrysanthemums and chocolate éclairs.

Today we had a visitor. My Auntie Ruby came to lunch. Father-in-law was going to come too, but is unwell. Ruby is an honorary aunt really; she was married to my father's brother and he died in 1954. Ruby remarried and her husband was absorbed into our family. I still look upon her as an aunt and she has been there all of my life. She is ninety-one now and getting frail.  She is a very gregarious person and has always been busy and active. Her husband died three years ago and I suppose that this death came into the "merciful release" category. He was suffering from vascular dementia and she was struggling to cope. Ruby attends the church where Dan's stepmother was parish clerk and she knew her and also got to know my father-in-law when he started attending St Mark's with Elizabeth.

I showed Ruby pictures on my computer of various family members. It was then that I noticed that she is somewhat deaf and also a little confused. Several times I had to explain who the people in the pictures are; some of them she has not seen for decades and they are dead now. However, she saw my niece and her husband at Katy's funeral, just a year ago. She was interested in the children and the house. Ruby has always been an animal lover; I remember two cats she had when I was very young. They were tabbies and their names were Chinky and Tiger.

We had a roast today, as we always do for father-in-law. It was lamb; when we saw him on his birthday he was going out for a meal with Dan's sister Teresa and her husband. He wanted lamb and said that he always arrives too late for it. It was a very good joint that we had today. Ruby and I had a chocolate éclair each for pudding. I did not drink wine; I have to go to the charity shop tomorrow and I can never tell how I shall react to alcohol nowadays.

Ruby brought my brother's new address. He moved house last year but did not send a Christmas card to us with this information. He is living in the village where Dan and I started our married life. We lived there until 1975.  When my ancient uncle finally dies I must give him the two Sydney Vale FRSA paintings that are in old Bill's room at Steep House. My aunt promised him all the paintings by this artist. I do not care for them.  I am executor of my uncle's will; I have a feeling that this may be a thankless task. I wonder how many of Bill's own relatives will come to his funeral. I shall go with cards of the partner who will be seeing his will through probate. If any of the Ratcliffe and other families ask about the will I shall tell them the truth; it all goes to charity. The first beneficiary is dead so the Hospital for Sick Children will get anything that is left. If this raises a protest I shall give the protester a card and tell him or her to consult a solicitor and Jarndyce v Jarndyce it out.

Next Sunday the forecast is for sunny spells and temperatures up to 14° Celsius. We may walk with our friends and have lunch at a pub. I would like to take one of my iPods and listen to a good book on the way but Dan thinks this is anti-social. I am becoming more and more withdrawn. The heartache is always there; I have "moved on" as the cliché has it, but the sadness and regret have come with me. I want my daughter back and no one can give her to me. I shall always miss her. I enjoy the walks, although very steep hills are too much for me now. When I give up volunteering we shall go on longer walks with the Walk For Health group. We belong to the Sheet group and meet up on Friday mornings.  After the walk, which lasts for about an hour, we have coffee and biscuits at the pub, the Half Moon. That is where the Probus club meetings are held.

I must now finish tidying up and get my clothes ready for the morning. I hate getting out of bed; I could just stay there, hiding from the world and listening to audio books. In three weeks; time, if all goes according to plan, we shall be in Vence. There is Easter to be got through meanwhile. It would mean so much if my son would get in touch but reason and experience tell me that this will not happen. Perhaps one day I shall feel as if I never had a son.

I have to cut the stems of the chrysanthemums that Ruby brought for me, rearrange the daffodils that I always have in spring and then arrange the new flowers in vases.

Missing my only daughter

The shops are full of gifts for mothers whose children care about them. I have kept all of Katy's Mothering Sunday cards; mostly what she made herself when she did her courses at the local further education college. The little flower, possibly a gerbera, is her last present to me. It lives on in our garden in Vence. Pink was her favourite colour. We took her to an amateur production at the Festival Hall and one of her further education teachers was selling programmes. She told us that Katy was very bright; she stood out among her classmates. Once, when asked what her favourite colour was, she said "Is it all right if I say cerise?" I wore a scarf of that colour to her funeral. I miss her; the gap she has left is still there and there will never be anyone to fill it.

We must visit the nursing home this afternoon. Dan has bought a bag of doughnuts. The old man asked me to bring one when I visit today. I hope that I see Sandra, the head of activities, as I want to have a word about the carers. She was one of that team for six years. I want her to reassure them that I do not think badly of them; I have had run-ins but I know that they work hard for their measly pay. I am very annoyed that they have been blamed for the magnetic catch coming away from the wall. It was not installed properly in the first place and the handyman's dilatory tactics made it worse. I have reassured one young man but I want it emphasised. The handyman has not been well recently and I suppose will milk that to the limit.

There has been much in the press about a pensioner called John Place. He was seventy-two when his optometrist told him that he must no longer drive because of his deteriorating eyesight. Even with glasses, his vision did not come up to the standard required. He ignored this advice and went out in his car without his glasses. He killed a little girl of three and seriously injured her mother when he ran a red light.  It was reported that he did not stop at the scene until another car flagged him down but the police subsequently denied that this was true. He has been sent to prison and a five-year ban will begin when he comes out; rather absurd not to ban him for life, for he will never get another licence. I am wondering about taking up driving again after the next vitrectomy. I have never been a very happy driver, although I used to drive many miles because of my daughter's needs. We shall see. My night vision is not great but I hope that this will improve when the floaters are gone.

There have been no more anonymous calls on my mobile phone. I wonder if there will be more in a few months' time. I do not know where my son is; I believed he was in Portsmouth but now I wonder if he is in Havant. We seldom go there now. It was where Katy lived and we used to see her most Saturdays. I know that Neil was working (probably unpaid) as a disc jockey in a pub in Havant. He had to leave his flat in Petersfield and we did not hear from him again. It was only when I discovered some vitriolic messages in my message requests folder on Facebook shortly after Katy's funeral that I knew of his new profile. I do not even know if he is working; I hope he is. He paid so dearly for that one bad mistake and deserves another chance.

Tomorrow Dan is going to walk with a friend. I shall stay at home and do more ironing; I am not feeling sociable and shall do the chores instead. I have a charity shop sack that needs to be filled and must sort through some clothes. If I am going to have a dining room at long last, we shall lose clothes storage space. I cannot face parting with my shawls and scarves; I always buy natural fibres and they keep my arthritic neck warm. Some T-shirts must go and there are some miniature tea sets that may please a collector. Katy's doll house and the furniture and family went two years ago, to an old school friend. She has little grandchildren and it has already been played with. I kept it for the granddaughter I shall never have.

We have to go to buy eggs at Charity Farm before we visit the nursing home. I shall put my iPod in my handbag. One or both iPods go with me when I go out. I cannot manage print books or my e-reader any more. Audiobooks are wonderful; well, most of them anyway.

Mothering Sunday and British Summer Time.

Years ago I worked on the Phonads section of the Portsmouth daily paper. Part of my job was booking family announcements; births, marriages, deaths and all of that. It was not the easiest of jobs at times because people can be so difficult. It was a personal affront if their advertisement was got no response. Customers would never admit to  making a mistake; they would waste time by telephoning to complain that their advert was not in the paper. Very often their mothers would also have scoured the paper and not found the relevant ad.

There was often real distress to deal with; a stillbirth or the untimely and unexpected death of a young and apparently healthy adult. A year later there would be an In Memoriam notice. I used to talk to the customers and tell them that they needed a year to adjust; they must live through all the landmarks of the year before they would fully accept their loved one's death.  I believed what I was saying. My daughter died one year and five days ago. I still miss her just as much and I still carry the same guilt that I did not go to her the night before she died. I shall always regret that I did not phone her earlier on the day she died. I have to live with the thought that I might have got to her earlier, phoned an ambulance and she might still be alive. I think of her every day. She has left an enormous gap in my life. There is so much that I regret; I was not the best of mothers. I love my children but did not know how to mother them. I could not give them what I did not get from my own parents. I wanted to explain things to my son but he would have none of it. I doubt that I shall ever see him again. It will be his birthday soon. I wonder if it will hurt that there is no message or present from his parents; I know that it hurts me not to give, but I do not know where he is.

It is a slight benefit that the charity shop where I help out does not sell Mothers' Day cards. There are Easter Eggs and sweets for sale but I can bear that. It was not too busy this morning and I was relieved to find that the man I expected to work with was not there. I do not think that I shall get on too well with him; he is full of his own importance and I am a mickey-taker. My Monday morning co-worker phoned to say she is ill and I shall probably do her Friday morning shift as a man is coming to our flat about window repairs and we shall not be walking. If I find myself working with the ultracrepidarian bletherskite, so be it. I can cope and Fridays are very busy. Why, oh why must people observe a meaningless pecking order in voluntary work? It can be so enjoyable if one's co-workers are congenial. There is no pay or promotion to be gained so there is no point in jockeying for favour.

The tree outside our living room window is white with blossom. On Sunday morning the clocks go forward an hour; we shall lose an hour's sleep but it will not get dark so early. The shops are full of summer clothes. In Vence, where our flat is, the temperature is 15° and there is heavy rain, thunder and lightning. We shall go there soon; the plan is to leave here on Friday April 21st and take the ferry from Dover to Calais or Dunkirk; probably Calais. We shall overnight at Besancon and arrive in Vence on Saturday afternoon. Last year we left on our son's 40th birthday, which was two days after Katy's funeral. It's a good thing, perhaps, that Easter is a moveable feast.

More surgery to come but much in between

I went to the Optegra Hospital again today. The purpose was to check the right eye, upon which I had vitrectomy surgery three weeks ago. They eye is fine and the second operation is scheduled for May 8th, unless I change my mind. I do not think I shall. Perhaps I shall start driving again after my eye is healed.

The weather is cold and windy again. It seems that there is, or was, a storm called Stella across the Atlantic and this is the very tail end of it. I must wrap up in warmer clothes when I visit the nursing home tomorrow. The old man was fairly receptive yesterday. He ate most of a sugary ring doughnut. At one time he would eat a lot of cake or chocolate, but now his appetite has declined. I shall take custard tarts and chocolate tomorrow. I have been responsible for this sick old man for eight years now. His name is William and he likes to be called Bill. He was married to my mother's youngest sister. When I agreed to have his powers of attorney I had not seen him for forty years. It was always understood that when my aunt or uncle died, my youngest brother would deal with everything that arises when someone dies. He was my aunt's favourite. My aunt was very close to this brother's third wife at one time, until Sharon (for such was her name) became an alcoholic and suffered a complete change of personality. I did not know until my aunt died that wills had been changed and I had been appointed executor. I have wondered since if my aunt knew that I would look after her widower when she was gone, although my brother probably would not. It is a complicated story.

I have been thinking of my son in these past few days. The anniversary of his sister's death was last Friday and when she died I hoped for a reconciliation. I still worry about him and wonder if he is lonely, if he has a job and enough to eat. I wonder if he bothers to wash and launder his clothes. I know that he gets very depressed. It will be his birthday just before Easter. I cannot send him birthday wishes because, apart from sending him a message on Facebook which he probably would not see, I have no way of communicating with him. I know that he would reject my good wishes anyway, so it is best not to bother.

A very dear friend, who was once a relative, has recommended that I read a book called The Shack. It is about why bad things happen to good people and she has received comfort from it. She has been through a lot in her life and experienced much pain. She is now full of anxiety over her mother, who has had heart surgery and is not doing well. She lives in the mid-west and is a Baptist. I have no religious faith but sometimes envy those who have. There is a audio version of the book. Perhaps I shall buy it and listen. I think that perhaps religion is like a virus; some people succumb, others are immune. I was not brought up to be religious and life has taught me that some of the people who profess to have great religious faith have little concept of kindness or humanity.  I do not know if I am a good person. I suppose I try to be.

Seizing the day

This year I shall be seventy years old. My life has been busy and eventful and I often wonder how long it will continue  and what the quality of the remainder will be. My general health is good and I keep active. The bogey man who lurks on the periphery of my life is senile dementia. Eight years ago I inherited a sick old man who at the time was reasonably cogent although frail physically. He lives on, nearly blind, very deaf, bedridden, incontinent and far gone in dementia. Sometimes he will recognise me and my husband when we visit, but often he will mistake us for someone long dead, or not respond at all. Familiarity with senility has made me dread it.

I was ambitious once and I suppose I achieved a few of the things to which I aspired. I made a good marriage that has lasted forty-eight years and had a  daughter and then a son. I tried to be a good mother but am now permanently estranged from my son and my daughter died a year ago. She was autistic but high-functioning and a good, sweet person.

In a material sense I have everything I need and more and I am grateful but the gap the loss of my children has left will never be filled. My husband and I do most things together and have a good life. I think that we are too old now fully to enjoy any grandchildren that might one day come, although our son is still single and shows no sign of settling down.

The old man for whom I am responsible was married to my  mother's younger sister. She was the second youngest of a family of fifteen children, eleven of whom survived infancy. Owing to the fact that  my mother largely brought her up, the two sisters were very close. When my aunt died I found that I was to be her executor and hold my uncle's  power of attorney, not only for financial matters but for health and welfare. Thus I became responsible for a man I had not seen for forty years. I did this willingly as one cannot turn one's back on a sick old man. There was also the fact that he had left my daughter the sum of £100,000 in his will. When I signed the power of attorney documents I joked that all of the old man's money might go in long-term care. I did not anticipate that the main beneficiary would predecease him.