Roland Ladley's Blog, page 8

I’m living in an Eastenders’ plot line

Inevitably it was never going to be that easy. To finish the mum saga (which would make a good plot line for the Eastenders Christmas Special), by Saturday evening she didn’t want to stay in the home and I was the worst son in the world. So I reorganised the care at home people to take her out this week. Then, on Monday morning she wanted to stay. Well … we had a conversation which included ‘please remember we had this discussion as we’re leaving on Tuesday and there’s nothing I can do to reverse this decision until we come back from Saudi’. Mum said that of course she was sure. And, yes, I should cancel the care people …

he loves the sea

… only for her to change her mind Monday evening. It was, of course, all my fault. And I know I should be the adult in the room, but mum’s dementia isn’t so far down the line that she’s incapable of making a decision and sticking to it. She’s just terribly flip-floppy. I told her that this was her decision (did she remember?) and that she would have to stay in the home until we got back from Saudi. At which point all the options would be on the table. No, that wasn’t good enough. And, no, she wasn’t prepared to put herself out for me, C, the baby and, frankly, anyone else. Ho hum.

The long and the short is that we have re-energised the carers and they have seen mum and are happy. I will go back up to Colchester on Monday, resort the house, restock the fridge and freezer (etc), and then the carers will take her out on Tuesday. She will be less safe, but happier. As opposed to v safe and unhappy. I’m afraid  cannot be the son who incarcerates his mother. I can’t. But, hopefully, that’s that. And, insha’Allah, we fly out to Saudi on Saturday. 

everything is a mess

There is no need for reflection: it has easily been the worst three weeks of my life. And I just want it to be over. I think we might be there now. I hope so.

Anyhow, we’re back in Bristol, getting our poop in a sock, as they say. There’s been plenty of mum stuff to do (registering powers of attorney with both banks) and other prep for the Arabian peninsula. Henry, of course, has continued to keep us on our toes both in a delightful and, at the same time, exhaustingly busy way. C’s mental health has been a yo-yoish (I know she won’t mind me mentioning this) which has all added colour. But, it looks like we can see light at the end of the tunnel.

no part of our house has been left unexplored

The good news is both sets of kids are in good form. Jen, who was v poorly last month (and has added to our woes), is in the best place I’ve seen her for a while – even if she has a tube coming out of her nose. We took Henry to their place yesterday afternoon and he had a ball. I’ve never seen a kid laugh so much. And the Henryless Bex and Steven look like they’re settling in well in Riyadh. Whilst this time has been an unmitigated disaster back here, what it does mean is, when we get to Saudi, rather than being part of the settling in package (one of the main reasons for going), we can now arrive with the pair of them set up, having taught for a week, and with a nanny on the cards. It might mean that C and I get a chance to put our feet up and enjoy the step change in culture. We’ll see.

Other than that, I’ve tried my best to keep out of politics. The fact that the cost of living crisis has grown to such huge proportions whilst the government is in stasis – and Johnson has taken two European holidays – is hugely frustrating. I have absolutely no time for any of them. But you know that.

Keep safe. Hopefully next time I write this it won’t be between nappy changes. And, as  result, I may be able to pay more attention to what I’m writing. Bye for now.    

Pass me another beer

Well, that’s been a week. To be accurate it’s been a bit of a couple of months. Italy was tough as we all had covid, then we had a difficult time with a close family member, C’s mental health hasn’t been great … and now 10 days with mum. Interestingly she was more malleable when she was poorly. Since then it’s been v problematic, and that’s an understatement.

We got her through her UTI. It was messy and tiring but, in the end, worth all the effort. By Monday she was weak, but she was making complete sense. And we managed to get her into a routine, but it was clear that she wasn’t capable of looking after herself in the way that she had before. It’s a combination of both mental fragility combined with physical weakness. On occasion she shows peaks of strength in both of those departments, but most of the time she sleeps. So …

We looked at three homes. The one she wanted to go to is in the village. It has only a reasonable reputation but she was incapable of rationalising that. She wanted to go there because it’s ‘in the village’ and people could visit her (they were all 5 minutes drive away, but she couldn’t get that). C and I looked at the furthest and discounted it straight away (I’ll go through numbers in a minute in case you’re interested … it’s all important stuff). We did the village one and neither of us were overly enamoured. In the end we took mum to two: a swanky, 60-bed place in its own fabulous grounds where the fee for her (minimal nursing) was £1075 per week, with no additional charges; and the village one (£870 a week) – 19 bed, and a bit threadbare, with a few more dementia patients than I would have liked. (Mum has dementia, by the way, but it’s v early days and she can be quite lucid.)

Mum turned down the swanky one on the spot. Indeed she didn’t want to go there in the first place. Once there she was rude and difficult, but the manager handled her well. From my perspective it was lovely – more smart country house hotel than residential home. But mum wasn’t convinced – at all. I was expecting the same reaction at the village one, but mum took to it. So much so that without much prodding she decided to stay. Simple as that.

Inevitably it wasn’t as simple as that. The following day I was the worst son in the world. And more. I don’t want to share the details, but after nurse-maiding her through her short illness and everything else we’ve been through, it has been a struggle. In the end, on the second day, I couldn’t take any more. So I put in train Plan B, which was care in the home. I told mum that we would get her assessed this Monday and have care in place on Wednesday. We would leave the same day (our nerves not up to staying … and with care in place she would be safe).

Before I finish the saga, let’s talk money. As far as I get it you have to pay for any care until you have no more than £23,250 in savings. It doesn’t matter what the care is – and you should apply for attendance allowance and mum has that – but the council will not get involved until you’re down to that figure. In terms of owning a house, this assumes you haven’t got empty property. If your house is lying dormant the council will expect you to sell it. But if you have family members living in it, or have it rented, then they don’t count it.

The council guy told me that when mum’s savings got to £30k to give him a call and then the council would do a care assessment and then talk cash for when the total reached £23,250. I understand that if mum’s in a home they will pay for most of it and ask for a contribution, depending on her income. In short, therefore, your house and £23k is safe, if you engage with the council. If I have this wrong, please let me know.

Anyhow, I was now working on decent care in the home (we were looking at around £600 a week and rising over time with her destined for a care home at some point). C and I were frantically working out how to pull this off. The problem is mum still needs food; she still needs to pay her electricity; she has a gardener and cleaners … and you can keep adding up the figures. How do you organise that? Plus, of course, we wouldn’t be able to rent out the house, something we would do if she were in a home to supplement mum’s income. It was all doing our head in a bit. [I’m coming to a punchline, but I would like to add that throughout Henry has been a joy.]

Anyhow, after I had visited her this morning where the Plan B hadn’t changed, mum phoned me. ‘You’re not want to hear this’, she said. Of bugger, what now? ‘I’ve decided to stay in the home. It’s the best place for me. I’m safe here and have all my needs met.’ (I’ve paraphrased a longish conversation.)

Phew. And, although she has wobbled (she just been on the phone threatening to come out, not that she can), the plan for her to stay is in place. She will stay at the home she wanted to move into pretty much indefinitely. We will make it work. We have to.

That’s the short story. The longer story is more painful and with plenty of tears. But we’re there. We will sort out mum this week and head home by the weekend. We might be on a flight to Saudi a week on Friday. I hate to sound callous, but mum has reached that stage of her life. The living must come before the v old, I’m afraid. She’s safe, secure and all her needs are provided for.

In between times we have taken Henry to the seaside three times. Every time he has loved it. He has been a saviour. When I have been close to tears he has made me laugh. C too. He loves her. He won’t sleep unless he’s grabbing onto her hair. We have been v lucky to have him in our midst at this tortuous time. Well done him.

Stay safe everyone.         

All change

We should be in Saudi where photos from Bex (they arrived this morning) show a rather imposing 10 foot wall topped with barbed wire. Inside the complex, however, their house is lovely. It’s a few feet from the pool and just down from a baby pool, a gym, a shop and a restaurant. Hotel California springs to mind. As ex-military I’m used to this sort of set up (so is C; we lived behind the wire in Northern Ireland), but it still seems strange. 

a strengthening bond

Why aren’t we there with them? Well, mum took a turn at the end of the week before last. The view was she had a UTI which can often send older people a delirious, among many other ailments. As a pre-flight check I popped along to see her on Sunday, by which time a v short course of antibiotics seemed to be doing its thing. Mum managed to walk upstairs and back down again without issue – and she was lucid enough. However, by late Monday she’d taken a turn for the worse and rather than be called back from Saudi, we decided to postpone our flight … which meant keeping Henry with us, a not uncomplicated decision.

a not uncomplicated decision

We got to mum’s on Thursday, having picked Henry up from Penkridge first thing. Mum was in a right old state. We’d sent in the paramedics that morning – the carer having slept overnight for the first time. The paramedic’s view was the same as ours: the three days of antibiotics was not enough and, in any case, nobody could be sure that she’d taken the tablets. Anyhow, with Henry behaving impeccably, we managed to get mum sorted – in her own bed – and comfortable. To be fair, the last time I saw someone this ill it was my dad who was in hospital with dementia and pneumonia. He died a day later. 

we got her downstairs

I had said goodbye to mum in 2012 after open heart surgery for an aortic aneurysm complicated by a massive stroke on the operating table. I was convinced she was going to die. The fact that she’s with us 10 years later is a biological mystery – and the doctors are as confused as all of us. But she is, and we are all mighty thankful as without her, managing my dad would have been a nightmare. How she stayed the course for three years with dad deteriorating by the week is a mystery to me.

Well it’s two days later and we’ve got her downstairs again. She’s sleeping all the time and is now drinking water (and taking her tablets). She even had a shower today, but everything she does seems to be an enormous effort. And she is v sore. At least now we can have an intelligent conversation with her, which means she is much less belligerent. We won’t know where she is until the UTI has gone completely – I think tomorrow night might be the earliest that we will be able to assess where we are. The left hand decision will be more and better care. The right hand decision will be a home. There may be something in the middle, but we can’t yet see it. And, for those of you suggesting we move in (like we have – we’ve delayed Saudi by three weeks), or that she moves in with us – neither of those are options, I’m afraid. It wouldn’t work and, like mum and dad’s parents before them, that is not our family way. I’m sorry if that disappoints you, but it is what it is. 

this is how we all feel

It’s important now to recognise two people. First, Henry, who has been a darling. There is little more to add. My mum scares him, but he’s still as happy as Larry. Second is C. It’s fair to say her relationship with my mum has never been perfect – and the blame there must rest with my mum. Regardless, and noting that C’s mental health hasn’t been in the best possible place for the last couple of months (she’s happy that I share this), she has been magnificent. C’s an ex-nurse, with an additional 7 years’ experience as a care assistant. It could have been chaos here. But, as well as making mum’s house a home for the four of us, she has treated mum with real dignity whilst making sure a non-compliant mum gets the care she needs. As you can imagine looking after an elderly invalid is tough work. Looking after one who is delirious and doesn’t want to shift from the prone position is doubly so. Add in a toddler who has been pulled from the grasps of his parents, and it might have all been unworkable. It has not. And I think it’s fair to say that we have never worked so well together. I love her more now than I ever have. Adversity has that knack, don’t you think?

Who knows where we’ll be this time next week. Mum may not have long with us. Or she might still outlive us all. Let’s hope the answer is somewhere in the middle.

Keep safe everyone.   

Ups and Downs

It’s been an up and down week and a bit. Newquay was fun. The small static caravan we stayed in was damp and in the middle of a campsite which was probably put together before war, updated in the 50s and not been touched since. The argument that it was cheap is against the backdrop that any UK-based holiday is currently inordinately expensive. We paid £150 a night for four and a half of us, which seems like a lot to me (although for the first night it was just three of us as Bex and Steven were finishing off their wedding anniversary bash at a v swanky, seafront hotel). But it allowed us to do Newquay, to see Steven’s relatives, to take Henry crab fishing, to have breakfast at a lovely cliff top restaurant, and generally have a fab, but exhausting time. Henry was pretty perfect and clearly loves putting wet sand into a bucket and taking it out again.

a day by the sea with friends

When we got home Bex took C out for a birthday outing into Bristol, and Henry and I spent the day together walking into town and playing down the playpark. The next day, Thursday, I drove them all back up north to have their final few days with Steven’s parents … and since then C and I have been pottering about doing chores and admin.

Henry and I went shopping

One job was to replace Doris’s starter motor. For this my pal from down the road, John, was on hand. I managed to change the earthing strap, which is well into the body of the engine. Simples, with scraped knuckles. And then, on Saturday, John and I took the old starter motor off and replaced it with a new one. It went swimmingly and the big 3.0 litre lump spins like a top now. Job done.

Except it wasn’t. 

my mate John with the offending article

In order to do the work I had removed the top of the air filter housing and the air filter. Not a difficult job. And to prevent rubbish from falling into the filter housing I blocked the hole with some kitchen roll. Yes, you know what happened next: I forgot it was there and when I next looked it was gone.

mmmm, paper in the engine. Not good.

Now, if the paper had made it to the turbo it would have been an almighty thing, possibly with lots of noise and a very big bill. But, other than an illuminated orange engine light and a loss of power, no real damage. Everything seemed to work. The ECU reader told me there was a problem with the EGR valve (I know all about those from our original Doris), but I couldn’t see how. Anyhow, Bex and Steven were staying with pals of theirs, the husband of which is a pretty sharp mechanic (among other things). He explained that there is an airflow sensor (MAF) beyond the air filter which is shrouded in mesh. The paper might well have caught there.

Up early this morning, I found the MAF. It was just reachable, so I took it out of the pipework … and found the paper. Just sitting there. All fresh and new, but clearly blocking the progress of air. An hour later and after some teething problems and resetting the ECU error codes, Doris was back on song … with a starter motor that spins like a top. Hurrah! [Am I the only one who does one job and creates one more?]

met up with pals in my favourite town

It would be unhistorical not to mention that our Jen has been in the wars again and, as it always does, that impacts upon all of us. None of this has been helped by C and I having our focus on Bex, Steven and Henry … but we got through it. Bless her. 

I’m off to mum’s and Mary’s tomorrow, a sort of mad dash to see the rellies before we hit the Saudi peninsula. And then we’ve got three days of jobs, including a trip to Ikea, a visit to Jen, and general packing, before we head off. We’ve got a coach booked for Thursday to Heathrow. We’re meeting Bex and Steven at a local hotel on Thursday and we’re all flying on Friday. Next stop … the fan oven that is Saudi Arabia. I can’t wait?

Anyhow. Stay safe everyone.   

Three things

It’s been a bit of a blur of admin, Mary’s party and getting book 8, To She Who Waits, out there. And we’re now about to embark on another Henry expedition, including a short trip to Newquay (to see his other relatives); we will be clear of the toddler by next Wednesday. We next meet up with him on 11 August, the day before we all fly to Saudi (Roland and C, for up to 7 weeks!). It is, as they say, all go.

it’s done

Admin has been about getting ourselves sorted for Saudi. Flights, evisas (which are really easy), extended health insurance (with HSBC), letters from doctors, a new travel money card etc. I think we’re just about there. Just. We’ve got some printing of stuff to do, and we need to book a coach from Bristol to Heathrow where we meet Bex, Steven and Henry for an overnight stay before our flights. They’re travelling via Saudi air, which is non stop – sorted by the school. We’re paying £700 less each (yes, each), flying with Gulf Air via Bahrain. It’s going to be quite an adventure … on so many fronts. More of which, of course, later.

The book. Ahhh, the book. It’s done and available. You can find it here: https://amzn.to/3Q3gchv. I am really, really pleased with it. I won’t add any spoilers, but I have left room for book 9, which I am already thinking about. Doubtless there will be some Saudi scenes in there somewhere. Tired of trying to be my own publicist, on Monday I spent the morning in the library working on agents and publishers for the series. I have 11 queries in. If history repeats itself, that’ll be 11 rejections, but you have to try. I have also looked at a couple of digital imprint publishers who specialise in romantic thrillers … don’t worry, I haven’t thrown the Sam Green series at them – that would blow their minds. But I have suggested they might like of Black Bulls and White Horses, which, if you don’t remember, is a non-Sam Green romantic thriller. Again, you have to try. If these two latest approaches don’t come to anything then I’m not sure what I’m going to do.

Oh … and for the record I’ve just put 6 signed books in the post to my beta readers. They deserve it, mostly because they make all these wonderful suggestions and I don’t act on them. It’s a long story. But in the end it’s my book, with my name on it. I have to be happy (and I have to get it out there without major rewrite!).

oooo, look what I do!

Mary’s party was a scream. Because we had caterers there was less for the home team to do. And whilst that is never a major issue, it meant we were able to breeze the room. She has some lovely and some v interesting friends. And the weather was fab, which always helps. Afterward we drove via Al and Annie’s for supper, which was a lovely way to end the week. It’s so good to have him back in the UK and just down the road. They’ve got their own project at the mo, which isn’t for me to share. But when I can, I will. It’s v exciting!

Our old pals

I think that fills all the gaps. We’re both still running every second day. I’d not done my timed 4.6km since before Italy (where I clocked a v surprising and v welcome 19.30). I ran it again on Monday and was slower, at 20.20. It felt quick but I sense that I have yet to fully shake covid. I hope that in the next week or so I can break the 20 minute target. We’ll see.

our Jen

So, it’s Bex, Henry and Steven tomorrow. Their off (without the boy) to Newquay on Friday for a well deserved hotel break to celebrate their anniversary. We’re bringing the lad down on Saturday to a caravan chalet (really looking forward to that) where we’ll meet up with them before we all head home on Tuesday. More sand between the toes I hope.

Stay safe, all of you. And don’t think about Liz Truss becoming PM for any longer than you need to. I do sense she is going to be awful and we’ll have a general election early in 2023. In the meantime climate change, cost of living, the NHS, Brexit etc, will continue to be untackled as the Tory party consumes itself. It really really frustrates me. But, hey ho.

Just fabulous

You’ll have noticed that I have avoided politics for a while. And I intend to avoid it for a while longer. The whole leadership process and His Borisness staying in post is doing my head in. So I’ll focus on nicer things.

ahhh, Tenby

Like Tenby. We were actually in Freshwater East, in a lovely, big Airbnb by the beach. Our Bex is good at finding these properties and she was spot on with this one. We had far reaching sea views out of two patio doors, a large garden, a ten minute tumble to the beach (downhill easy; uphill was more of a gym session) and a lovely pub-cum-cafe a very short walk/drive away. Henry, who was perfect throughout, loved it. We went to the beach often, had a look at some boats, walked around a couple of tanks (outside Castlemartin ranges, an old haunt of mine), popped along to the lifeboat launch place and generally did things you do by the seaside. Typically, though, it wasn’t relaxing. I was number one on the Henry machine, and C, as is her wont, organised everything else. I’d like to hope Bex and Steven got some well-earned rest.

The lad was perfect, if busy. And I really enjoyed my bit. But, there was little let up and no evenings to speak of, mostly because mum and dad an he all went to bed together, and C and I were shattered (and I was running the final proof of my novel). On Friday, by the time we dropped them off at Port Talbot station so they could go to a wedding in Kent, we needed a break … but, delightfully, couldn’t take one because we were flying solo with Henry. Who was even more perfect in the two days he spent with us. I know I go on about things. Our car. Doris. Our bikes. Our new wifi process, which is both fabulous and contractless. But I really think that Henry is as good as I say he is. Of course I’m biased. But I do remember a little of what it was like to be a parent and, in our hands, our two fabulous girls weren’t always this lovely. Perhaps it is a grandparent thing. We have more time. We’re able to offer a more relaxed atmosphere. Probably. But it’s still fabulous.

Henry helping me run through my book

On Sunday we almost broke him, though. A three hour journey to mum’s in Colchester. Another three hour journey to Lichfield to deliver him to his other grandparents (and his parents). At which point, on a particularly hot day (not as hot as today … I am currently typing this with my elbows raised), he turned up at Lichfield drenched, either with a full nappy, which had been soaked by grandpa making sure he was hydrated, or that he had spilt my drink all down him in the car. Or both. He didn’t care, though. And that’s what I love about him.

quite a view. Well done Bex!

Today has been the final few chapters of To She Who Waits. It’s now ready for typed amendment and publication tomorrow. A job for the local library. I have to say that I was worried the book wasn’t as good as the original seven. But it kept me enthralled – and I know what happens next. For those of you who do get round to reading it, I hope I’m right. And, as always, please pen a review.

That’s tomorrow’s job. We then have a further couple of days of not much, and then off to Mary’s on Friday to help with her summer party. Sometime next week we have Henry again and a short trip to Newquay is planned. More sea and more sand. Fabulous.

a tank

Stay safe. People close to us are dropping like flies with covid. Even if you get it midly it is a bugger to shake off. C has only just started to feel better. And let’s hope one of the contenders turns out to be better than Johnson. Noe of them have mentioned climate change, something which is clearly pressing … but, when you’re only in it for yourselves.

Good news and not so good news

He’s gone. Well almost. I sincerely hope the proposterous notion that he might linger like a bad smell until the autumn is put to bed quickly and he’s out of there by thend of the month. He’s an awful man and I can see no good from his tenure. Hopefully they’ll appoint an adult who will then appoint some more adults … and we’ll never see the likes of Truss, Raab, R-M, Dorries, Hancock and Patel again. I hope.

I have lots of other news, but I’ll keep it short. Mostly because my energy levels are at rock bottom. That’s because we’ve all had covid. I’m absolutely sure we had it in Italy, all three of us. But we were lucky that it didn’t knock us out completely – although, at times, it was a little debilitating. Anyhow, we were masked throughout and the wedding events were all outdoors. And the news from those who attended was that only a couple, sadly including C’s sister, who’s also shattered, came down with the lurgy. We were not, thankfully, superspreaders. And, in many ways, we were lucky. The thought of isolating in Italy, especially as we had promised Mary we would get her to the wedding come hell or high water, was pretty unthinkable. We’re through. Tired. Emotionally a bit shattered, but we did it. Phew.

Having been completely traumatised at Heathrow (again), we made sure Mary was comfortable at home and came back to Bristol on Friday to rest and recupperate. And, since then, it’s been predictably mad. First, our Jen’s gone back into hospital. This time with stomach emptying issues combined with throwing everything up. It’s been a saga but the NHS eventually took her in and stuck a feeding tube down her nose into her small intestine. The prognosis is reasonably good. At one point it seemed possible that she’d have to be blue-lighted into hospital having collapsed with malnutrition. But … I took her into Cheltenham A&E, the local gastro hub, on Wednesday and they quickly recognised that we had a problem. She’s now v comfortable in her own room being fed special food through a long straw.

It does mean she and James will not be coming with us to Tenby for the big family get away on Saturday, which is a huge shame. We’ve already seen Bex and Henry, transporting them from Chippenham to Penkridge on Monday. Later today we’re back up north (dropping C to stay bedside with Jen), picking them up, bringing them back and, hopefully, repacking the car for a week in Wales.

I say hopefully because we got a call from mum’s careline yesterday. She’d had a bit of a thing, which she had described to the v nice careline woman as ‘a stroke’. In the end, me having packed an overnight bag, the paramedics declared her ‘fit’ and they didn’t take her into hospital. And this morning she’s back to her old self. We have people going in and we are due to see her next weekend. Hopefully she’ll be fine. Ho hum.

Between times, and using our fab local library, I have incorporated my proofreader’s comments into To She Who Waits. I’m now tapping my fingers waiting for a proof copy to read. As a result publication’s going to be late this year, possibly by three weeks. I blame covid, and Italy, and Jen, and my mum, and everyone else but me. (Just following Johnson’s approach to managing his mistakes.) And I think I have a book 9 up my sleeve. It will, necessarily, be different – you’ll have to read book 8 to understand why. I’m looking forward to that.

FInally, good luck to Cam Norrie. Wouldn’t it be fab if he could beat Djokovic? Unfortunately I’m going to be driving when it’s on, so I’ll miss the agony. Such is life.

Stay safe. You don’t want covid. It’s unlike anything we’ve had before. And we’re not out the other end yet.

Enjoy the heatwave!

Almost home

the mother and aunty of the groom

A quick update at Pisa airport as our whirlwind wedding/Tuscany tour comes to an end. The wedding was every bit as classy and opulent as the two previous nights’ parties. It was spectacular. And we all had a fabulous time. 

just fab

In between time we did Florence on the hottest day of the year: walking, some sightseeing and we sat and drank a lot of cold drinks. Frankly, in comparison to Siena, I thought Florence was a bit dull. Sure we did the Duomo, the Uffizi and the Pontev Vecchio. But it all seemed a little closed in, very busy, expensive and it lacked the ancient grandeur of Siena. And, away from the central sights, it was a bit samey.

For the rest of the days we took short drives to small villages, found ancient squares with a cafe, and watched the world go by. It was low key and uneventful … and to be fair, anything more strenuous would have been too much for our party. But it filled the gaps nicely without asking too much of ourselves.

I seem to remember the Ponte Vecchio being bigger than this

Our final hotel was a converted monastery. It was grand, spacious and a touch dormitoryesque. But the food was excellent, the pool warm and the service fab. And noting that we were all a bit shattered, it was the perfect tonic.

Insofar as our hire car, Booking.com have refunded our insurance money … which is not what I wanted (11 days of driving around on tenterhooks the result). And, when we handed the car back (scratchless, which they acknowledged), they wanted €20 to clean it. I’m not sure where we ended up, but I froze my debit card (they hold the details) so they can’t take any money from our account. It’s all been a sorry saga.

Of course our flight is delayed, but we’ll manage. And then 36 hours making sure Mary is safe before the next maelstrom, which is grandson Henry arriving on Friday

Can’t wait. 

Pisa airport … phew

You what?

We made it. Just. I have to say that, as a previously well travelled bloke, I can report that there is no glamour left in going anywhere by plane. Heathrow was a swamp of anxious, hot, frustrated and ultimately, almost late people. With Mary entitled to ‘extra assistance’, we were unceremoniously ushered along and between queues and queues of people in a group of equally subjugated and harried folk who, frankly, could have been treated with a little more dignity. And it’s not as though the staff haven’t been doing this for a while. When we eventually popped out the other side at our gate we were told that our flight to Pisa was delayed by an hour because a member of the crew had tripped on something on the way to the plane. Perfect.

looking more glamorous than we feel

Did you know that, even with BA, short and medium haul flights no longer cater? You get a small bottle of fizzy water and a bag of crisps made from the final few potatoes left in the field. I’m not sure when that happened, but it all adds to the countless reasons why we won’t be flying again unless we absolutely have to. You can keep it. 

Then things all got a bit fraught.

from our hotel in Pisa … mmm

We booked flights and car hire with booking.com in January. All paid for, including booking.com’s gold-plated car insurance – we were going to be driving in Italy, after all. Well when we got to Target (rent-a-car) we were four hours later than our scheduled time. And they had cancelled our booking and rented my car (I had paid for it in full) to someone else. They could offer me another, smaller car, for 20 euros a day more. What? But … well, you can finish that sentence for me. I had paid for a service and, frankly, should have been able to leave the car on their forecourt for 11 days, gathering dust and pigeon poo. No. We were late by an unspecified prescribed time. The booking was cancelled. 

I took the car. 

We briefly mentioned insurance. Both me and Target-man assumed that booking.com’s gold plated cover would hold. Which meant that, worse case, unless I got my money back from booking.com, we would be just under £200s worse off. It didn’t make any sense to me, but what else could I do? It was late, we were all tired. We needed to get on.

still standing

The story’s not over … frankly the worst was yet to come. And I’ll cut it short. I phoned booking.com that evening, who sided with the garage. I emailed them six times and got six different responses. The big and pressing issue for me was ensuring our insurance still held. I had paid £78 for the cover and the new contract from Target only had ‘basic’ cover, which meant I was liable for dirty floor mats. In Italy, without decent cover, driving was always going to be a fretful experience. Anyhow, for four days nobody actually answered that question. At which point they said I wasn’t covered, but would refund the £78 should I be able to prove that I had not broken the contract.

There was a lot of screaming going on in my head at that point. 

siena from our hotel

I have, for now, given up on booking.com and rentalcars.com (their subcontractor) until the end of the break. At which point I’m going to relentlessly pursue them for: the additional cost of the hire car; the insurance money; an apology. Nothing is going to deter me. There is nothing in their voucher, nor on Target’s link, which specifies a length of time after which they arbitrarily cancel your contract. Nothing. It is the worst form of customer service betrayal, especially as it has meant every time we get into the car (a very nice, but too small Citroen C3) our anxiety levels peak. It’s not fair. And I’m not having it.

Phew.

We did Pisa. We stayed in the oldest hotel in Tuscany, which was right on the Arno. It was huge and fab and dilapidated and exquisite and broken and nothing really worked … but we loved it. I can also report that the tower is still leaning and the gelato is still the best.

so much more than pizza and prosecco

And then Siena, easily my most fave Italian city. We’ve done everything, as well as a (careful) drive through Chianti country, and a couple of more excursions into the quite fabulous Tuscan hills. We’ve met up with the wedding party twice. It’s all multi-faceted event, with drinks and nibbles in the quite wonderfully walled town of Monteriggioni and, last night, a pizza and prosecco gathering at the venue (think Gladiator and you have the scene), which was far more than just pizza … and prosecco; the jazz band were particularly good. We could not feel more privileged.

the venue

Off to the actual wedding in a mo. and then, tomorrow, the outskirts of Florence … carefully. More to follow on that.

Hope you’re having your own fab time. Stay safe.   

When, oh when?

‘When are we going to do something a little bit crazy?’ I ask of C. ‘I don’t think we can count a month in Ireland, or three weeks skiing, or a month in Lincolnshire in January under the banner of Bohemian? Sure we took a tent to Shetland last October which was a little bit mad, but that’s getting on for over a year ago now. Well? When are we going to go mad?’

I forgot to mention that last weekend we took a Megabus to London for a 21st birthday

It’s a simmering, perennial question for me. What’s the point of setting yourself up as semi retired with a clear ambition of getting the most out of life, when you don’t push the boundary? Sure it’s been fab recently. We had a great weekend away just a week ago … and we’re off to Italy on Sunday for 12 days with Mary for a nephew’s wedding. But that’s all v middle class and, frankly, not enough to dampen my enthusiasm for something a little bit crazy.

mmm, I like this

The last couple of days have been a blur of preparation (also hardly outside of any box). C sorted our stuff for Italy at the same time as we prepared the house and Doris for the return of Bex, Steven and Henry at the end of the month. We’ve walked, run (going well for me … I smashed my standard run benchmark 4.6km on Wednesday, from 20 mins to 19.30 – when I started this 8 yeasr ago 19 minutes was my stretch target, so I’m pleased to be closer to it. Recovery has taken a couple of days, though), sorted and generally enjoyed the upturn in the weather, with Mrs Sun in sparkling form. C’s ankle is improving and looks like it is going to be OK for Italy. And we’ve made it to Mary’s where we’ve helped out where we can and are looking set for the big off on Sunday. Stand by Tuscany … line up the coffees and the prosseco.

C preparing for Italy … in a contemplative mood

But when will we get all mad? When are we pootling off into the sunset followed by a cloud of unburnt diesel?

Well, there’s Saudi for maybe 6 weeks as babt sitters at the end of the summer. I suppose that counts as a little bit odd. And then, well here’s an opportunity. We have another wedding to attend. This time in Ibiza in October. Flying would be the cheapest and easiest … but what about we drive down and stay for a month? We could take the car and a tent. That would be cost effective. Or we could do something I’ve always wanted to do and take the van down, cross over to Ibiza for the wedding, pop back and then ensconce ourselves in a seaview campsite for a month and enjoy doing absolutely nothing. Sunburnt Brits abroad. Union Jack shorts and lobster shoulders? OK, so it’s not driving the west coast of South America, which is what we both really want to do next. But perhaps we’ll manage that next year?

More prep for Italy

I know. How blooming lucky are we? This is the life of Riley, for sure. And, assuming we stay fit enough, we might squeeze another decade out of this. Can’t believe it, really.

Stay safe. Please. And keep smiling.

Oh, and I drove to Fordingbridge to have a boys’ night in with Kenn