Getting there … but where?
It’s been almost about a month now and we’ve not quite brushed off the woes of the summer – the loss of Mary, her funeral and then the associated angst that comes with Claire being an executor. Sure, we’ve made it to Spain, met up with Alasdair and Annie, had a week with Bex, Steven and Henry, and now a couple of days of further decompression, but we’re not yet into vagrant holiday mode.
It’s not helped that my sinuses, for which, and for a second time, I am seeing a consultant, have played up like a constant head cold. And C’s blood pressure is ‘all over the place’ which doesn’t make for a completely relaxing time. And, I guess, the terrible storms in Valencia and now further south here in Spain, have added to the feeling that we are having a private party next to someone else’s wake. Poor Spain. And, if you look back over the max and mins of the climate for the past three years, probably poor us. I’m not allowed to talk about climate change because I’m seen as a grumpy old man. But I find it difficult not to reflect on where we are when we have Henry with us. As Boomers we’ve had the best of everything … and it seems it includes the climate as well.
Anyhow.
I can’t remember exactly when we left the UK, but it was soon after we’d cleared the place after dear Mary’s funeral. We did the minimal amount of admin at home, got in Doris and headed south. We had a lovely stopover in Dover (thank you Richard and Caroline) and spent a very easy two and a bit days motoring south, this time taking the toll roads. In short, using the autoroutes cost us about 80 euros whilst saving us about 300 kms and at least half a day. We think that’s worth it.
We met Al and Annie on the French coast near Beziers and ate, drank, walked and cycled for a couple of days. It was lovely to see them and we could have stayed together longer (we were, if you remember, going to start our journeys together and head to Nice for their daughter’s IronMan World Champs, but duty prevented us from doing that), but they were heading home and we, due south.
Next was Bex, Steven and Henry. By chance we had agreed to find a campspot near Barcelona, which was the most convenient airport from KSA via Rome for their halfterm. That meant we ended up with a week in the hitherto unexplored Blanes, north of Barcelona … which was 200 miles north of Storm Nana. If we could have, we would have met them in Valencia or further south as, irony alert, the weather is better there this time of year. In the end we had a lovely time in a decent campsite with four bikes, a decent beach, and a perfect town, which was more open than closed. Henry was an absolute delight and it was fab to catch up with Bex and Steven. Just fab.
We have stayed still for the past couple of days. Blanes keeps its attraction and we are right by the beach. We have walked up a big hill to a castle and should cycle today. The weather has been warm enough, but only one-quarter sunshine – the rest overcast, with light rain and the odd downpour. We have continued to run … my pace has remained quick, although I do feel that my sinus infection drags me down during any recovery.
And I haven’t written for 10 days. I started book 9 during Mary’s final days and got to 40k words before the kids arrived. I was, at one point, unsure if I wanted to continue and maybe I should write something else? I am still at that point but, I think, as a good soldier I will finish the book, possibly not this side of Christmas, and then let it settle for a month, coming back to it. Or not. Who knows.
That’s it from me and us. US elections this week. How it is close will forever remain a mystery to me. But, hey ho. If Trump gets in we’re all at sea, I feel. The climate, for sure, will fall to further capitalistic decadence. And that’s not great. Sorry … that’s me being glass half empty again.
Keep safe.
