Apologies that this blog was published a little later than usual. It has been so madly busy around here that I didn’t have time to finish writing it and am finishing it early Sunday morning. So, hello everyone, it feels like ages since we last chatted and so much has happened.
Firstly, the journey to collect the girls from university, how did that go? When I arranged things with Franki, she assumed I would collect them mid-morning. No, I said, I want to avoid rush hour traffic, I will be there by eight. No, you won’t, they retorted. That would mean being on the road by five and I can’t see you doing that.
Reader, guess what, I was on the fecking road by five. I got everything ready the day before, was up at 4.30 for a quick pee, a gulp of tea and a blueberry breakfast bar, and then I hit the road. It was just me and the lorry drivers at that hour in the morning. They all sat in the inside lane, and I bombed past them. It was a wonderful, clear run and I was pulling up outside the girl’s university accommodation at a couple of minutes past eight. I phoned them. I’m here, I announced. There was a disbelieving silence, then — bugger, umm, okay, we just have to put our shoes on — hmm, methinks they didn’t believe I’d actually arrive this early.
Anyway, they let me in so I could pee and help them pack up food items they were bringing back to use during their stay. Twenty-five minutes later we were on the road and heading south. I wanted to get the fiddly bits of the A500 behind us and be on the M6 before stopping for coffee and breakfast, so we pulled over at Keeles Welcome Break Services at about nine. After a much-needed coffee, and bacon and sausage bap, we climbed back into the car and off we went. By now, it was nine-thirty and as we headed south on the M6 we drove past a twenty-mile tailback of traffic stationary on the M6 heading north.
Just think, I said, gesturing at the bumper-to-bumper traffic jam. If I was going to pick you up at ten as you wanted, I’d be sitting in that lot.
As it was, I’d timed the journey perfectly and we reached home at midday. By now, I was stiff from sitting behind the wheel for six hours and desperately needed to move about. I had a cup of tea while they unpacked and settled in and then we went for a walk about town. There were a couple of things they wanted to pick up and I needed to get keys cut for them for the new lock. It was a chilly day and spitting with rain, but it was good to be walking and out in the fresh air. I treated us all to hot chocolate in the Abbey Gardens and then we wandered home for dinner. I had a lasagne all prepared and ready to slide in the oven, with peas and garlic bread, and Ben & Jerry’s ice cream for afters.
It was Good Friday the next day so we rested and to be honest, I can’t remember what we did. I know I must have prepared for the Stonham Barns Easter Craft Fair because I was going to be up and off early on Saturday morning. The weather wasn’t great again. It was bitterly cold with a nasty spitting rain that I think kept some people away. We were in the big barn right at the end of the showground and there was inadequate signage letting people know we were there. There was live music with a young lad singing popular songs. Don’t get me wrong, he was very good, but he was also very loud. People struggled to hear what we traders were saying. Sometimes they gave up and simply walked away. Footfall was low. A fellow author spoke to one of the organisers and pointed out that without signs no one realised there was trading in the barn, and they agreed to have signs up for the next day.
The weather the next day was even worse. It was bitterly cold and pouring with rain. Typical British Easter weather. A few of the traders who had been there on Saturday failed to arrive on Sunday and I can’t say I blame them. I had noticed that they didn’t seem to sell anything. I did sell a few books though. By the time I added it all up at the end of the weekend, I had sold enough books to just about cover my expenses with a small profit and I guess it’s all about exposure and getting my name and my books out there. Plus, it was the first time this craft fair had been held. I think lessons could be learnt from the experience. If I do the event next year, I think being in the marquee would potentially be more beneficial. It’s the first thing the public comes to after leaving the car park, instead of being at the end of a long muddy field when people are tired, and all shopped out.
But then this year was all about trying every event we could and seeing what sticks.
Monday was a bank holiday, so I was able to rest and spend some time with the girls. They had been busy the whole weekend I was at the craft fair. Their dissertations for their bachelor’s had to be submitted on Wednesday, so they were finishing them off. I did what I could to help on Monday and spent three hours proofreading them to check spelling, grammar, and punctuation.
It was weird going back to work for only one day on Tuesday and I kept thinking that it was Monday. I was very tired though and it was a relief to go home at six knowing that I had the next five days off.
Wednesday dawned clear and sunny, which was a nice change from the wet, cold, windy days we had been experiencing. Desperate for fresh air and exercise, we piled into the car and drove to West Stow Country Park. Only a few miles from town, it’s a site of archaeological importance as the remains of an Anglo-Saxon village were discovered there in the seventies. I remember going there on a school field trip in 1977 and still have photos of the few houses they had reconstructed.
We have visited periodically over the years and when Franki was young it was a popular destination because of the rather awesome play area for children. Set in thick sand, there are climbing frames, swings and slides and other fun things to do. There’s a café with a large wooden balcony to sit on that always sells very nice cakes. There’s a long walk along the river and lake. They hold fun activity days such as archery, Anglo-Saxon re-enactment days, and a Lord of the Rings Quest Day. The reconstructed village itself is always being added to as more houses are discovered.
We had a great walk and went bug hunting. There was much excitement when an unusual species of ant was discovered. Before coming home, we sat at a table in the sunshine and had coffee and snacks.
Wednesday is also market day in Bury St Edmunds so when we got home, we went for a long wander about town and did some charity and vintage shop rummaging. Interesting books and unique rings were bought. All in all, we must have walked miles, and we weren’t finished yet. We were meeting friends at a local pub for dinner and to take part in the quiz they hold every Wednesday evening. I’ve done the quiz before and know how hard it is. Now, I’ve done a lot of pub quizzes in my time and usually, I’m pretty good at them but this quiz is weird. I can’t explain what it is, but the questions are not split into general knowledge or sport or literature categories, they are all random and mixed up and I am rubbish at them. I very much relied on the skills of my teammates, but we still came third, despite me not being much help.
After all that walking on Wednesday, we were exhausted the next day so didn’t do too much, or that much the next, to be honest. It was nice spending time together as I haven’t seen them since Christmas. On Friday, I prepared for another market the next day and went to meet my fellow local authors for a drink in the afternoon.
Saturday morning, I was up and off early to the Laxfield Community Market. Again, it was a slow start book sale wise and I’m still undecided whether these markets are worth the hour-long drive each way. Yes, the pitch fee is low, and I did sell eight books which was enough to cover my costs, but it is a long way and quite a bit of wear and tear on the car as the roads are terrible with gaping potholes along the edges. Remember, it was a pothole that did my car in and was the reason it failed its MOT last month.
On Sunday we were meeting the rest of the family for lunch to celebrate my parent’s 60th wedding anniversary. The plan was that I would drive out to the village where my parents and my brother and his partner live, pick them up so everyone could relax and have a drink, and then they would all share a taxi home.
I jumped in my car at 11.30. Turned the key. The car started but I noticed that the radio didn’t come on. I tried to drive to the end of my road. It was like trying to drive a tank. The steering wheel was cumbersome, and it was a struggle to turn it. I indicated to turn onto the main road. The indicator didn’t work. Every single error light was lit up on the dashboard — including some I never knew existed. By now, I was horribly aware that something was very wrong indeed. There was no way I could drive the car the way it was. I turned into the large car park of the retirement flats behind my road. Luckily, it was empty as I fought with the heavy steering wheel and did about a fifteen-point turn. I thought the power-assisted steering must be broken. I managed to get back onto my road and into a parking space at the end of the row of parked cars, thinking that parallel parking was probably beyond my capabilities. I noticed that the speedometer wasn’t working either. I tested the lights, wipers, and washers. Nope, nope, and nope. Bugger! I needed this like I needed a hole in the head. Having just paid out to get the car through its MOT I did not need yet more expense.
I phoned my parents to let them know what had happened. Don’t worry, said my mum, I’ll drive us in. She did. We went for lunch then afterwards sat in the garden with a cheeseboard and wine. It was windy but not too bad under shelter. The whole time I was worrying about the car. I had zero pennies to pay for major repairs and if I had to buy a new car … well, that wasn’t going to happen … and then how was I going to attend all the events I was booked in for? More importantly, how was I going to get the girls back to uni the following week?
Various theories were floated across the table as to what might be wrong with the car including the alternator, electrics, and a computer chip … they all sounded expensive, so I silently fretted. It was Sunday, so I couldn’t even phone my mechanic.
Monday morning, at work, as soon as I knew my garage would be open, I called them. Drop it off when you can, they told me, and we’ll try to look at it. We are busy right now though, so it might take a few days. To add to my misery, I’d gone down with the sore throat and bad cough lurgy that was doing the rounds and was feeling rough. Leaving work at six, the last thing I felt like doing was trying to drive a car with no power-assisted steering or speedometer across town and then walking home. Briefly, I wondered about trying to do it in the morning. But I must be at work by 8.30 and there wouldn’t be time. I needed to get it to the garage ASAP. I had no choice, I had to do it. I was dreading trying to drive the damn thing. The worst part was trying to turn it around in my road, it was like trying to turn a dumpster. My arms were aching by the time I made it onto the main road. Given the time of day, there wasn’t too much traffic about and once the car got going, I found taking corners a lot easier than I thought it was going to be. Still, I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I made it to the garage in one piece and without annoying anyone with my lack of signalling and clumsy turning. There was a nice big space for me to drive straight into, so I did. I dumped the keys in the overnight key box and walked home.
As they had said they’d be too busy to look at the car straight away, I was alarmed to see a missed call and a voicemail from the garage mid-morning on Tuesday. I listened to the message.
Hi Julia, your car is fixed and ready to be collected.
Wait. What?
I phoned them back.
It was a fuse, they told me. A fuse had blown so we’ve replaced it and now everything is fine.
I couldn’t believe it. A blown fuse had caused all that car catastrophe. But I took the win and told them I’d collect the car on Wednesday.
By now, the tickly cough and mildly sore throat had changed into a hacking and persistent cough which annoyed everyone, including me, and every time I swallowed it felt like I had razorblades in my throat. After two long days at work, I dragged myself home Tuesday evening to find the girls busy making us all homemade Chinese for dinner. There was wine in the fridge and a beautiful bunch of flowers in a vase for me. They knew I wasn’t well and that I was worried about the car, so had decided to pamper me. Of course, once I told them the good news about the car it turned into a celebration. We watched one of my favourite films, Sense and Sensibility (the Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman version) and all had early nights.
Wednesday, I walked across town to collect the car. I need to apply for a passport. Not because I’m going abroad for a holiday — the chance would be a fine thing — but because I need it to prove I am a UK citizen. Being born here, paying National Insurance and tax for forty years, and owning property is apparently not enough. My new job means I subcontract to the company so must register for a tax code and will need to do a tax return. When I tried to apply, I needed two forms of ID, but I only had one, my driving licence, and it was going to be impossible for me to get any of the other accepted forms of ID, so I had to bear the expense of having a passport photo taken and paying for a passport which I don’t need. I called into a photography shop that is registered to take passport photos and had one done. I looked at it and cringed. I looked exhausted and ill in it, probably because I was. Oh well, no one is ever going to see it.
I originally had a grocery collection slot of 10am but when it looked like I would not have a car I changed it to a home delivery slot of 5pm. Wednesday is the day I always strip beds and do laundry, but I’d noticed when I put the first load in that morning that I was running low on laundry tabs so bought a box on my walk across town to collect the car as I’d forgotten to put them on the list.
The relief when I got into the car, turned the key, and everything in the car worked, was indescribable. I drove home. It was like driving a cloud compared to driving it there. I’d never realised what a difference power-assisted steering made.
Wednesday night my cough peaked. The back of my throat kept going into spasms and I would cough and cough and cough until I imagined my next-door neighbour was sick to death of me. I was sick to death of me as well and it was a very tired and bleary-eyed Julia who staggered downstairs the next morning.
Incapable of doing much, I went for a brief walk with the girls to a patch of natural woodland behind the college in town. They wanted to search for bugs, and I just needed the fresh air and gentle exercise. It was a lovely day, mild and sunny. The woodland was carpeted with beautiful spring flowers and the trees were pretty. After an hour though, I was spent and needed to go home to rest until dinner.
I don’t usually work on a Friday, but my co-worker was on holiday, so I was covering for her. It was a very long day. Still not well, I struggled to keep going and was very pleased to go home, heat a bowl of soup for myself and then flake out on the sofa. The girls had gone out for dinner, so I had the place to myself and read quietly with the latest David Attenborough documentary on the TV until they came home.
Yesterday, Saturday, I struggled to get going. Although I had ordered the repeat prescription of my thyroid medication in plenty of time, I didn’t get the text telling me it was ready for collection until Friday evening, so I hadn’t taken any since Thursday morning and I was beginning to really feel it now. Without the medication, I experience chronic fatigue, joint pain, headaches, sleep issues and vagueness. I tried to write as much of this blog as I could, but there was housework to do, a book review to write, and a potato gratin to make ready for dinner.
By late afternoon, I was shaky on my feet, but we all walked down to the pharmacy to collect my meds. It was closed. The times on the door and the website both claimed it would re-open at five, it was now just gone four, so we went to visit Franki’s grandmother who is in a care home a five-minute walk away. We walked back to the pharmacy at five. It was still closed. We waited and waited. No sign of it opening. We were calling into a fellow author’s book launch party at a local pub and didn’t want to be late so had to leave without my medication. I hope they’re open sometime today so I can drive around and get my meds. It’s so annoying. If you’re not going to be open at the times the website and your opening times door poster state, then stick a note on the door saying when you will be open, so people know if it’s worth waiting.
As Saturday was our last evening together with no work the next day, we had a lovely big dinner with posh ice cream for dessert, all washed down with a bottle of pink prosecco. I can’t believe how quickly the holiday has flown by. We had so much planned to do, but between me having to work, the three days of events I was already booked to do, and my illness, we haven’t done as much as we planned.
And now it’s Sunday. Our last day together as I must work on Monday and Tuesday and then I’m driving them back to university. Not looking forward to that journey. The journey up won’t be so bad because they will be with me, but I don’t like driving long distances alone so will be pleased when I get home safely.
I will miss them when they’re gone, but I am looking forward to the peace of an empty house so I can start writing my next book. Oh, and in case you’re wondering, yes, the lodger has now fully moved in but he’s out a lot and is so quiet when he is here that we barely know there is anyone else living in the house. The perfect lodger, in other words.
Anyway, this is now a simply mahoosive blog and it’s almost nine so I need to get it published and distributed to you, otherwise you might think there is no blog this week and go off and read something else.
Take care of yourself and I look forward to chatting with you next time.
Julia Blake