If you carry your childhood with you, you never become older -Tom Stoppard

I'm struggling to get to grips with the whole business of Christmas shopping this year. It seems that time has gone on fast forward since our holiday in Norfolk August and suddenly it's mid November. I have managed to do a little bit of Christmas Shopping because we went to see my brother in law and his family in Plymouth at the end of October and I took the opportunity to deliver the presents for my niece and nephew. I love going to see them, but we don't manage to get there as often as I would like, it's a long way to drive for a weekend and it's expensive to travel by train. We planned this trip to fit into Robbie's schedule, he is very busy with work at the moment and most weekends seem to be booked up in advance with an assortment of commitments. Robbie was very kind to me, he booked our tickets and reserved our seats making sure that we were booked to travel on a Voyager rather than an HST for both journeys. I can see the attraction of HSTs but in terms of comfort I prefer Voyagers because I'm not very tall and I find the seats more comfortable. I know the vestibules are a bit smelly but we usually get a good journey on a voyager and recent experience with Cross Country suggest that we get better service on a Voyager than on an HST. 

My favourite part of the journey is stretch Just south Exeter which follows the River Exe to Starcross and onward to Dawlish Warren and the sea. It then skirts the coast to Dawlish and on towards Teignmouth where it turns inland again and snakes along the edge of the River Teign towards Newton Abbott. It's a beautiful route and I always stop what I'm doing to look out of the window and soak up the view. In the winter it can be a bit alarming when the waves pelt the train along the sea wall at Dawlish. This area of track was badly damaged in the storms last winter, it is in use again now but there must be a question about it's long term viability.

My favourite part of the visit to Plymouth, apart from the obvious pleasure of spending time with family, was our Sunday morning walk to the Barbican. What could possibly be better than breakfast at Cap'n Jaspers on a sunny autumn morning. No trip to Plymouth is complete without a visit to Cap'n Jaspers. 

Early morning in Plymouth

My son came home from uni for a few days last week, it was nice to have him back but I didn't see much of him because he had things to do and he wanted to catch up with his friends. I took on my old familiar role of his 'taxi' driver - I had forgotten how many extra journeys one nineteen year old could create! When I picked him up from his friends house on the other side of town he was chatting to me about his friend's odd perception of age. Apparently they had been discussing a local news story and his friend described a 38 year old man as elderly. I was briefly reassured when Will told me that he'd explained to his friend that thirty eight is not elderly, but then he went on to say that it is probably more accurate to describe it as late middle age!! I wondered out loud how on earth someone so bright could have such an odd perception of reality! He looked at me with a grin on his face and informed me that as he's nearly 20 he is due for his 'quarter life crisis' so that he can get some practice in before his mid life crisis. I love his sense of humour, but he makes me feel very old.

Last Monday I drove Will back to Cheltenham. There are two possible routes but I prefer the one through the Cotswolds, it takes about the same amount of time as the other route but it is a much more interesting drive with beautiful views of the countryside. Will disapproves of my iTunes playlist, he is not a fan of Woman's Hour and I can't tolerate the overspill noise from his headphones so we had to resort to that quaint old fashioned pastime - conversation. Chatting with Will is fraught with difficulty, if I seem too interested he claims that I'm interrogating him, if I say too little I'm variously accused of disinterest or disapproval. So I take my lead from him, sometimes he is very chatty, but often when we travel together he is less talkative and we lapse into comfortable silence. It was like that on Monday, he had chatted happily about his university course for the first few minutes of our journey but by the time we reached Banbury we were both lost in our own thoughts. 

As we drove through the town I pointed out a rather ornate monument ahead of us and said "I wonder if that is Banbury Cross?". Will looked at me as if I was speaking in a foreign language and I explained that I was referring to the nursery rhyme Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross. To my surprise he told me that he had never heard the rhyme before and I couldn't convince him otherwise. It seems that I neglected  my duty as a parent to pass on the rich assortment of nursery rhymes which have been passed down the generations, so rather belatedly I recited the nursery rhyme to him. With a look of horror he begged me to stop, he knows me too well and  he was afraid that if I got started I would progress from nursery rhymes to poems and we would still be ploughing through the Pied Piper of Hamelin when we reached Cheltenham. My maternal grandmother could recite the entire poem from memory and thanks to her frequent renditions I can still manage to recite most of the poem without prompting. Will hastily changed the subject to the more pressing matter of lunch and we decided to treat ourselves to lunch at Wetherspoons when we got to Chetenham.

After lunch Will took me to see his flat, I hadn't been inside since the day he moved in. To my surprise his room and his adjoining bathroom are neat and tidy. I sat on his bed I glanced around at the unaccustomed sense of order and I noticed a row of bottles of alcohol arranged in height order along the top of his bookcase. As my eye travelled along the line of bottles I noticed with some concern that all were less than half full, then I noticed the smallest bottle at the end of the row, it was Gaviscon! I couldn't help laughing. 

Will and I walked into the centre of Cheltenham to have a look at the Shops. He showed me his favourite book shop and we had a look at a slightly quirky clothes shop. He pointed out various garments on his wish list, but having already bought him a lava lamp I didn't grant any further wishes that day. His birthday and Christmas are almost upon us so I expect some of his wishes will come true in the near future. We visited Tiger, one of my favourite shops, we don't have one locally so I enjoyed browsing and by the time I reached the tills I had a full basket and I had ticked off a few more items on my Christmas shopping list. Then it was time for me to head home, alone with my thoughts and leave Will to his new found independence.

To succeed in life, you need three things: a wishbone, a backbone and a funnybone - Reba McEntire

A couple of weeks ago when I was chatting to my older daughter Emily she stopped in mid conversation and looked at my hands. She said "mum look at your hands, they've turned into Grandma's hands" and she took my hand in hers and looked at it closely. I can always rely on one or other of my offspring to tell me the uncomfortable truth. Some months ago my son had a word with me about my hairstyle, he warned me not to have my hair cut any shorter or I would be in danger of looking like a lesbian. I couldn't help laughing, I may have cared what people thought once, but not these days people can think what they like. 

I understood exactly what my daughter meant about my hands. You can try all sorts of lotions and potions to make your face look younger but your hands tell the truth, you can't stop your hands ageing. Several weeks ago my son asked me to buy him make up and a special sort of liquid to create scars ready for Halloween. I wasn't impressed, I don't approve of the Americanisation of our customs and traditions; as far as I'm concerned trick or treating is worse than begging because there is an element of threat. I managed to stop myself before my thoughts became words. Will knows my thoughts on Halloween and I knew he wouldn't be going trick or treating so there was no harm in him dressing up to go to a party. He has had a passion for dressing up ever since he was a little boy and in recent years he has become very creative with stage make up. It crossed my mind that if I'm not careful I will be like my grandma - she managed to turn disapproval into a performance art! When I was little it seemed as if she disapproved of everything that I found enjoyable and I don't want to be like that, so Will got his items for Halloween and he promised to send me some photos.

I used to enjoy bonfire night when I was a child but it seems to have got a bit out of control now. When I was growing up we just had a few fireworks in the back garden, Catherine wheels, Roman candles, screeches, traffic lights, jumping jacks, a couple of small rockets and some sparklers. It was all carefully supervised by my mum to make sure we stayed safe, and when our little display was over we would go back into the house and eat jacket potatoes to warm us up after standing out in the cold. Fireworks seem bigger and louder now (and much more expensive) and we are bothered by the sound of fireworks for days before and after bonfire night. It is very upsetting for the animals, so many dogs and other animals are terrified by the sound of fireworks. I think perhaps we need tighter regulation about when fireworks can be set off. I can remember my grandma saying that fireworks were a wicked waste, she said it was like burning money and I have to admit that she had a point. I haven't bought fireworks for over twenty years, but I think it would be a shame to see the custom die out completely.

The weather is finally getting a bit colder, not perhaps as cold as I would expect it to be in November but cold enough to make me want to wear a coat sometimes. At last I've packed away my summer clothes, dusted off some of my autumn and winter clothes, taken a big bag of stuff to the recycling bank and a few bits and bobs that weren't good enough for recycling were given a decent burial. I'm not usually very good at parting with clothes so I decided to reward myself with a couple of new items. I fell in love with a needle cord skirt which had a subtle rose pattern, but it was a little bit tight and much too long. I wasn't going to let a little thing like that put me off, I bought it anyway and made plans to alter it. It took a fair bit of planning and measuring, I unpicked the waistband, took out the zip, lining and part of the side seems, shortened it from the top then repositioned the zip, lining, side seems and waistband. It only took me a few hours and it was worth the effort because it fits perfectly and I like it. I guess the ability to sew is a very useful skill that both my mum and my grandma passed on to me, I'm grateful for that and I'm grateful for the example of my mum's determination and ability to cope with all the challenges that came her way. She has always told me that a woman can do anything that a man can do and we can do most things better because we take time to plan and we read the instructions! 

It was raining last Friday when I went to stay with my friend Clare but when I drove back on Saturday afternoon I was able to enjoy the beautiful Warwickshire and Northamptonshire landscape. As I left the A5 and joined the A428 at Crick the sun was sinking towards the horizon with a breathtaking display of deep fiery red colours. Ahead of me were deep, dark storm clouds but looking through the rear view mirror I could see clear skies, it was the sort of day when amid all the confusion you would expect to see a rainbow. On this occasion I only saw a faint one after I had driven away from the storm clouds, but it reminded me that I saw a very bright rainbow on another recent journey home from Clare's and when I was at her house in September we saw a double rainbow. I know it is only a natural phenomenon but I don't think it's possible to see a rainbow without feeling a glimmer of hope.

When I got home on Saturday the cats tried to lie to me, I knew that my daughter had fed them but they acted as if they were starving so I gave them some extra food and then went to sit down with a cup of tea. When I went back into the kitchen Dave the cat had vanished, I found him in a little den that he had created between the fridge freezer and the radiator. It is a fairly narrow space, I have several narrow storage boxes stacked there with brushes and mops standing behind. On top of the storage boxes I have a bag of reusable shopping bags and another bag full of carrier bags, Dave had made himself a cat nest in the bag of carrier bags. He has several cat beds, igloos, blankets etc, but he was a stray for a long time, old habits die hard and he likes to find his own comforts. I couldn't resist taking a photo of him with his 'poor pathetic me' face. I wouldn't let him stay on his nest of carrier bags, but maybe I will buy him a radiator bed instead.

'....... A rare and gentle thing'

I started writing this on Saturday, so it relates to the last days of October.

It's been a strange week, the clocks went back last weekend and it has taken me most of the week to adjust my body clock. The weather  has been surprisingly warm and pleasant for the start of November so the darker evenings seem strangely out of place. The autumn has always been my least favourite time of the year, and the dark evenings with their reminder of the long winter months ahead have left me feeling a bit out of sorts. Robbie is working away at the moment so I only see him at the weekends, it's an arrangement that works well for both of us, but I miss him - there's a limit to the conversation skills of a cat, even an extremely eloquent one like Dave. Our family has a huge black cloud hanging over us at the moment, something which I don't feel able to discuss in detail on the blog but it makes thinking ahead very difficult. I have plenty of work and other responsibilities to keep me busy and usually I am quite good at living in the present, but the dark evenings and the challenges of this week have got the better of me. 

It may not mean much to anyone else but something happened on Wednesday morning which felt like a sign of hope. When I woke up I became aware of a slight fluttering which was odd as I hadn't left the bedroom window open. I realised that there was a butterfly in the bedroom and it had settled on Robbie's bedside table. It stayed there for a while and then it settled on the net curtain so I opened the window for it to go out when it was ready. I got on with my morning routine and didn't go back into the bedroom for an hour or so, I expected that the butterfly would have gone on its way but I was surprised to see that were now two butterflies on the window. I don't remember having a butterfly in my bedroom before and I'm certain that there have never been two. In fact I don't recall seeing a butterfly so late in the year. I managed to get a photo of the first one, I think it's a Small Tortoiseshell, the photo quality is not very good but it was nice to be able to see it close up, it was beautiful, so fragile with the delicate colouring of a watercolour painting.

      

“Happiness is a butterfly, which when pursued, is always just beyond your grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you” - Nathaniel Hawthorne