BIRTH DAY

It would have been my father’s 72nd birthday today. So, um, a sad little weird toast up to the sky to my wonderful father who I miss sometimes more, rather than less, as time goes by. He would have been pleased to discover that he shares his birthday with Usain Bolt.

It doesn’t really seem to be getting any easier for my mother although she is doing well by simply learning how to live without her husband of nearly 50 years by her side – that takes time. Today will not be an easy day for her. She is still undecided about how to “move on” both literally and figuratively in her brave new life without him. We will all be together this evening as a family – paying homage to the man we all loved. I hope it won’t be too maudlin. We will celebrate his life and laugh. I hope.

My children were away with their father this weekend so I took the opportunity to go on a road trip with my mother for the second year running. Mindful of the timing and how she (and I) needed a distraction we set off to go and check out deepest, darkest West Sussex with a view to her moving from Devon in order to be closer to friends and family. Not sure “road-trip” is the right description – more like drive to meet my mother in a hotel, be massively surprised because younger brother, sister-in-law and baby turned up unexpectedly, thus thankfully turning our adventure into something much less like an Anita Brookner novel and making me feel a lot less spinster-esque (and frankly delighting my mother because for some reason I annoy her after not very long). Next year I must remember that I am too old to share a twin room with my mother. Road trip or not – there are just some things you should be old enough to do at my age – and one of those things has to be having my own room.

We spent time mostly in Midhurst. What a lovely, friendly place. Only one shout of “you f’g tosser” from an irate driver as we negotiated a tight turn from the hotel and one wasp sting for my poor little niece – apart from that people couldn’t have been more charming – especially to my mother who talks to absolutely everybody all the time. Generally I just stand there looking a little pained and impatient as she is busy telling the supermarket checkout woman about her life – I don’t understand her desire to talk to strangers all the time – but it’s quite sweet I suppose – if you aren’t in a hurry to get anywhere in the next five years.

HOW MANY PUBS ARE THERE IN MIDHURST? Almost one every other shop. Must be the most per capita of anywhere else in the country and perhaps why my family found themselves so drawn to the place. It’s got a lovely high street with some interesting shops and we looked at several lovely hotels – The Spread Eagle was especially impressive, large and bright and grand in an understated way AND it had a spa – so lots of expensive looking women sitting about it dressing gowns at lunchtime. We stayed at The Angel Inn which is right on the high street – a little more relaxed, with less space especially outside and more dark wood, but comfortable nevertheless and we had a delicious meal in the evening at their little restaurant.

Our favourite spot was a tucked away pub my brother found called the Duke of Cumberland in Henley Village, Fenhurst. Absolutely stunning gardens and views with apparently amazing food. You have to book three weeks in advance if you want to eat there so it’s obviously delicious (although not cheap looking at the prices on the menu). They have trout in the river too.

So. It was a success. Although my mother and I were a little freaked out by the several signs we had – white feathers accumulating on a lawn we were sitting on and an unexplained move (twice) of my mother’s wine glass from the centre of the table towards her hand – if there was ever a sign that my father was happy with the place and needed to communicate that to my mother it was by putting a glass of cold white wine in her hand. Odd too that sharing a room with my mother caused massively disturbing dreams for both of us (can’t think why!) – “I had the most awful dream” she told me “OMG SO DID I” I replied, ready to regale her with the mass bloody attack and subsequent chase I was in with my children to escape armed bandits which seemed to last forever…. “I dreamt that I had to use a piece of dental floss that belonged to a complete stranger” she said and as I was laughing about the discrepancy between our respective nightmares and checking my emails I discovered one sent from my iPod (I haven’t got an iPod at the moment) that simply said “Brush teeth”. Nobody has admitted to sending it. How strange – and rather worrying that my beloved Apple devices think I have dog breath.