English Riviera

 

Hello all. I hope you are well. I am ok I suppose, bearing in mind that United lost the Derby, it has rained every single day since records began (probably) and when we took our afternoon constitutional, the end of our road was blocked by five police cars and an ambulance and HOH said that he could see a shape under a tarpaulin that looked suspiciously like a body. I wouldn't mind but it's not the busiest road in the world. I suppose, it has put all my other moans into perspective, although I am still a bit upset about the Derby. Because I am shallow. A woman has to know her own limitations as Clint Eastwood so nearly said. 

Last week, it stopped raining for about ninety minutes and we decided to be wholesome and go to Torquay for the day. Well, I say "day'. With the best will in the world, Torquay in February isn't really going to occupy you for more than a couple of hours and a good half hour of that can easily be spent trying to find a public toilet. Still, the sun came out and we had a nice walk on the front. 

I then pestered HOH to find the Glendower Hotel. When I was a child, every summer holiday was spent in Torquay at the Glendower Hotel. Frustratingly I can't remember the owners' names but I do remember that he would don a white coat and bow tie for the evening meal which we were summoned to by the banging of a gong. Oh yes, we were. We knew how to live. The owners were also friendly with my parents and they had a daughter the same age so I would spend quite a lot of time behind the scenes in the hotel. The fact that I got on so well with their daughter meant that my parents had a ready-made babysitting service which they were more than happy to take advantage of.  At this point in their otherwise idyllic marriage (it wasn't idyllic) my mother wasn't a Christian and, to be frank, my father was a bit loosy-goosy with it all, spending most evenings in the local pub with the next-door neighbour. As an aside, George, the neighbour, was intensely disliked by my mother because she felt he was leading my dad astray. Still, she was happy enough to rush his toddler to the hospital when she had eaten a whole tube of Germolene, which probably proves that Aged Parent was a good egg really. (Under it all) George scared me a bit when I was a little girl because he said he knew I had done a trump because he had seen my skirt lift. And I hadn't and he made me cry. Back to the story. (Thank goodness)

My parents had some posh friends in Torquay. We knew they were posh because they had stairs that were made up of slats of wood with gaps in them. They were called Mr and Mrs Bond and were very high up in the Bretherens. So when we went to visit, it was everyone on best behaviour - especially me. They were actually very lovely and, despite having no children of their own, were happy to let me play with some African figures they had and I was very careful. All went well until we were pulling our coats on at the end of the evening when I piped up "You're not going to the pub again tonight are you, Dad?" Cue a horrible tight silence because Mr and Mrs Bond were very much of the non-alcoholic persuasion. When we got outside my dad was incandescent with rage. Only time he ever smacked me. (More's the pity my mother would say.) However, Aged Parent did that thing you see in American Movies where you can see the click in the person's head when they suddenly think "Enough is enough". She turned around really slowly and using her pointy finger, gave him a speech that would give the Gettysburg Address a run for its money. I was only little but I remember the word "hypocrisy" and "don't take it out on her" as well as "sort your life out". Then she smacked me as well for good measure. 

I expect there is a lesson here about "Be sure your sin will find you out" blah! or lecture you about pretending to be someone you are not which is good advice because, let's be honest, there is probably nothing more knackering than pouring all your energy into trying to appear to be someone who has it all together. Also, no one likes anyone who acts like they are on it all the time. You only have to look at yourself scrolling through Instagram and how annoyed those people make you to know that. For me, one of the best things about finding Jesus was the lack of pressure to be something that I am not. When someone told me that he could see right through me and it didn't matter - it was one of the best things that I had ever heard. However, I'm telling you this story mainly because this week marks a year since Aged Parent died. So far, I don't seem to have received any messages from Jesus asking to send her back so I assume all is going well. I have been fine with it - a bit teary when I watched Field of Dreams this week - but other than that ok. I have got to the stage where I think of her fondly (most of the time) and that's nice I think. Have a good week.