Monday, 9 July 2012


We've all been at it. Watching the rain falling outside the window and emptying the rain gauge at frequent intervals! Watching with sadness the poor folk with flooded homes, - have seen that at first hand and never forgotten how ghastly it is, for months. Watching the roof going across at Wimbledon, - bit like watching cement dry! And the rest of the entire holiday season looks much the same, thanks to that infernal jetstream.
   Our little tiny swimming pool is heated by the sun ( joke!) and it was at last worth taking the winter cover off it about 2 weeks ago, - end of June. Since then I have been into it about three times, a chilly experience, but one which measures exactly the amount of sun and warm weather we haven't had this year. I thought last year was bad enough, but "Gee, you ain't see nuthing yet!"
   Enough weather moan. But holidays are an important part of our lives and our annual routine. So, with the Isle of Wight in our sights, - an old familiar stamping ground, we set off from merry Ipswich to join family and spend a week over there in a cottage. First stop London, where we found one of our proposed party was not at all well. Long debates about what to do, delaying for a day to see how things were, an excursion to the Model Village at Beaconscot, - still quite fascinating. Finally decision to abandon the trip, and return home to Ipswich with the suitcases of clothes, and boxes of non-perishable food, and picking up the dog again on the way.
   The rest of the week the family came to us, which was very nice, and especially to see more of the Scottish branch, who stayed a week. But it did feel strange to be where we were not supposed to be. We had got the garden and house as straight as they ever are before setting forth, so there was not a lot to be done there, though there are always jobs to be done in any garden, as you know. There was endless Wimbledon, a Cricket one day game to show the lovely Australians how to play the game, (what a dreadful gloat, but they were enjoying it so much just a few years ago!) and the British Grand Prix, which the right drivers didn't win!
  But always that feeling of something wrong. Out of place. We shouldn't be here. And the distinct lack of a holiday sent one looking through the diary to see when we might get another, proper one. It is a strange but apparently necessary part of our personal psychology.
   Monday morning again, and I turn another page in the diary, and it's back to the old familiar routine. Tricia has two normal working days, I have a couple of lectures, and my day working at the hospital, and a morning with our swimming group. All back to normal, with lots of extra things to do, like catching up on my much neglected blog. I really will try and do better in future!  All the best, Tom.

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