Sorry for the absence my friends. Just haven’t really felt like writing anything. Still don’t really but, I’m bored and it’s sort of therapy, so why not. I’ve written this at intervals throughout my short stay in the UK so forgive me if it’s a bit time jumpy…..

I’m in the greenhouse departure lounge of Limoges airport once more, this time flying into Manchester because Ryanair have seen fit to only run the Leeds flights from June to September now. I shall look forward to the fresh hell that is getting the train from Manchester to Leeds which I never feel like I can pre book because you just never know how long border control is going to take or if your flight is going to be delayed etc. It just allows my anxiety to level up with the fear of every train being full this afternoon. Which I’m sure won’t happen, but my brain doesn’t care much for the law of probability.

I’m not sure how much you guys know, and I can’t remember what I wrote last, so here’s the synopsis. Mum is now in full time residential care, due to falling almost constantly and really struggling to get up out of bed to get to the bathroom etc. The more she fell, the more hospital time this has caused, and she was diagnosed with a dislocated and broken shoulder. Not due to a fall, but the amount of effort it was taking for her to pull herself up out of bed. She said she’d heard a pop weeks prior to this, and that her arm hurt, but x-rays showed nothing. This last set of X-rays showed it was in fact broken and dislocated, so after 2 failed surgeries to re-set it and pin it, she basically just has to live with it being as it is. I spent all of my last trip with her just visiting hospital, so it will be nice to finally see more of her lovely care home, last time it was just 20 minutes before following the ambulance to A&E.

With this of course, comes care costs, which are huge, so with heavy heart Mum’s house went on the market this week. I’m not looking forward to seeing the for sale board I can tell you. My sister and a team of helpers have done amazing work clearing and fettling and getting the house ready for sale, we have our first viewing tomorrow.

It’ll be hard to see it sold as it’s my childhood home, where I lived until my mid twenties. I feel strangely cut adrift now, like if there was a disaster here in France I’d have nowhere to retreat back to. You really come to appreciate that you’ve always viewed it as a place of safety, when you can no longer treat it as such.

I know many of you have these things to deal with, many of you reading this live in another country to your family. You understand what this feels like in a way that even family cannot. The guilt and the separation and the generally feeling useless because you can’t be of any practical help. I hate it.

And yet, the UK feels totally alien to me now. The antisocialness of people, the traffic, the noise, the sirens. I miss my home here before I’ve even left it, and my anxiety levels won’t revert back to normal (borderline psychopathic) until I’m home. All of this said, I get to go and see Wicked tonight at the theatre and it’s been 10+ years since I last saw it. I went with my niece last time and it was only a few weeks later that her cancer progressed and she went into palliative care, so I’m feeling quite emotional about it. There’s a song in it that I can only allow myself to listen to like once a year, so my accompanying friend has been informed that I will cry and she has kindly offered hand holding services as standard.

I do love it and the theatre though.

**I started writing this on Thursday morning, a few days ago, so I’m updating on Sunday night.

So, plane was 45 minutes late departing, so not off to a great start. Then upon arrival at Manchester airport’s station, I scanned the board for the next Leeds train and the line was completely blank. No direct trains to Leeds at all due to engineering work. Sigh. The lady in the ticket booth told me there was one leaving in 5 minutes to Salford Crescent, then I could change there for Leeds. Will I make it to the platform in 5 minutes I asked. Oh yes, said she, it’s just there. So I scurried off, and the conductor at carriage one said there are 6 carriages so there’s plenty of room. I set off down the platform and as I drew level with carriage 3 I heard the doors closing buzzer and literally had to hurl myself through the closing carriage doors which tried to shut on me halfway through. Only just made it. I found myself with a little enclave of 2 other Leeds bound passengers from my Limoges flight. We shared tales of poor Orange customer service, French bank holidays and having slept through the Aurora Borealis. Got full eye contact stared at by a creepy man for a good 4 stops before he finally got off. Bleauh! Also I should mention, that previously, the platform that the direct Leeds train usually leaves from has a large cafe, so an opportunity to get a sandwich for the train. I had no such opportunity here, and when the train stopped at Salford Crescent and we had to wait 15 minutes for the connection, there was no opportunity to grab something there either. The pain au raisin I’d had at 9.00am that morning felt like a very distant memory, but at least I had a bottle of water. Of course there was no trolley service on the 2nd leg of the train. Why would there be.

I made it to Leeds about an hour and a half later than I thought I would, and immediately inhaled a family sized packet of Skips. Just as I got into my sisters car, I got a message saying my friend was on her way to pick me up to go to the theatre. Shiiiitttt! Managed to get to my sisters about 5 mins before my friend, super quick change and back out the door.

Wicked was great as ever, and interestingly about 1 in 4 people in the audience were wearing leather trousers. Is this normal now I asked myself…..

I can also confirm that I did indeed cry…..

Special mention I might add, to the guy (that really looked like a Keith), that stopped his car and moved roadwork cones so we could get into the multi storey carpark. Chivalry is not dead my friends.

Friday I visited Mum for the afternoon, and in the evening had a most excellent Lamb Rogan Josh with full pickle tray and chapatis, made by my bro-in-law.

Mum’s home is lovely. Her room is a really good size, light and airy, with a door opening out onto a patio and sloped grass so she has a really pleasant outlook. There are benches and water feature, and a lovely gloriette with bird feeders. I’ve spent a bit of time in one of the side lounges while Mum was being looked after by the staff so the local robins are now my friends.

On Friday she was quite chatty and awake all afternoon, Saturday it was about 50/50, Sunday, she slept for the vast majority of the time I was there. She’s eating very little and we think she’s lost about 6 stone in the last couple of months. The only things she really wants are custard and ice cream, so we’re trying to bring her something like that every day. She’s eating the inside of an egg custard with a spoon and leaving the pastry, but it’s better than nothing. She’s also really not drinking enough, but she’s still a stubborn old goat and the filthy look you get when you ask her to finish her drink or just try to have another mouthful of something is quite something to behold.

Saturday night my niece came to stay, so we all went out for fish and chips to Murgatroyds and it was great. Dandelion and burdock by the pint and the best treacle tart I’ve ever had by a country mile. Was a lot of fun.

Sunday dinner was Gammon with “double glazing” as it is referred to in this house. You paste on a mixture of Colemans mustard powder and brown sugar before baking and then we all fight like feral racoons for the end bits. Standard accompaniment to this is, and always has been, cauliflower/broccoli cheese.

I’ve also developed an unsustainable addiction to farm shop pork pies. I’ve had them for lunch 3 days running now. This must cease in the interests of my large intestine.

I spent the morning of my last day, at Ikea breakfast club with my oldest friend. This became an institution when I was made redundant some years ago, and briefly, for the 2 glorious weeks I was unemployed, became a thing. This whole sub-culture of humans, that appear for a 6 piece breakfast with unlimited coffee and not to buy a Malmo or a Bjorn. We had a lovely catch up, and then she came with me to see Mum for the last time this trip.

She was on good form today. She had rejected her lunch because the mushroom soup was too peppery. When dinner came, it was carrots, meat (possibly mince), mashed potato and gravy. The staff have started pureeing everything to see if texture is the reason she’s not eating. She did manage to eat a scoop of mashed potato before informing me that the meat was gristly, the potato was lumpy, the gravy tasted of nothing, and she hadn’t liked carrots for ages. OK then….. The fruit and cream was polished off though, and her eyes lit up at the clotted cream rice pudding I’d brought her from M&S so fingers crossed she’ll have that later. I also started plying her with Jelly Babies like a drug dealer.

My friend left after about an hour, and Mum and I had a pretty pleasant afternoon slagging off people on Escape to the Country, and naming every single plant on the BBC coverage of the Chelsea Flower Show. Until of course it was time to go, and how I hate to say goodbye to her before I leave to go home, but it cannot be helped.

I am travelling 1st class on the train tomorrow morning, which I’ve never done before, but I booked it well in advance so it wasn’t much more than a standard ticket. I’m interested to see what this entails – we shall see….. I shall hopefully finish this blog on the train / in the airport lounge tomorrow so stay tuned…..

Oh, a few footnotes.

Big thanks to last night’s impromptu firework display for no reason. Cheers.

The car alarm that went off every 15 minutes.

Tonight’s parked car with loud music right outside my bedroom window.

People suck!

So, I’m writing this in real time, on the train to Manchester Airport, having arrived dutifully 30 minutes prior to departure like a good girl. My anxiety is now at a manageable level after the train that was due to depart from the same platform as mine, was 20 minutes late, meaning they both had an arrival time 1 minute apart. This meant too many people on the platform and a little confusion as to which train would arrive first. I really wish they’d tell you where your carriage is as well, like on French trains so you know exactly where to stand on the platform. I have a first class ticket today for the first time in my adult life, it’s quite civilised but nothing hugely special. My seat is comfy and a bit bigger, I have a plug socket, and no-one is bellowing. I’ll take it for now. Oh, and the windows are clean – bonus.

Packing was reasonably easy last night, I’m taking home a few of Mum’s vintage tins, because you know me, and old food packaging is right up my avenue. Old tea caddies and a gorgeous old Oxo tin amongst others. I have packed clothes around them, nested a few like Russian dolls, but I’m sure the weirdness of my bag contents will result in me ending up with a bag search. We shall see.

I will be arriving 4 hours before departure, to allow 1 hour extra for any train delays etc. Yes I am acutely aware this is too early, but I’m booked into the lounge and for once it’s not 3.30am, so I shall be partaking of the unlimited coffee and possibly something a bit stronger if I can choke it down in the interests of getting my moneys worth.

Oooh, complimentary cup of train tea! This must be how Beyonce travels….

I know flying into Manchester does add some buggeration factor and time to my journey, but as train journeys go, it’s quite a pleasant one. I’ve always enjoyed the rugged landscape of this part of Yorkshire, mill chimneys poking out through the green.

The tea, however, is awful….

…..In the Escape Lounge at Manchester Airport now, having not had my bag searched, which is a bonus. Browsed the duty free, bought a new Clinique Black Honey because mine is nearly done, and a new OPI nail polish because even with my hands in soil all the time, it still lasts a week. This is longest I’ve ever not bitten my nails I think so I am really trying to keep them intact. I still cut them short, otherwise it makes for an uncomfortable gardening glove situation but otherwise I’ve managed not to chew them.

As ever the people watching is A+. When did completely coordinated couples loungewear become a thing? Couples in head to toe khaki sweat pant ensembles. Although I am still being haunted by the ghost of leather pants past. Just why?

I can overlook the stag dos from my glass fronted enclave. I’m enjoying the group that are wearing proper button up shirts covered in little pictures of the face of the groom to be.

I’ve also done a little bit of research for you so you don’t have to. The lounge costs £38 ish if you book I advance, which seems like an extravagance right?. Wrong my friends. I appreciate if you’re happy to get a WH Smiths meal deal as I have many times before, then that’s fair enough. If you are travelling at a time when you know you won’t eat for hours, or you have a lengthy airport transfer at the other end, you may want something more substantial to see you through. It’s also the start of the holiday so in the great scheme of things, anything that makes your travel experience better, I’m all for. So, If you were to eat at the Lion And Antelope bar, which I’m overlooking from here, Fish and chips for example is £14.99, Fizz is £7.50 a glass. 2 glasses of fizz and you’re up to £30 already. Coffees are £3.50 or so, as are side orders. You get to eat it in the ambient heat and noise of a jet engine on uncomfortable seats. Or, you pay the money, you get in a lift, and all of the chaos is behind you. I’ve powered through a full English with sausage, bacon, scrambled eggs, hash browns and beans. I’m on my second glass of sparkling rose, I’ve eaten no fewer than 8 mini danish pastries and had a cappuccino. I have use of toilet facilities, good free wi-fi that doesn’t require your life story to log in, and I’m in a comfortable adult high chair with a pull up tray/desk right next to the departure board. I won’t find out my gate for an hour – I may even get a second wind.

As a solo traveller though, you don’t feel like you can leave your much fought for table in the bar to go for a wee and leave your stuff there. The lounge really is a godsend for that. Also if you get a flight delay, you are winning at life!!

So in summary, reject 1st class rail travel, its not worth the extra, even though it wasn’t much. Absolutely, if it is within your power though, DO book the lounge.

See you at home.

TTFN xx