I think I made a big mistake travelling on Good Friday. First the coach fare was higher than I expected, and it was fuller than last time.
The most noticeable were the crowds in the airport.
Normally I can be seated quickly when I have my breakfast, not this time. Although only ten minutes I was not used to it. The kitchen staff were on full power, almost double speed.
The food was good, appreciated after the early start. Nicola and Colin had driven up from Martock in the really early hours to take me to the Bath bus station. I had managed a couple of hours sleep, so the look of death was not quite so bad.
The lady coach driver was a bit abrupt, telling me off for not handing my case in the correct manner. I didn’t know there was a correct manner. I had gone to the trouble of saving my ticket to my wallet on my phone, but after showing it to the driver there was just an “okay”, no scanning of the code or anything,
I said my thanks to Nicola and Colin, thank goodness they’re night owls, now they could go and catch up on some sleep.
At 5.01am precisely the coach set off(she was a minute late already) the arrival time was 7.00am, I was interested to see if she could make that minute up. It’s those sad things I think about so early in the morning.
We actually arrived at 7.06am so with adjustments it was late by five minutes, I noted that down in my black book of irrelevant facts, and dragged my baggage towards the terminal.
That is when I saw how busy it was.
The waiting area was like a refugee camp, people from all over the world encamped watching the monitors.
I had listened to Kelli’s voice messages, eighteen minutes of news and stories of things happening in America. When I reply I can hardly leave three.
The boarding of the plane happened quickly, I had decided to book premium economy for the trip back to see what it was like. It was much much better, the seats were wider and reclined more, and the food was actually served on china plates with real cutlery. Yes, this is what I choose in future.
Arrival at Chicago meant a long walk from the plane to the customs area, thank goodness for moving walkways.
The customs area were quite different from the last time, gone are the booths, now there are doors that close behind you. Now I was totally at the officer’s mercy. Instead of being led off to some room for further scrutiny, I was approved and let loose.
My case appeared on the carousel as I approached, my good fortune continued.
The train took me to terminal 3 meaning I had to go through security again. Shoes off, belt off, laptop out, it’s a drag. At the other end it’s then a scrabble to get things organised. Ensuring that the belt goes through all the correct loops, not cool if one gets missed.
Then there was a couple of hours wait for the plane to Grand Rapids.
I was lucky to sit next to Mr large chest, throughout the flight his shoulders and mine were in constant contact, not very comfortable.
That was only tolerable because Kelli was waiting for me with her beaming smile.
This was a day with no redeeming features. The day before, the last day, both apply.
It was raining, I awoke at 6.00am, listened to any messages, got up, had breakfast and had the bathroom cleaned by 8.00am.
There was little left to do except for finishing the packing. I was taking three pieces of luggage, one for the hold and two as carryons. I was certain the case going in the hold was under the weight limit. I was planning to wear most of my heavy clothes, part of my cunning plan.
Damian was planning to visit. He was going to drive up in the Series one Mazda MX5 that he recently bought and featured on his CarGuys YouTube channel, but he messaged me to tell me that it was too wet and cold, and would bring something else. A little disappointing, but it would be good to see him again.
We went to the Tollgate, a pub in Holt where I had a wonderful chicken pie with mash.
After he left there was a bit of a vacuum, I finished up the last of the food and waited for the time to leave.
I was pleased with what I had achieved, I had great times with my family and friends, and the garden is looking better,but the time went quick.
It feels strange coming back to the cottage, it doesn’t feel like mine, although it is filled with my things, I could be anywhere. Of course it could change, once I make the regular trips, but when I returned last October, it was the strangest feeling. I read all the comments our guests have left in the book, I’m glad they liked the place. I know they think the CD collection, it’s varied and interesting, and my books cover many subjects.
I turn on the TV and watch a couple of films, the rain is still falling depriving me of more outside time. I resign myself to the belief that on my subsequent visits I won’t have so much work to do and spend more time appreciating the peace and people.
I had to return the Shogun back to Ryan, he kindly gave me a lift back, normally I would make the walk, but this time I took him up on the offer. We hugged and said our goodbyes, he then drove off to continue his life, and football.
I took the last of the rubbish from the shed to the tip, it was a wet day making it a miserable experience. I had to get some keys cut so I ventured into Trowbridge. It is a depressing place, the small shopping centre is sad with many places empty, and the expressions of the shoppers matched.
My keys cost six pounds, almost as much as the flipping lock, but it’s only money.
I gave the living room and kitchen a good clean, bagging up the recycling and rubbish.
The weather continued to be bad, but with the music and the vacuum blasting, I made the best of a bad job.
I had purposely kept my supplies low, meaning there was little to snack on.
I had my last fish and chips, savouring the taste, there is nothing like a proper English dish.
It is a short walk to the shop, but I notice that the return journey is a lot harder. The hill and steps are a reminder that I am older. I refuse to stop and rest, this body has to work for its reward.
I visited my friend Rob to fit the wooden box frame I had made for him. He had cut the hole in his living room wall, the other side of the stairs. I had to adjust the size a bit for my box to fit. He wanted a modification done to it making it flush both sides, that entailed cutting three quarters of an inch off the back, and as would happen it was exactly the place where I had nails, which made a simple job a bit harder.
It was soon done and he was happy with it.
Next I had a meet arranged with my old school mate Steve, to wander around Charmey Down airfield, which was close to where I grew up. I had checked the weather the night before, and felt it was a bit risky with rain forecast for most of the day. By the next morning it had changed to rain towards the end of the afternoon, so we forged ahead with our adventure.
When it was time to leave Rob to meet Steve, there was a bit of fine drizzle, so Rob lent me a rainproof mac, which was just as well.
We both met up outside the small village school that still operates, and that still looked familiar.
There was an extra classroom built, but the playground was the same.
Steve slung a rucksack on his back and we headed along a lane heading for the manor.
There was always a chestnut tree covered in carved initials at the entrance, but it was no longer there. All that remained was the stump, it was disappointing. We walked further along the lane and stopped to look up a very steep hill.
This had been the place where all the surplus soil was dumped when the new section of the A46 was cut through back in the late fifties.
Why this place was so significant was there were three pairs of wellington boots buried in the mud. It was so coincidental that both of us had the same misfortune, but at different times, and not knowing about it until now. There was me and my friend Phillip. I brand new wellington boots, and my friends were much older and difficult to get out of. We decided to climb the steep mud hill until we started sinking
Steve and his sister. It was crazy. I remember walking home in my bare feet.
Our walk continued up the steep lanes past the rectory. Steve remembered that the Rector had one built-up shoe, and I remembered he had a large hooked nose, it must have been frightening for young children in those days.
We crossed the duel carriageway of the A46 and followed a footpath that joined another lane that took us up to the airfield.
Steve was prepared, he had a map with all the positions of all the original buildings, bunkers and hangers marked. Today there is little left, the only building that can be recognised was the control tower, and even that is starting to decay.
By now the light rain had set in, and I was grateful for the mac from Rob. We followed round one of the runways, it was still recognisable although covered with lichen. There were still the mounds where buildings used to be, and red bricks could be seen sticking out from the undergrowth.
We laughed at all the similarities we shared, the fascination with matches and building dens, the innocence we had, thinking nothing of being out all day playing, getting back home for tea.
There we were, two old duffers, soaking wet laughing hysterically remembering our past, it was great
.
On the way back we visited the cemetery, there were names from the past that triggered even more memories, a lot of the graves were overgrown, waiting for some volunteers to come and rescue them.
The church was much smaller than I remember, there were many harvest festivals that I donated tins of pineapple chunks or peas. We laughed imagining the Rector clumping his way to the alter.
“ Do you think he had built-up slippers, or did he just limp significantly?” Added Steve, as we closed the heavy church door.
“I definitely think that would scare the kids” I replied.
We walked back towards the school, hoping that we could go inside. That wasn’t possible, the place is like a high security prison with coded entry and exit, the only place we could enter was to look at the playground.
It was so small, still covered with asphalt, but with more modern climbing frames.
It was a wonder that the school can still survive, there aren’t any new houses in the village, so maybe the children still are brought in from surrounding villages.
Suddenly it was the end of our wondrous journey back to our roots, my socks felt damp, we were both soaked but we didn’t care we had discovered that were did so many similar things, we were grateful that we found each other again, finally remembered the names of the other chums that are out there somewhere.
I drove the two hours fifteen minutes to Whitney on Wye to see my friend Martin. It was dismal, with constant drizzle the entire way. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to make the trip, not that I didn’t want to see my friend it was the distance, and the cost of the fuel to get there. The shogun is a big beast with a thirst, I put seventy pounds worth of unleaded in it and I had a bit to spare when I got back. These are things I have to factor in these days, I had already made the trip once, and I had guilt that it might be the last time I would see him, although I have said that for the last twenty years, one day it will be true.
It was good to see him, even though he was drugged up on Tramadol, an opioid painkiller that he swallows in some quantity.
It is their dogs that bother me, he has two Newfoundlands that are the size of small horses. They barge their way around making it uncomfortable. They frequently send great blobs of slobber in every directions. It has got to the point when Martin, and his wife Liz are not capable of handling them anymore. Not that I’m sitting in judgment, I like dogs, normal size ones, not giants.
When I leave, I’m never sure if I will find large strings of goop stuck to my clothes, fortunately I never wear anything precious that’s for sure.
Nicola and Colin took me for breakfast at the Hartley farm shop at Winsley. The quality of the service matched the food. It is pleasant to be served by someone who appears to enjoy the job. There have been many instances when the atmosphere has been tainted by the lacklustre attitude by the server. In America service is a little over the top, but there is a not so subtle agenda going on. I have covered this many times, waiting staff are actors, performing in order to get money. With card based payments you get handed a tablet that has a number of gratuity options ranging from 10 up to 30 percent. This of course is applied to the total cost of the meal, which can be significant.
The action of the staff is the same, whether the serving is a sandwich or a fillet steak.
It is a form of slavery, I feel sorry for them, but I hate the whole system.
Now I need to calm down, the breakfast was great, just enough to satisfy, and not bloat, a wonderful start to the day.
After that we spent time weeding and planting a few plants Nicola had brought with her. This will be a colourful addition to the garden that I will not get to see, unfortunately.
I walked to Ryan and Louise’ house for a Sunday roast, I needed the walk back to settle my tummy, phew!
I had every intension of getting to the tip early, but as I arrived there was an ominous line of cars at the gate.
“Did it open at 10.00?” it was 09.35, “I’m not bloody waiting” I muttered under my breath.
An alternative plan was brewing in my head, I had to go somewhere else to get some paint, and there was a tip there, so I could kill two birds with one stone. However that meant driving to Wiltshire’s anus, Melksham.
“How bad could it be?” It’s been ages since I went there last, how has it changed?
The tip was close to the Herman Miller factory, a dull architectural blot, its only redeeming features were it was near the tip.
Firstly I nearly missed it, I should have noticed the queue outside. So I started the wait.
I hate waiting, one by one a car would leave, so the queue would shorten, finally it was my turn, I reversed into the available slot only to find the garden waste was at the far end, and as I had loose pieces of tree it took many trips, but once finished the feeling of accomplishment came over me, now to get the paint.
That was another waiting experience, roadworks slowed everything down to a snail’s pace.
As I continued to age, I arrived at my destination, quickly finding the colour paint I wanted I was out of there as quickly as I could.
I still had more crap to dump back at the cottage, but it then started to rain.
Thanks to my weather app I only had to wait twenty minutes for it to stop then I loaded up the truck heading for Trowbridge.
I was disappointed, there were no queues to moan about, so the whole thing took no time at all.
There was a bit of painting to tidy up some of the walls, and a great opportunity to play my old git music, bliss.
I decided to eat at the The Dandy Lion as a treat, this would be only the second glass of beer this whole trip, mmm, I must be slipping.
I didn’t bother even to change into my work clothes, because my friend Dave was visiting again.
It is interesting, because the conversation goes in many directions, at once, if you could generate energy from his jaw movements it could power a small village.
We talk about our history, clients that came to the studio, any that are still alive? There were alway stories about the jokes we played on them.
We we turned into the town for some lunch. We alway end up at the same place, I suppose he likes the fish finger sandwiches.
The cafe is an odd place, it closes at three in the afternoon, we will be talking and then notice that the place is deserted and the staff are putting the chairs on the tables. Even for Dave that is a hint that we should be leaving. Having finished our food, and squeezed the life out of the teabag in the pot we left, heading for the train station.
A train to Warminster was due, the small platform was packed with schoolchildren who would be fighting over the few available seats in the three carriages.
We talked about the inevitable time when trains will not have a driver, it’s probably much easier to have driverless trains than cars.
On that thought, Dave disappeared into the crowd, I expect looking for someone to talk to.
I was there early, and met with large gates across the entrance. The opening times are still the winter timetables, that changes in April.
That was annoying, so back I drove with a truck full of logs.
I got on with clearing the old cladding, bagging it up ready for disposal.
I also used up some feather board offcuts to fill in areas of the shed that is planned for my next trip.
As my time in the UK is coming to the end, I have to prioritise tasks in order to leave the place clean because there are guests due the day after I leave, no pressure then.
I had to drive the truck, complete with logs, to Ryan’s as he needed to use it on Friday, and as I had Dave coming over again, so it worked out well.
Kelli continues to exceed all expectations for selling furniture while I’m away, I daren’t suggest that I spend more time away, but her monthly sales are running higher than when I contribute.
She has to deal with many issues, but dispute working in the cold, she continues to forge forward with amazing energy, she’s my hero.
Another Lifetime to go 