It wasn't raining but it had to blow a gale from the SE. Why does the wind always blow in your face?
It was only 30 miles from home to Foxearth, where my father has now been transferred and I did manage to make the journey that I had promised myself last week, on his bike. It may well be the last time we do it together, that bike and I, because yesterday morning I ordered a new one. More of that later.
However much you think that you might have prepared yourself for these changing circumstances, there is nothing like the stark reality of sitting with your dad in a care home to make you realise that you were never ready for it and are unlikely to accept the reality anytime soon.
I arrived at my mothers 4 miles away from where he is being looked after, (I started to write,' his new home,' but there you have it you see. I can't write that, because it's not his home. It's where he is being cared for. Home will always be where my mother is and where he took us out sailing or bird-watching from. Where he tended his amazing gardens and honed his skills as a photographer and then wood carver.
Foxearth is a wonderfully fresh and airy place nestled fittingly for my father, - since he spent his working life in agriculture, - in the middle of a working farm. The courtyard area outside his window is full of flowers and small shrubs and has a plentiful array of bird feeders for him to watch. (I am going to ask the staff if I may fit a window box or feeder close to his window, because he will love that.)
When I first arrived he was asleep. I was glad for that since it gave me time to adjust.
Since you will not see a picture of my Dad, but may see plenty of me, it suffices to know that I am a chip of the old block. Oh except for one thing. He has size 9 feet. How do I know this? Because I am sat with him, wearing his shoes, having forgotten to throw mine into the car that the family followed me down in. Jeans and cycle shoes don't go....but then neither do size 9 shoes on a size 11 foot.