At a Loss . . .

Rather than head back north to Orkney, sanity, peace and good friends, I suggested that we head south to see my father who is just about to have his 80th birthday. My mother and I don't have a good relationship, and these visits are always fraught with difficulty. She has refused to let us visit before and now, as we were on the verge of leaving Fife, she did it again but, as we'd already booked and paid for the hotel we decided to go anyway.

The compromise was that we would see Dad for an hour.

This is the man, who as well as looking after my mother, looked after the five of us children, and worked in a highly demanding job in the nuclear fuels industry. He was the one we went to for everything from hugs and cuddles to money for sanitary products! Nothing fazed him! He was the one we called for if we were ill or frightened in the night. He cooked a fried breakfast for us every day except Saturday, he showed me how to use all the tools he had in his shed, he taught me to drive, to swim, he has the patience of a saint and although I have often seen him exasperated, I have only once seen him lose his temper. I could go on and on.

I admit I see him through rose tinted spectacles, I am the eldest, he was my protector from my mother and her rages. More than 10 years ago he had a stroke, loosing the use of his left arm and leg, and now he has dementia. It was lovely to see him, we chatted about the garden, but he was very tired and worried about upsetting my mother and it was very depressing.

And my mother didn't have the energy to cope with Mike and I for more than an hour. She didn't even see Mike. She retreated to her bed before we got there. I cannot think of anything charitable to say about her. One of my sisters still lives close by and she is round to see them every day. She has my greatest respect on that front!

But . . .

We stayed at a very nice old hotel. Shabby but very friendly is probably the best description! We had a really good time, took Ollie for great long walks along the beach, runs on Lytham Green and round Fairhaven Lake, all my old childhood haunts! As a teenager I used to work all summer with the beach ponies at Lytham, up and down, up and down, until the end of the day when we could ride them back to Blackpool along the beach, about 8 miles! I think it got rid of the ponies frustration as well as ours!

Mike and I sat on the front, overlooking the Ribble estuary, seeing Southport in the distance. The shrimp and cockle fishers were busy with their tractors and boats, the sea is so far away at low tide that they need tractors to tow them down to the water. We chatted to other dog walkers, drank lots of coffee, ate bacon sandwiches and did the crossword in the Sunday paper. I'm still amazed to be sitting outside, on the pavement, in Lytham, in October! You wouldn't have dreamt of it when I left in the early 70s!

In the evening we had a delicious meal, in an Italian restaurant where the flower shop used to be, then walked back to the hotel and drank port while watching Match of the Day and knitting! Guess which one was doing which?!

Then the phone call. Could we possibly come back to Fife? Shelagh was now bedridden after damaging her back with all the heavy lifting etc. If it were a book, you would say it was implausible! So back to Fife then . . . ! Hey ho!