Z lunches out

 I may return to Blogger, my other blog is playing up.  I don't know whether it's my server or Wordpress or what, but I can't get into it tonight and I'm losing patience.

It's now six months since Tim died and his house in Reading is on the market.  It has to be sold, I am not moving there and it would be absurd to keep both of them.  It's a lovely house and would make a wonderful home for a new family, especially if they love to throw parties.  It's perfect for parties.

Today, my sister Wink and I took my younger son Ro out for lunch at his local pub, which was really excellent.  His small children were with us and the children's menu was a decent one, including the option of the Sunday roast that Ro and I had.  The children were adorable and behaved very well.  It's worth getting children used to being in restaurants, if possible, because they learn how to behave in company.  Young Perdita had fish fingers, mashed potato and peas and she pretty well ate the lot, and it was a generous portion.  She's only just two, but she has a very healthy appetite.

I'm lending Ro my car, because I've bought an electric one - I've kept Tim's lovely 14 year old BMW and it is expensive to run, so I've got one that's cheap to run, to balance it.  But Ro could do with a car and it's a decent one, so this makes sense.  We had a quick run with it this morning - it's the first time he's driven an automatic and he didn't quite know what to do with his left hand or foot.  It' won't take long for it to be second nature.  I've always alternated between automatic and a car with a clutch, it's fine ... mostly.  Next time I go to Reading, later this month, I'll go in the BMW and it's fine until, after a long time on the motorway, you come to a junction and, ahem, forget about the clutch.  I haven't actually stalled yet.

If you're used to an automatic, an electric car isn't that different.  A few things to learn, though, no doubt I'll report back.

Sometimes I think that Tim is just behind me, but I don't look back because he isn't.  It's all very dismal and lonely, but of course it is.  I cope as best I can, and my holiday in Atlanta, back in January, was wonderful and did me a lot of good.

Comfort comes in odd ways

 From 21st September

I drove back down to Reading this morning. It was the last thing I wanted to do but I'm having to share my time between Norfolk and here for now. I have a list of things to do over the next few days - notifying all the other companies etc and changing direct debits, getting the house valued, going through music to choose tracks for Tim's funeral and starting to sort things out. First will be his clothes, which will be put into bags, taken back and put into the Scope charity bin at the village hall. He's got a surprising amount of clothes in the wardrobes and drawers, but they're nearly all old because everything he wore most of the time is in Norfolk - where I've got to do the same job.

First, though, I had an appointment to see Tim, to say goodbye. He'd already gone, of course. I talked to him for ten minutes or so and stroked his face and his hand, then left. 

I'd had a bit of time at the house before that, which I used to look for documents, the one I needed being Viv's probate certificate. The solicitor had mentioned that Tim had told her that Viv's name had never been taken off the title deeds of the house - Viv was Tim's late wife. So I needed proof that he was the sole owner. I looked everywhere possible in the house, with no result, so went online to order a replacement. It's a mere £1.50 to access online and is a simple process. I had found Viv's funeral service leaflet so knew the date. But I ran out of time to finish the order and was going to do it later.

Having arrived back, feeling even worse than I had all day, it occurred to me that Tim's office, unused for a few years, was outside in the brick-built shed. It looks like a garage, but inside there are two rooms, the other being a toolshed, and he'd told me that he used to do all Viv's admin when she was an Ofsted inspector, some 20 years ago. Perhaps the papers were there.

It took me a while to find the keys, but I got in there and found a filing cabinet. Neatly labelled files at the top, box files in the lower drawers. It's all there. All his bank accounts and investments and all the papers I needed. Tim didn't really send me there, of course, but I think I'll choose to believe he did, because it's some comfort at a wretched time.

I've rather hit the buffers now, but nice people are coming to clean the house soon, so I'll just clear away anything in their way and then browse through music for a bit. Admin can wait until tomorrow. Lovely friends have invited me over tonight, so I won't be alone this evening. 

Lovely Tim

 People don't update bookmarks and notifications any more - I know that I don't.  I use a feed reader, so at least I know when blogs have been updated, even after several years.  But I touch base here once in a while, if there's something to say that you might feel you'd want to know.

I wish I didn't have this to say today, but I'll have to.  My Tim died a fortnight ago.  It was sudden and unexpected, though he was waiting for an evaluation to decide on treatment for a failing aortic valve.  There isn't much more to say, I've had to repeat the tale too many times already.  He died at his house in Reading, so I'm holding his funeral there and then bringing his ashes back here, where there will be a short service in our local church, where we were married.  

People are looking after me but it's hard to bear it.  There isn't any alternative, there's too much to do.  

Family getting together

 Blogger is becoming impossible.  I don't often write here but I've started a post twice and, after a couple of lines, everything I've written has vanished.  This will be my final attempt.

I've continued to blog on the newer site, of course, but i know some people only have this one marked.  So, a quick update, from the middle of lockdown 2.

Rose and family moved out during the summer from the annexe.  She had been my very welcome guest for nearly six years and her Boy lived there too, once he'd finished university.  A year or so ago, he moved his girlfriend in and then Rose moved her new partner in.  Everyone got on well but the whole thing wasn't really sustainable, especially once lockdown came along and, in the end, Boy and Girl moved to Ipswich and Rose and Man moved nearer to Norwich, but still on the edge of a village next to a field.

We were perturbed about the prospect of the annexe being empty - there was no question of renting it out. The council had allowed me to have a friend living there as a guest, but it's a family annexe, not a letting property and that's fine by us.  It adjoins our house and you have to be very confident of a relationship to have anyone else here.  I didn't have anyone else who I thought I'd welcome except for a short time.  But it suddenly struck me that my sister Wink wanted to move up here and, though she'd been thinking of buying a place - no one thought of taking away Rose's home! - she might like to move in.  So, in short, we asked and she said yes.

It's been several months' process, but she finally moved in this week.  And all is well.  

Z chatters about anything but what's on everyone's mind

What strange times across the world.  I'm blogging (in The Other Place) to take our minds away from it - this has its disadvantages in that I won't have the memories of how it feels to look back on, but I see my role in life as cheering people up, on the whole.  Anyway.  http://razorbladeoflife.co.uk, if you're looking for it.

HNY and all that...

Trying to comment on a friend's blog, I find I've been signed out of Google.  I haven't of course, but I do get signed out of Blogger and it's quite a trick to get back in again.  I come here and I'm signed in but I go elsewhere and I'm not.  Of course, Blogger is free at the point of use, so not important to the mighty Google.

Hope all is well with you.  I do have notifications of a visit a day or so and, though I assume they're from spammers, if you're a real person and prefer me to post here than on my other blog, I could do both.  Let me know.

Z remembers the house - er, hotel - where she was born

A friend said that blogging with Blogger is awkward on a Mac, so I thought I'd have a go; though in fact, she uses an iPad and I'm on the desktop.  The desktop iMac, that is, for you literalists out there.

We went to visit my sister last week, which was a lovely break.  We visited Weymouth one day, where I was born.  LT grew up a bit further along the coast, so knew the town rather better than I did; though everywhere has changed a lot in the past half century.  He decided not to go to his home town of Bournemouth, he thought it would be too depressing.  However, we were rather gratified to discover that Weymouth seafront and the old harbour were much as they had always been.

This is the old harbour. The side where we walked still has cars parked facing the water, but now there are huge sleepers to stop them rolling into the water as well as a kerb at the edge, which is very sensible but, perhaps, removes the little frisson of daredevilry that there used to be.

And here, in the random order that Blogger always loved, are pictures of the Riviera Hotel, where I was born and lived until I was three or four. It looks magnificent as you come round the bend and down the hill but is, unfortunately, marred by the funfair in front. It has been nicely maintained but it's not as smart as you'd think such a fine Art Deco building would be.