Our Vacation

(from 2013)

There used to be a family near us, Mr and Mrs P, who made home movies. Those were the days of 8mm film, which you stuck together with sticky tape and put through a machine that whirred away to cast a flickering light on a sheet pinned to the wall. They once invited us around and out of the blue announced they were going to give us a REAL TREAT – a film of their most recent vacation.

From the equipment and impedimenta, it appeared to be about twenty reels long, and judging from the first one we saw was likely to feature Mrs P cavorting about in a less than flattering swimsuit, displacing vast quantities of ocean as she repeatedly plunged in for the benefit of Mr P’s camera. After about five minutes the bulb blew. Mr. P did not have a spare. It was the answer to a silent prayer.

I am mindful of that when I consider writing about our vacation. Who on earth wants to know about someone else’s vacation? The scenery was nice, the weather was so-so, the food and drink put us in a contented frame of mind – and after seven days no doubt we will go home to reality a lot poorer financially than when we went away. End of story.

Actually, now I’ve started, I could do a little promotional for the area. We are near Tintagel in North Cornwall. It is all very dog friendly. All the pubs have bowls of water and dog treats on the counter. Nearly all the shops are similar. It is canine heaven. Of course, if you don’t like dogs, and don’t want to be tripped up by assorted dog leads with mutts on the end of them every time you venture out of doors, it may not be the place for you. But daughter and son in law have Muttley (not its real name) and this is their fourth excursion into this area. They were really keen to show us the sights, so we came along.

This vacation has been really necessary. My elderly mother needs constant care, which we have provided with carers and sitters and all sorts of support services. But we made a fatal mistake – several months ago we made a small request: could the carers be granted another fifteen minutes to help with proper feeding? It was as if World War Three had broken out – a three ring circus promptly ensured, involving nurses and social workers and interminable meetings and interminable “action plans” spread over two months. Social workers seem to work on the basis that everyone is a villain, that family and friends are the worst, and everyone is guilty of the most heinous intentions, until proven innocent – and even then... It seems to go with the territory, but there have been some dreadful scandals in the UK causing professional heads to roll, so one can understand. Except when it’s your life turned upside down just trying to get the best care for an elderly parent. Only on the day before our vacation started was it finally sorted out. We’ve paid for someone to sleep at my mother’s home while we are away, so with that and the four calls per day we have been able to go away, and for the first time in several years not worry overmuch.

So we walked, we talked, and we slept. Then we sang, played Trivial Pursuit and yes – slept again. We visited the fishing village of Port Isaac and watched them filming an episode of a British series called Doc Martin. At odd moments I wrote several pieces for different things, and finally sorted out my laptop desktop. Mrs O says that my computer desktop is even worse than my office. My office is the room where we have to keep the door shut whenever we have visitors. Only once have I been caught out when someone Skyped me, and unthinkingly I answered to find myself looking at my unshaven self in the corner of the screen with a visual illustration of “chaos theory” behind me. But you can actually see a bit of a pattern behind the rows of icons on the computer desktop, and my key files are safely backed up in case the laptop goes to that great scrapheap in the sky.

So – highlights? One was the reminder that it is a small world sometimes, even amongst a religious fellowship of 140,000 and an island like the British Isles. We attended a meeting at a place we’d never been anywhere near before. This particular event encourages audience participation – but when I waved my hand, I was called upon by name. Uh? How on earth did the guy know who I was? When Mrs O had the same experience, the penny dropped – we might be in Cornwall now, but we’d been with this person at a disastrous wedding in Liverpool of all places a couple of decades before. (That’s another story). And then I turned around and – well, love me tender and call me Elvis – there was a relative I hadn’t spoken to for decades!! Well, not exactly a relative, but this man’s brother is married to the sister of the man who was my mother’s second husband... I reminded him of this and he looked puzzled...

Another highlight has been earlier this evening visiting a folk club at a place called Boscastle. Now I like going to folk clubs on holidays. It means I can sing from my limited repertoire, content that the crowd have not heard it all before. I can also try out things I wouldn’t dare try out at home. If they are a disaster – a not infrequent happening – then I never have to see those people again. And anyway, unlike the religious connections, these people won’t ever remember me from Adam, so who cares.

I could tell you what I sang. Hmmm. I could... But... now with a glass of Blossom Hill red at my elbow and just one more day to go before returning home to reality, recollections are turning sort of vague. Hence – at this point I guess I can go full circle on this post, and state metaphorically that the bulb has broken.

And I don’t have a spare.

Aren’t you glad!