write.as/jonbeckett

It's been a long day. A long, cold, windy, wet day.

We went to watch our middle daughter play rugby, and to help out with some of the jobs involved in making a rugby match happen. For me, this comprised standing at the entrance of an overflow car park in a reflective orange tabard for an hour – in bitter cold and driving rain. My youngest daughter came with me and entertained in ways only she knows.

Oh, the fun we had counting cars into and out of the car park while trying to keep track of how full it had become. Who needs expensive video game machines to while away an hour?

After refuelling in the clubhouse, courtesy of a cup of tea in a paper cup and a sausage sandwich, we headed back out into the rain and watched the game – keeping the official match score sheet along the way.

Once the match finished – after having spent the better part of three hours in the rain, which had now seeped through coats, hats, gloves, scarves, sweaters, trousers and underwear – we helped with the clear-up too.

Something struck me while wandering back to our car. There were 18 kids in the team today. Potentially 36 parents. Less than a quarter of that number turned up, and of those only myself, my other half, and another mum helped with anything. Between us we set the pitch up, staffed the car parks, kept score, helped cook food for the players, and took the pitch back down. It didn't occur to anybody else to help.

I thought many hands were supposed to make light work.

After getting home we stripped off the wet clothes and dug out fresh, warm, dry clothes before collapsing on the sofa with hot drinks. The washing machine has been running ever since.

We finally ate this evening at 8pm. Washing up was done by 9pm. Sunday has gone, and we're all tired.

Somebody asked me earlier if I might be watching the “Superbowl”. I'll be amazed if I'm still awake in half an hour, let alone the early hours of tomorrow morning.

I'm sitting on the train, heading east across the country towards home. Thankfully the trains and replacement bus services have connnected so far – hurtling me across the countryside at quite some speed. In contrast with my journey west last weekend, the beginning of this journey was somewhat more chaotic. I stood crammed into the corner of the first train of my route, wondering what on earth was going on.

The green army. That's what was going on. Plyouth Argyle football club were playing at home. Young people from all over the south west were travelling to Plymouth by any means possible to support “their team”.

The coach and connecting trains ever since have been mercifully quiet. During the spring or summer this journey is very, very different. You get on the train near London, and it swoops along the coast towards the south west – crossing famous viaducts along the way that have been made famous in countless movies. During this winter they have been moving sections of the line away from the ocean – away from crashing waves that have caused damage for many years.

In half an hour I will arrive at Reading, and change trains once again. An hour after that I will be walking home from our local railway station – dragging the bag behind me that has seen a remarkable amount of the world. It's been to the USA, to Germany (many times), to Turkey, Spain, France (again, many times), Ireland, Egypt, Scotland, Wales... the list goes on.

I'm looking forward to seeing my family now. I'm a little apprehensive of the mountain of chores I'll walk into, but they aren't really important – they'll get done soon or later. I'm also looking forward to my own bed, my own computer, my own coffee, and a hundred other things. Even though I'm pretty much self sufficient, it's surpring how many things you start to miss when removed from your normal routine – especially after the past few years where you haven't set foot outside the house for weeks at a time.

One thing is certain. Tomorrow morning I'm pulling my running shoes back on. It's been far too long – particularly after witnessing the situation my Dad now finds himself in. No excuses. I've done it before, and I can do it again.

It's the final evening of my stay with my parents. For the past two weeks my brother and I have stayed with them to help out – to take the pressure off my Mum while my Dad has recovered from a viral infection that resulted in a hospital stay.

I leave tomorrow.

This evening I made enough dinner to freeze the leftovers into a number of pots for future meals. Meals my parents won't have to think about making. Healthy meals. I have no illusions that as soon as I leave they will be back eating chips.

I'm going to have to try not to think about that. I've done what I can.

The journey home will take about five hours if all the trains connect. Back to a world of clothes washing and tidying up – but also a world of smiles from my teenage daughters, of stories of the week just gone, and plans for the future.

While talking with my parents over the past week the difference between their world and the world of my children has been defined in quite stark relief. Where my parents are now elderly and reminisce endlessly about times past my children are filled with hope, longing and plans for the future.

I find myself in a strange limbo between the worlds of young and old – an automaton in the vast machinery of the universe – going around in circles, throwing money into a bottomless hole in the ground, and getting nowhere fast. Along the way I record stories that I will one day bore my children with.

Maybe through writing the blog I can just hand the manuscript over to them, and tell them “here – read this – then you don't have to listen”.

Being away from my family is strange. You would think I would sleep more heavily in a room on my own, but the opposite has been true this week – usually up before the sun, making breakfast and coffee for my parents.

Last night I had checked the weather forecast and planned a walk down to the ocean in the early morning sunshine. While the weather failed to cooperate, a little after breakfast I still found myself on the beach. The route follows a couple of miles through quiet lanes and farm tracks – I didn't see a single soul.

After wandering the beach for twenty minutes or so I walked home – and grinned while approaching the house that it was still not 9am. How time doesn't fly when you're away from the usual chaos and mayhem of family life.

While at the beach I remembered years past – visiting with friends and family – and wondered how many generations have done the same. The ocean slowly reclaims the coast. I have read accounts of a small parish here that vanished beneath the waves perhaps a hundred years ago – of a village green with dancing and music in the summer. All of it long gone. I looked out on the slow rolling waves and wondered if they remember.

When I was young there was a cottage on one side of the bay – it's remains are now long gone – the cliff it once stood on shattered among the strata that breaking waves now wash smooth.

Time is a strange thing. We are here for moments, and we leave little behind. I found myself wondering what the lives of the people that onced danced on that village green were like. What they yearned for and what made them happy. I wondered if they might have really been that different than generations past or yet to come.

Anyway.

It's probably coffee o'clock. And time to ask my Dad what he might like for lunch.

I cut my Dad's hair this morning. He sat in a chair in the middle of the lounge while I figured out how to use his hair clippers. He received the same all-purpose haircut I give myself – although not quite as short as I go. My Mum stood over me throughout, expecting me to decapitate him or something. At the end she remarked how much more quickly I did it than when she does – I'm not quite sure how anybody could take more than a few minutes to clipper somebody's hair off.

He's a little better again today – although there are still moments when he doesn't know what to do with himself. I don't envy the endless stream of tablets he's taking either. I don't think he'll be back to any kind of normal for several months but at least he's through the worst of his ordeal (fingers crossed).

For dinner this evening I made baked potatoes with a salad, and used the leftover chilli from earlier in the week. Everybody cleared their plate, so I must have done something right. Tomorrow night's meal will be chicken curry. I'm not sure what we'll do on Friday night yet – we'll figure it out when we get there, I suppose.

After being holed up in my parents house for the last few days, I'm going slightly stir-crazy. Now I know my Dad is on the mend I'm going to escape for a couple of hours tomorrow (if the weather is nice) and walk down to the sea. The walk is fairly steep, passing through farmland as it winds it's way down. It's about a two mile walk each way.

Note to self – must check the tide times.

In other news, inbetween making meals, washing up, and helping stop my Mum from fussing today I crossed path with a kindred spirit on the internet, and the world has seemed a little bit smaller and a little bit more friendly this evening. Long may it continue.

Life happens so more slowly down here. It has taken some time to adjust – to slow myself down. Yesterday morning, after making breakfasts, washing up, and racing through some chores I found myself at a loose end. Today I'm settling into it a little more.

Of course I'm really here to make life easier for my Mum. Dad has slept a lot each day so far – no doubt the result of the cocktail of drugs he is on. He's getting better each day though – little by little. This evening we are ordering food in for the first time this week – essentially me letting my parents off the hook before I cook again tomorrow.

For lunch I re-heated the leftover bolognese from earlier in the week. I think pasta meals always taste better the next day – the sauce thickens up and becomes proper comfort food.

It's very strange – being out of the loop with the rest of my life going on several hundred miles away. Even though I've worked from home – via the internet – for the last couple of years, I have still been in a busy household with my daughters coming and going, or heading into town running errands most days. My parents live a much more secluded life – away from nearby towns, and rarely visiting them. I'm not sure I could ever get used to it.

Earlier today I looked in on my work email account to make sure I'm not needed for anything too urgent. Later this afternoon I'm joining an online meeting with my daughter's college teacher to find out how well she's doing. It feels like reaching out to normality.

While making meals, doing chores, and talking with my parents, the television is ever-present in the background. You don't realise you've started watching it with them until you suddenly realise you've become invested in the story of an animal rescue worker on the streets of San Francisco that has found a cat that went missing from Florida seven years previously.

Daytime television is a strange sort of placatory drug – that teaches nothing while acting as the vehicle for an avalanche of advertisements about life insurance, pensions, and healthcare.

This morning I defrosted the freezer in the garage so my parents can order frozen meals to get them through the next several months without having to worry about cooking. There is a company we have used at home when pushed that deliver good quality frozen food. It turns out they can deliver to my parents house. Huge win.

I'll write more later – I need to start thinking about making dinner. My Dad has a pretty strict routine with the various tablets he is taking, so I'm having to work around that with meal times. I'm making chilli tonight.

(An hour passes while I go on a magical mystery tour through the cupboards to find long grain rice – it turns out my Mum has no system at all for storing things, but knows exactly where things SHOULDN'T go – and she doesn't mind telling you).

Dinner is done! Everybody clean plated again, so I must have got something right. We have enough left over to make baked potatoes with chilli later in the week. Apparently tomorrow night we're ordering something to be delivered. I wonder how I can ensure that whatever gets delivered is at least a little healthy?

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm on call to make another cup of tea before finding somewhere quiet to sit down with my book.

After meeting my brother at the railway station yesterday afternoon we immediately detoured to a grocery store so I could pick up the ingredients to make meals over the next few days. Healthy meals.

Tonight I made a vegetable version of bolognese and must have done something right because everybody clean-plated. We had enough left over for a couple of lunches in the week – mostly because I'm used to cooking for a family of five. I think somehow I'll be helping re-write the grocery delivery order tomorrow morning – adding fruit, green vegetables, and juice.

It's been an interesting stay so far. The biggest struggle has been to stop my Mum helping. I'm here so she gets a rest – but trying to stop her is... challenging. I get it. I will probably always be the same with my children. Somehow I managed to keep her out of the kitchen long enough this evening to get the meal cooked before she could offer any input. I wonder if I'll be able to achieve the same tomorrow?

We're having beef chilli tomorrow night.

My Dad is on the slow road to recovery. He's not allowed to do too much and is on a cocktail of tablets, but is doing well. I'll let him have a cheat night or two in terms of food later in the week – for the moment I just want to get some half-decent food into him.

We're drinking cups of tea at a frightening rate. I don't think I've boiled the kettle so many times in a single day ever before.

Anyway.

That's all I really have to share. I'm taking each day as it comes, and seeing what the next day brings. That's all I really can do. Feel free to message me (details are in the about page) – I'm here all week!

I'm currently sitting on a train, watching the world hurtle past at quite some speed. After hiding in the junk room for the better part of two years toiling away on work projects, I'm re-locating to the coast for a week to help my parents. On my own.

This journey came about a little over a week ago when my father was admitted to hospital – my brother travelled down from the north to stay with them this week – I'm taking over for the next week – doing chores, cooking meals, making cups of tea, listening to stories, and helping in any way I can.

Fingers crossed, the journey has been uneventful so far. Trains have been on time, and connections have been as predicted. The journey would have been swift if not for engineering works along the way necessitating a “replacement bus service” for an hour of the route. I still have that hurdle to come – in an hour or so.

At Reading station I found myself with half an hour between trains so sought out a quiet waiting room – partially filled with people quietly reading books or with their noses buried in phones. They were all socially distanced, and all wearing face masks. That story changed when a train full of travelling football fans arrived that had been drinking all morning (I encountered them at 9:30am). None of them had face masks, and many of them were already drunk. Several of those I encountered were carrying plastic bags full of beer bottles. It doesn't paint a great picture of football, does it.

It's at times like these I'm glad my daughters play rugby. That said, our youngest received tickets for Christmas to watch England Ladies play later in the year – thankfully the experience of visiting their games is nothing like watching the mens team. The stadium will be filled with families, and few if any armies of neanderthal lunatics.

I still have an hour to go on this part of the journey. I packed the Kindle, the Fire tablet, and a paper book. I will not get bored. I've been reading “The Circle” by Dave Eggers recently – that was made into a truly awful movie with Tom Hanks and Emma Watson a few years ago. The book is a LOT better than the movie so far. I've also got the follow-up book “The Every” to read. If you've not heard of them, go search them out – just don't watch the movie.

If I get through both books I also have “Snowcrash” waiting in the wings. I started reading it last summer but didn't get very far – my main recollection was that the author tried far too hard in the first few chapters, but then settled down into a readable story. I hate it when writers do that – try to appear clever, or wordy, or impenetrably “hip”. They invariably let the mask slip after a while and their true voice, or style comes through, but it's terrible hard going until you get through their attempt to piss the highest.

Anyway. This post has gone on for far too long already. I'll attempt to post this in a few minutes via the sporadic mobile internet connections the train is hurtling through.

Wish me luck!

Tomorrow morning I leave for the coast. After a short walk to the local railway station I will board a succession of trains and buses that will (hopefully) deliver me to deepest, darkest cornwall by mid-afternoon.

My bags are packed – filled with enough clean clothes to see me through the next week before reversing the journey next Saturday.

I'm taking the Kindle rather than any paper books, and my “little laptop that could” (a hand-me-down that is just about capable of posting to the blog). After so many months coccooned in the study at home, it will be nice to escape for a few days – even if the primary purpose of my visit is to run errands, do chores, and so on.

My other half decided that going to the pub for dinner was a very good idea this evening, given that I won't be here next week. I think this had more to do with her having a rubbish day at work than me going away, but I'm not going to complain.

I'm starving. I might have to go sneak something from the kitchen before we go out later.

(half an hour passes, while I make a sandwich, and then return and fall into a deep internet rabbit hole, reading about the production of the movie “Wargames”). If you have an enquiring mind, access to the internet is like pouring petrol on a fire.

I suppose I should go and put a smart top on if we're going to the pub.