End of the road – at Happisburgh, where the cliffs are gradually eating into the land. I called in there a couple of days ago, after dropping some stuff off at Lucy’s and buying sausage and chips from the shop at Bacton and eating it in the car on Walcott seafront. I’d meant to eat it outside, but the place was crawling with little black flies. I drove on to Happisburgh to have a look at the erosion, and found that the village seemed to have given up – at least the part of it close to the cliffs. The houses were unpainted and falling apart, disused caravans and sheds lined the two roads, and there was an air of abandonment. Not surprising, I guess, but a little disappointing. What it needed was one of those eccentric Englishmen who would be painting the Titanic as it started to sink. Not enough defiance of the inevitable nowadays.
Today, after having our hair cut – and accepting an estimate for dramatic refurbishments to our shower room – we went to the hospital again, and saw Mr Sethia, my consultant. Discovered that the catheters I had been using were not what I thought they were. I was under the impression that they were solid things like pipe-cleaners. He revealed that they had a hole down the middle which was used to reveal whether or not you had reached the bladder (I leave the rest to your imagination: possibly not enough). I also found I should be using them every day for at least a couple of months, and not as suggested by the nurse. Just in time! I fixed an appointment to see him in the middle of October to see how things are going. As a precaution, I have also arranged an appointment with my own doctor for September 11 – principally to ask for antibiotics to take on holiday in case… well, it’s the best place for them.
Other than that it’s been a quiet week. The weather forecast promised sunny days, but in fact it’s been pretty cloudy, though warm. David and family arrived back from France on Tuesday, having had a much better time than last year, and Oliver and Amy are busy choosing what they’ll wear for our party on Sunday. Our car is still in the garage, but we’ve been promised it tomorrow afternoon. Dot tells me she is on schedule with her preparations for the weekend, and I’ve written my speech, though I will probably make some changes. I usually do. Thunderstorms are forecast. No, really! I have made strides with writing an account of my medical experiences of the last three months and am approaching the end of July! And I’ve entered a very short story in the Fish competition. It’s called The Threat.
Oh, I should have mentioned that today is my parents’ wedding anniversary. I think they were married in 1937, which would have made it their 71st. They would have been 96 and 95. Strange to think that my father died over half a century ago.
