Alright my lover?

This week I have been down in Plymouth with the sole purpose of moving my aged mother up to a flat in Hoylake on the Wirral. My mother is 86 years old, and by the look of some photographs we found, was a bit of a looker all those years ago. No wonder she caught my father's eye.

We moved down to Plymouth as a family in 1959 from Isleworth in West London. My dad worked for National Benzole, a petrol company, in those days and was posted to Devon and Cornwall a year or so earlier. He supervised the completion of our house which was part of  a Costain development  in Plymstock and my mum and I moved down when it was ready.

I went to school in Plymstock from 1959 until 1964 when I moved to a grammer school in Beacon Park, Plymouth. The area was notarised by the folk singer, Cyril Tawney, in his ballad of the same name, and there I stayed until 1971 when I upped sticks and moved back to London to go to college.

My mum and dad stayed in Plymouth. My dad retired in 1975 and my mum set up and ran a pre-school playgroup in a local church hall, with one of her closest friends. There are many Plymouthians who went through that facility at a time when play groups were relatively new and certainly not as regulated as they are now.

When my dad died in 1980, my mum stayed in the family home for a few years, before deciding to try to settle back in her family town of Wisbech. Sadly her family never really embraced her and after a few years she abandoned the exercise and returned to Devon. An inappropriate house purchase in Oreston soon found her back in Plymstock, living less than 100yards from the original family home.

Yesterday she said goodbye to Plymstock and that house, her home for twenty years,  for the last time. We spent the week filling a skip with 'stuff' that people of all ages collect over time, and which has little or no value, either sentimental or monetary. We then labeled the furniture which was to be collected and distributed to the poor and needy, as mum's new flat is fully furnished and brand new. We then sat back and waited for the removal people.

As I write this, they are moving my mum into her new home, having earlier delivered all the unwanted car bootie from her house to Oxton. We will probably need two or three sales to clear it all.

The new home is about 20  minutes away from us, no longer a 5 hour journey if emergencies call. It has an in-house warden and is populated by about 25 other like minded souls looking for companionship, security and a bit of sea air.

So ends her 50 year relationship with Plymstock. Many of her good friends did not last as long, and those that are still there popped in to say goodbye, knowing they would never see her again, but would stay in touch by phone or letter, a trait still very common with the older generation.

She did not seem sad to go, and being blessed still with a sharp mind , she sees the move as a new adventure to be embraced as enthusiastically as that train journey on Brunel's mighty GWR  all those years ago.

Will I miss Plymouth?  No not really, its not been my home for almost 40 years, Although I made many of my strongest and longest lasting friendships there, those friends no longer live there.  I expect I will find myself down there again, not least when I have to reunite my mum and dad for the final time, but for now it's up the Argyle and  continue to try to master the golf course which is Wallasey.

Proper job.

A little bit of everything Sir?

Not to be confused with a little something for the weekend......

I was transported back in time yesterday when I caught the Virgin trains Liverpool to london express yesterday. it was a short notice work trip so there was nothing for it but to travel 1st Class. You could have blown me over with t feather when i found out it featured the 'full English' on the menu.

Now in days gone by, when I travelled regularly in the chocolate and cream coloured coaches pulled by brunswick green locomotives like the Cornish Riviera express and the Flying Scotsman, I would regularly have time to grab the 'full English' between Paddington and Bristol or Bath.

The meals were served from huge silver platters by attendants in smart red and black uniforms, and the opportunity for an extra rasher or two eggs was always available. It was like a gentlemans club as the staff took great pride in their work and knew many of the regulars by first name terms.

So what of the modern equivalent? Well the menu could not be faulted, cereal, fruit juice, tea and coffee, toast and croissants followed by 'full English' or bacon or sausage baps. Both the sausage and bacon were top drawer, and the potato rosti with fried egg just hit the spot.

The only thing lacking was the 'service' mentality of the staff. Many of them were struggling to raise a smile or pass the time of day with their clients, and all gave the appearance of a jobsworth just waiting for it all to end. There was no opportunity to have extra tea or coffee if you missed the urn run, and it would have probably been unwise to ask for an extra banger. Hey, lets be positive though, it was a great start to the day, and at £129 for the ticket, probably the most expensive breakfast I have ever eaten!!

The journey home though was a nightmare, as the train was declassified due to route cancellations. So 1st Class was chocka and no food service was available except from the buffet car, the train was an hour late into Liverpool as it stopped at additional stations in and near Birmingham, consequently the £57 fare home did not even come close to value for money. I could have gone cattle for £12!!

Still the Wifi is fab and that kept me sane, and it was better than spending 7 hours on the motorway, after all, and it was not Virgins fault some little scrot wrecked the signalling system in the West Midlands, was it?