The Pegsdon Hills

My journey to see my dad has been a brief one. Most of the time I and my sister were with him he slept, and he will probably forget quite quickly that we were there. We chatted to his carers, to the age concern lady who keeps the house clean and tidy, and to the lady who delivers dad’s meals. As long as we can we want to keep him at home in familiar surroundings, and so following his last time in hospital and to help the carers we’ve changed things in the house. He’s settled into the new routines fine.

I always find it interesting to see what has changed in the town where I grew up. The high street is now dominated by eateries - lots of drinking establishments, but that has always been the case. Betting shops have now increased to three, sad to see the newest one occupying the old hardware store. In the extra the Stevenage knitters have topped the postbox with morris men - the adjacent building was in my youth the old town post office, it’s a camera shop these days.

The part of the 174 mile journey that I enjoy the most is that through the chalk hills on the Hertfordshire/Bedfordshire border. I stopped off at the usual lay-by to have my lunch and enjoy the chalk scenery. There were lots of little common blue butterflies flitting about, but not the red kites I always look out for here.