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The pavements in Cardiff are packed - of course they are; there are some 27,500 runners, plus supporters, in the Welsh capital to mark the 20th anniversary of the Cardiff Half Marathon. Even though Tom always drops me off in plenty of time to get to my starting pen, just moving through the crowd is a challenge. Although this is my 10th time of running this race and I should be used to it, I feel a bit tearful and lonely at this point. I know a dozen or so runners who’ll be here and a few of the spectators, but with that many participants there’s almost no chance of me meeting anyone en route. I resign myself to feeling a bit Billy No-Mates and look up to see my dear running buddy, Helen, who’s queuing for the loos! We have a joyful hug before going to our separate pens, where I meet a lovely group of women who are running to raise funds for Pancreatic Cancer UK. I think of my dad and start crying again. Thank you, ladies for supporting Pancreatic Cancer UK Before I can get too morose

The early autumn sky has been filled with the movement and sound of house martins swooping over the house, resting on the roof and sitting on the wires, chattering and clicking to each other. And now silence. Suddenly they’ve left, on their way back to sunnier climes. We, however, are not on our way. We reduce the asking price of our house which piques a smattering of interest, but not the deluge we’re hoping for. It’s even more soul-destroying than I expected when we started this process. ‘Everything will be okay in the end,’ I keep telling myself and even though I know there is no point in getting worked up about something that’s completely beyond my control, it’s hard to find acceptance. Sailing opportunities have been few and far between this year, but with an ideal combination of weather and tide, Tom and I set off to the boat with the aim of dropping anchor in the Pembroke River for an overnight stay. There’s just one problem; the engine won’t start and resists every effort to c

Our plans to move closer to family have fallen flat, along with the market. Despite what feels like an endless round of cleaning, tidying and leaving the place in showroom condition every time we go away, there are no takers for our lovely house looking out across Cardigan Bay. We’ll have to be patient. Ma’s needed a lengthy round of radiotherapy for a treatable skin cancer. My sister and her family take care of her for the first half and Tom and I takeover for the remainder. The Royal Marsden Hospital holds difficult memories for all of us; Tom was successfully treated there, but it was already too late for Dad when his pancreatic cancer was discovered. But it’s the unlikeliest of sights which brings sudden tears to my eyes when, as we walk past the hospital shop, I remember buying papers and small treats there for Dad when he was having his chemotherapy. Ma, however, whilst trepidatious about her treatment, puts on a brave face for the entire week; she looks fab, either matching

I hadn't realised it until now , but it’s probably no coincidence that my last post was about our trip to Norwich, a city I’ve loved since studying at UEA. I wrote, then, that coming home was a hard landing, a feeling that took me completely by surprise as it’s been such a privilege to live in this beautiful, remote spot on the very edge of the west Wales coast. A trip to Skye at the end of October - Tom’s choice - with Ma, was a truly lovely holiday. The weather was kind, the colours of those breathtaking seascapes will stay with me, as will all the happy memories we made that week. And, because our small cottage had been so beautifully modernised and worked so well for the three of us, it was easy to imagine what it might be like to live somewhere different. If travel doesn’t broaden the mind, it certainly brings a new perspective. By the end of the year, Tom and I had decided that it was time for a change, time to move closer to a town (we are neither of us, as they say, getting

  2022 has been an especially difficult and painful year for so many reasons and it won’t help to air them here. Besides, as my neighbour wisely says, ‘we are, all of us, in the shit, but some of us are in deeper than others.’ Still, the strain of the last nine months has been almost unbearable, so when - at last - we have some respite, we decide to take some proper time out and book not one, but two breaks. His and her choices, if you like. Our first trip is to Norwich, and UEA where I studied. It’s Freshers’ Week when we arrive and it’s a delight to see the campus filled with eager young faces - they all look so poised and confident to me. It’s a far cry from when I arrived in what I thought was a very cool fake fur coat and my one suitcase. I spent much of that first week in a state of constant anxiety or close to tears, but there seems to be far more help and support for these young people which must be a good thing! We visit the Sainsbury Centre, where I catch up on some favo

  Two years and more have passed since Tom was awarded his PhD, so when his degree ceremony is finally able to take place, it’s a poignant reminder that during the months when our lives were on hold, time did not stand still. Besides me, Tom had chosen our surviving parents to be his guests, but his dad, Ken, is no longer with us, so my stepson - Tom’s younger son - is here in his place and to pick up the lost threads. Lockdown wasn’t kind to either of our parents; it’s my 88-year-old Ma’s first outing in a large crowd and although she’s bursting with pride for Tom and relishing all the people-watching, she’s struggling with physical challenges. Ma, once a head-turning, tall, redhead is severely afflicted by osteoporosis and scoliosis; every step she takes is slow and careful and she’s now so small that whenever we have to move, I have to protect her from all the flying elbows and swinging handbags which threaten to knock her off her feet. Once seated, we can relax and enjoy the occasi