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Shellfish Tale Reflections on a Normandy Beach By A Plumber Who would be a little cockle Hiding on a beach, Where furtive fingers hunt you down And pluck you like a peach? Perhaps you’d be a razor clam Waiting for the tide? ‘Til someone tugs you from your hole and takes you for a ride! They rake the sands They dig with forks They rip the mussels off their stalks And when you think you’re safe – oh f*ck it! You’re rudely flung into a bucket. Monday 15 September I insist that we visit the Cathedrale Notre Dame at Coutances and very fine it is too. Beautiful slender stone towers and spires, gorgeous medieval stained glass and the most amazing and awe-inspiring lantern. We have a wander round Coutances and enjoy the window boxes and floral displays before following the coast road back. A stop to enjoy the view proves that not only is the sun shining but it’s hot as well so we go home, change and spend the rest of the day on the beach. Lovely. Tuesday 16 September Another run – really ...

Wednesday 10 September Begin with a local and very small market at Hayes Pesnel. ‘Rubbish!’ sniffs Ma. An open church is more rewarding with wonderful contrasts between huge mosaics of biblical scenes and amazing modern abstract stained glass. The long roll of honour to the war dead shows the loss to this small town made even more poignant by a stained glass window dedicated to some of the deceased, their faces forever young. In Avranches Ma buys postcards but the tabac doesn’t have enough stamps so I queue in the post office along with half of Avranches. My schoolgirl French is pushed to the limit when my neighbour in the queue strikes up a rather one-sided conversation with me. From there to the Scriptorial D’Avranches, home of the Mont St-Michel manuscripts and, more importantly so far as I’m concerned, an exhibition of work by Marc Chagall. Far from being an appetiser for the main course, the manuscript themselves are dramatically displayed and utterly breathtaking. The sense...

Friday 5 September Leaving aside the minor irritation that, due to an overcorrection at the salon, my hair colour is vintage Elvis, the holiday does not get off to a good start. The day before we are due to depart Ma, Tom and I go to visit Auntie Joanie hanging on in there despite being given only days to live. On our way we learn that Uncle Sid (he of the Cutty Sark fame, husband of Auntie Joanie) is himself very ill. Auntie Joanie is not looking too bad in the circumstances and we leave feeling quite reassured about her at least. I’m just about to get out of the car to follow Ma into her flat when I get a call to say that my Uncle Billy in Australia has died. I rush in after Ma before she can pick up her answer phone messages and break the news to her. Ma folds up with grief but won’t cry and shrugs me off when I try to hug her. It’s her way of coping. Saturday 6 September 2pm. Arrive Portsmouth in pouring rain. Normandy Express not due to board until 3pm but we are in pole p...

The pound is falling faster than you can say ‘Thanks, Chancellor!’ there are early warnings of gales in the Channel this weekend and I’m developing a cold. Yes, it can only mean one thing; we’re off on our hols! We booked this break earlier in the year when Ma was staying with us. Ma adores France but the last time we were there was just after my dad died and it was a bittersweet time for us as we struggled to find our feet again. Our holiday is tinged with sadness once more as we depart with the knowledge that Ma’s beloved elder sister and now her brother, on the other side of the world, are both desperately ill. It’s been a very sad and painful time, especially for Ma, but come rain, shine or recession I’m determined that the next couple of weeks will bring some light relief. And finally… My Ace Gang are having more than their fair share of woes, too. Here’s to you, my lovely girls, and treasured memories of laughter and sunshine to keep us going until we meet again.

In June last year my left shoulder started to ache. By July it was really beginning to play up and there were things I couldn’t do anymore. Like sleep. I like to curl up on my left side or lie on my back with my arms above my head but since it hurt like hell to lie on my left side and I could no longer raise my left arm above my head those options weren’t possible. In August I gave up and saw my GP who confirmed, as I suspected, that I had a frozen shoulder and prescribed hefty painkillers and a course of physio. Since I’m quite good at taking care of myself I was pretty miffed to be struck down by something completely out the blue (yes, there are much worse things out there, I know) and it was especially frustrating that even after lots of hard work with Margot the Marvellous Physio that some movements weren’t coming back. Without an operation, Margot told me, I’d be looking at all kinds of problems one of which was muscle wastage. Looking at my nice new bingo wing I agreed to g...

Honestly! If it wasn’t so sad it would almost be funny. After visiting Auntie Joanie last week I really didn’t think she’d still be here, especially since the medics had warned the family to think in days rather than weeks, but it seems she’s perked up a bit! In the general hospital she was sinking fast but it seems that some tender loving care in a pleasant environment has definitely made life more bearable for her again. Perhaps all your good wishes, both here and sent to me privately and for which I thank you, have reached her somehow. Ultimately there will be no miracle recovery because the odds are so heavily stacked against her but it seems that Auntie Joanie isn’t ready to let go just yet. I’m grateful, too, for the suggestions for my treadmill playlist. After some trial and error I have discovered that it’s hardcore that does it for me! How tragic is that!! The fast, insistent beat, which would drive me crazy in real life, is absolutely brilliant for keeping me up to ...

‘Mum can’t talk anymore,’ my cousin tells me when I ring to see if I can visit Auntie Joanie, ‘so it can be quite tough. If there are a couple of you, you can have a conversation around her which she can follow.’ Auntie Joanie has now been moved to a small cottage hospital. Inside it’s clean and bright with views across a field. The atmosphere is calm and peaceful. The staff look up and smile when they see Ma and I’m glad that my aunt is in a place where someone’s taking notice of what’s going on. I’ve thought about a few things I want to say but it all goes out the window when we turn the corner. Auntie Joanie is propped up in bed, supported by pillows. The general hospital, where she was previously, lost all her clothes so she is wearing a new cornflower blue nightdress which brings out the blue in her eyes. Her hair, which was once a rich gleaming auburn, frames her face in silver waves. From this angle you can’t see what radiotherapy has taken away but Ma bends over her big...