Yesterday I had planned to visit Beryl to lay flowers at her grave. I’d been getting around to it for far too long, and after a rancid August and early September this felt like the right time to go.
Well aware of my predisposition to getting lost, I prepared the night before. I had maps and directions aplenty, I’d read through them all. I knew I was heading to Brierley Hill Cemetery first, then onto Bromsgrove to meet with friends for a rejuvenating cuppa. Sorted.
The early stages were heartening. Radio 2 chimed in the background, Neil Diamond singing September Morn lifted me, another appalling result on Popmaster felled me, and then the M42….
Whose idea was it to split a motorway in two different directions? I was flummoxed, I chose West and drove on, then wavered, chose North, turned around and very nearly hit Coventry before I realised that I’d been right in the first place. Eventually I made it through to Stourbridge, congratulating myself on a relatively easy trip. Things got a little bit hairy when I took a left turn too early and nearly ended up in the canal, but minutes later I was outside the cemetery, stomach churning as I realised that this was a new experience for me.
The last time I’d been there was at Beryl’s funeral. I’d taken the children, including a new born Immy, but I was pretty sure I could remember where her grave was. As I drove through the gates something didn’t feel quite right. I wondered if I’d come in the back way, or missed a turn. Slowly the shameful truth hit and I realised that I’d come to the wrong cemetery, and more to the point I had no idea where the right one was.
Emergency calls to my parents managed to track down the right place and I set back off, tracking my progress on iPhone maps, with two eyes mostly on the road. Suffice to say I made it, and I had a little chat, and it was just what I needed.
All I needed to do now was make it to Bromsgrove in one piece. Amazingly I did this, with a very minor detour, and was only slightly crazed as I fell over the threshold of the very lovely Tara Cain‘s house and enjoyed an afternoon cackling, along with Jay and Moo’s mum, who I will not name whilst she still holds on to some small shred of anonymity 😉
All in all – a perfect day.