The Man in the Red Socks.

I would not usually allow a fourteen year old girl in a lab coat and trainers to shove a giant cotton bud up my nose, but these are strange times we are living in and the drive-through PCR test in Parthenay was one of the hurdles I had to o'er leap if I wanted to see family and friends in the UK. 

Anna, my wife, had just come back from a whistle-stop tour so helped me with all the paper work and travel arrangements. Like the Queen and Prince Charles we tend to travel separately, not because of the stability of the crown, but one of us has to look after the cat and chickens. 

My daughter was moving house so I decided to take the van, to help shuttle her belongings from one part of Ealing to another. I also had to pick up several of Anna's purchases which were too big for Ryanair and had been deposited at collection points around the south of England. 

The first two hours of the drive are fine (Parthenay to Le Mans), 'this is new, exciting, I'm going on an adventure'. The final two hours are okay as well (Rouen to Calais) 'I'm nearly there thank gawd'. It's the two hours in the middle I mentally struggle with (Le Mans to Rouen) 'Mother of God, I've got another four hours of this torment!'. I mentally tick of the picture signs along the Peage...cheese, lace, man on horse, man walking through forest, man who looks like Gerard Depardieu... 

Then I hit the M25! My father, lives near Junction 17 of the M25. You may have heard it on every traffic report. Just round from Heathrow...need I say more. 

Dad, has had various medical procedures over the last few months and my aunt has been looking after him. My stay is being used as a transitionary period for my aunt to move out and dad to regain independence. As well as the companionship that has grown between them she has cooked for him, cleaned, driven to every medical centre in south west Hertfordshire (several times), collected the newspapers and been his crossword buddy (although he thinks she too readily uses her electronic crossword solver).

He has never eaten so healthily, well exceeding his five a day. Now she is moving out he will revert to his usual diet of a lump of cold chicken or a packet of smoked salmon. He loves growing vegetables but they rarely make it to plate. 

When taking him an early morning cup of tea I notice a box of thirty or forty pairs of red socks. He has always worn red socks, just red socks, he doesn't know why, he just does. If you come across anyone wearing red socks, chances are it's my dad. “Dad, what are you doing with all these red socks?”, “They're the ones I'm keeping, I've thrown the others out.” This is why project 'downsize' isn't going well. 

While staying I try and do my bit. I get the hedge trimmer out and battle back the Russian-vine, tidy the yew trees which get taller and less accessible each year. I will plunger the kitchen sink which takes forty minutes to empty and tighten the toilet seat which has always come lose. I don't know what he does on it!

Then I'm off on my travels again: Letchworth, to stay a night with my son and fiancé and see their first step on the property ladder (didn't realise Letchworth is such an attractive place). Ealing, help move my daughter and enjoy a curry. Mmmm currrry! Crystal Palace, to see my twin bro and family and watch Emma Raducanu win the US Open. Then we both drive back to my dad's to see big sis, who has kindly driven up from Brighton. We spend a wonderful day together, just like old times. Then off to the cemetery to visit mum.

On the morning of departure, I take dad his last mug of tea in bed, wish him well in his new independent state, then into the Kangoo and away. As I'm driving round the M25 I pass a car ablaze (thankfully on the clockwise side), creating a traffic jam that must stretch for several miles. I thank the gods of traffic I'm going in the other direction and promise I will never moan about the Rouen to Le Mans section again.