14th September - Wednesday - Back To The Future

Blood this morning was a low low 4.2. We woke up to a phone call we had no intention of answering - my mother was calling from Merthyr to tell us she was leaving the house, and we had about an hour and a half to finish packing up the Amroth cottage and get our asses in gear to come home to Merthyr. We packed. Our asses were got. Ma arrived, we loaded up the car, had a farewell coffee in the Pirate, and got out of Dodge. This met two completely separate deadlines. Firstly, as we were heading back to Merthyr, we were leaving the cottage for Ann, Paul and Ryan (aged 3). Ann works with d and they'd planned an Amroth holiday this year until the economy kicked them, like it's kicked a bunch of people, squarely in the ass. So it seemed only right to at least give them a taste of the Welsh seaside for a handful of heartbeats. And secondly, we were heading back to Merthyr because my dad was scheduled to go in for surgery this afternoon.

Before going home, we went to the local ASDA store (Wal-Mart, for any Americans still reading), to pick up some ready meals for our dinner. I got separated from d and Ma, and, while trying to find them, a flash of familiarity scooted past the bottom of the aisle.
"Joy!" I yelled. She didn't hear me, so off went Limpy McScuttlefoot, stalking the figure from the past.
Joy Jenkins is a legend in my own lifetime. She was one of two fantastic characters who came into my life when my mother started work in the National Health Service 31 years ago. Joy was shortish, and funny, and always laughing. Jen was long and tall, and the perfect straight-woman, always there with a bone-dry retort that doubled down on Joy's funny and cracked me up.

Joy in particular had always had a sense of humour like my own - when I was still only in single digits, I made plans to marry her, though quite what her partner at the time, Eileen, made of that, I'm not entirely sure. She was also, famously, the only adult who would never let me win, never let me cheat at games when I fancied getting one up, and who never pulled her shots in the 'table snooker' game I had. Now that I think about it, she's probably responsible for my highly belated development of a conscience as a twentysomething-year-old, and her influence was also apparent as I turned 30, and decided it was time to Go And Save The World...When it comes to Joy Jenkins, accept no substitutes.

Joy had whizzed past, and, while we're back in Facebook touch, I hadn't had a chance to actually talk to her in years. So much so that she's still never actually met d, though each is now fairly legendary to the other. So I chased her down, and we had a good few minutes of conversation - she's not had a good time lately, has our Joy, but she's coming up and out of it, and when she fully surfaces, I daresay the world had better watch out. I planned ot finaly introduce her to d, but Joy was on her lunch-break (hence the whizzing). She's so very much a part of my past, but during our talk, I told her a couple of things that mean, if I have my way, she'll also be a very big part of my future. I hope my way is had, cos Joys are rare, and groovy, and almost unspeakably cool. You shouldn't let 'em go in the first place. But if you do, and you get a chance to re-connect with 'em, you should grab it with both hands.

My dad had his surgery, and we were told we couldn't go and visit him till about six o'clock.
"I know," said Ma, relatively out of the blue. "Let's go and have a look at Rhydycar!"
Now...Rhydycar, in my experience, was a leisure centre. My experience though was back in the late eighties and early nineties, when leisure centres were the pinnacle of naffness. Nevertheless, Rhydycar is hugely significant in my own personal history - it's where I first met some of the people who today count as my longest friends - one of my Karens (Karen Pulley), and the first 'girl' of my own age to whom I wasn't afraid to say boo, my mate Sian (yes, she who is the mother of my god-daughters). It was also the training area where I learned to be a social creature - my step-brother Geraint introduced me to his friends (including the two above) there, I introduced some of my friends (including Karl Herbert, who became one of Geraint's Best Men at his wedding). It was the place where our worlds met, drank, had fun, occasionally had far too much fun to be good for themselves, and exorcised some of the demons of teenagerhood. Of course in time it gave way to other, altogether more grown-up venues (Can I get a Hellyeah for the Brandy Bridge, anyone?), but I spent most of my teenage Saturday nights in Rhydycar, and several weeknights there too, doing archery with Sian and her mother.

Rhydycar...
Erm...
Rhydycar has moved on and grown up too. We had a look around it's three swimming pools, its fully equipped gym (which appeared to be full of normal-looking people - a great bonus in a gym, frankly), its steam rooms and great halls, its coffee shops and saunas. Like I said, Rhydycar's another great big chunk of my past, but now I've seen it, I'm determined on future visits to make it a part of my future too.

Then, finally, we went to see my dad. We weren't at all sure how it would go, because when it was described to us, the operation sounded fairly major, involving the removal of a couple of cancerous lymph nodes that were inconveniently placed, and might involve the cutting of facial nerves in order to properly excise them. So we braced ourselves for grimness.

Grimness be damned! He was sitting up, looking pink and smiley! He'd eaten a meal, his doctors were happy, and he had a good prognosis - tomorrow, he's likely to have the drain out of his neck, and come back home to us.

So clearly, while he's been a huge part of my past and my development, we can delight in the fact that he's gonna be a huge part of my future too. Yay!

Lots to do in the next few days, before a return to London and its chaos, but today was a perfect kind of day - a perfect mixture of that which is comfortable and positive in my past, and that which, with any luck, will be comfortable and positive in my future too. A good day on which to shut one's eyes.