For my sisters, I think, it's a relief for them to have me here, even if only for two weeks, because it's one more person who can spend time with Dad, and help him take his mind off Mam. I was tired out by lunchtime today, after driving back to St Albans from the outskirts of Birmingham, so when Kirstie called me and asked if I wanted to spend time with Dad in the afternoon, my first, selfish instinct was to say that I'd rather take a nap. But guilt won out, and in the end I'm glad. I spent the afternoon - another hot, beautiful afternoon - just ambling about the neighboring villages of Harpenden and Wheathampstead with him.

Watching a cricket game in Harpenden

There's a certain pleasure in sitting watching cricket. It's not about the sport, because really nothing ever happens. Every twenty balls or so, the bowling team screem "Howssat!!!" ("How's that") to the umpire in the vain hope that he'll say that the batsman touched the ball as it flew from bowler to wicketkeeper, but invariably the umpire shakes a stern head. So the pleasure comes from just sitting in the warm sun, in a fresh breeze, watching nicely dressed men run around on a beautiful green.

I used to play cricket myself, when I was a kid. I was never very good, but my favorite part of it was when I was stationed far from the wicket, to catch or pick-up any balls that were hit a long way. The balls rarely came my way, so I'd be free to stare at the sky and listen to the larks sing. That is until screaming and shouting would alert me to the fact that the ball must be flying straight at me.

Handsome fella, my Dad. Well, for 76 he's not bad. This is in Wheathampstead.

In Harpenden, Dad was determined to show me around. I warned him that I was very tired, so please could we just go for a short walk. I should have known better when he said "Just down to the bottom of the park and back." Five miles later we made it back into town for a recouperative cup of coffee at the hardware store, or "ironmongers" as they call it here. It's one of the delights of English village life that you can find tea shops in the most unexpected places. And I was sorely in need of such a place. Part of the goal of our spending time with Dad is to tire him out so that he'll be tired enough to sleep at night. But it's always us that end up exhausted.

In the churchyard in Wheathampstead

While we sipped coffee, for some reason Dad fell into stories about times when he'd nearly punched someone. It's really amazing that he's never been arrested. He says that since he met Mam he's never punched anyone, because he knew she wouldn't like it. But I remember when I was a kid that whenever I came home from school with tales of woe about what somebody had done, he'd always suggest that I should punch the offender.

But as he told stories, he suddenly remembered that he'll never again be able to get out and about with Mam, and it brought back his unhappiness. Poor man. There's nothing you can say to make it better for him. I was thinking that it's like a broken heart, you'll get over it in time. But not when the other person is still alive and in your life every day, like my Mam is, still alive and physically vital, yet drifting mentally away from him. You can't help but think the natural thought that it would be a mercy for both of them if she passed away.