Pevensey Bay

Some say its the last of the summer sun, but I have my doubts. There’s pots to plant and lawns to mow and clouds to wonder at.
On Monday I went to see Dr. B. The diabetic consultant. He took my blood pressure, declared it normal. Asked me about pains and gripes and remarked that it was REMARKABLE that I was keeping my blood down with no drugs. Good job too, he said given my sensitivities. He apologised for the length of time my last test was taking to arrive, shook my hand, told me he was there for me should things get out of hand, and provisionally signed me off. Not sure why it was provisional…..
It was 8.20 a.m. I arrived home, empty handed as most of the shops were still shut. Lay in the garden meditated to Belle Ruth Napersteck and had the thought that it would be good to go to Pevensey Bay, stroke the pebbles and watch the water, breathe in the sun and take in the positive ions. The old git was amenable. So picnic blanket in hand we left. Impromptu. If this last year has taught me anything it’s not letting the grass grow, even after a sleepless night.
Towards Eastbourne, A22 round the bend and into Pevensey. Somehow we found the pebbled beach with nothing on it but our memories of Jackson the dog and B the tiny daughter. The one kiosk still stands. Up the stone steps and the smell and noise of the sea was mesmerising. We only lasted about an hour given that we had nothing with us. We didn’t even stop off for fish and chips.
Yesterday My TUI NA masseuse arrived with his wife. Jim put up the massage table and David poked and rubbed, massaged and released. By the time he was finished my ratings were up. Last week my body was 5 out of 10. Yesterday it had gone up to 6/7. No pain. No nadging. No blockage. Gingerly I say this because it hasn’t completely gone and nobody can tell me what occurred, but I felt so energised we drove off to CHERRY GARDENS organic farm shop. Wonder of wonders Maira the hot chocolate guru had set up her trailer. We had biscuits and a catch up with Ros and her grandson and Lulu and her dog, both there to shop for organic vegetables. Three out of the five of us had all been born within a mile of each other in the East End. Daughters of dockers, villains, Italian entrepreneurs, sat round a table in East Sussex discussing Chines Medicine and gym slips.
This morning I had another doctors visit. This time with Dr. W. I was kept waiting for an hour. She apologised twice. These doctors have to spend their time apologising. I told her I didn’t want to be in the hospital any more. Was she going to discharge me there and then. ‘YES’, she said and signed me off. Nothing provisional about that one. No more visits to places of illness repute.
I cried in the car, on the way home. Was I really coming out of annus horribilis. Onwards and upwards, no more testing – well not this week – no more acute pain. No more dark thoughts. So I stopped off at the farm shop and bought a Scotch egg, a pork pie, a lump of cheese, two spelt flour rolls, flapjacks, date slices, honey comb ( I know!!!!) and brandy snaps.
‘Picnic?’ said the girl with the pony tail.
‘Indeed.’ I said.
Got home and the ‘oosbind had boiled the kettle. One thermos for his black coffee, one for my white decaffeinated latte. Picnic hamper – courtesy of our wedding – filled with salad and all the goodies, tea towel, packet of salt, basil olive oil and real china cups. A bag with books, phone and thermos flasks, two travel blankets. And off we shot towards Eastbourne and the A22. Round the bend, but we couldn’t find out beach. It didn’t matter.
The air-con on as it was baking. We stopped at another beach, still the same old pebbles and sea. Now we had old wooden groins either side and seagulls whealing and squealing in the sky. Set up camp. Jim took photos with his new/old camera. I ate and tried to read but fell asleep on the rug. Three hours later, the fancy rolls fed to the birds and my mouth puckered from honeycomb and pork pie we decamped and set off home.
Unloaded to the 5.00 clock news, Jimbo stopped off at Lidl for beer and I read an article about Trump, who seemingly never, ever wanted to win any kind of Presidential race just wanted to up his fee on the Apprentice. Would make sense, the greedy, dissembler that he is.
It’s now nearly 6.00. My shoulders are bronzed from the sea air, my eye lids drooping from the salty wind, my body still out of pain, remarkable given that I’m not taking drugs and I’ve eaten enough for a Somerset cricket team.
Tonight it will be a bath, bed and hopefully proper sleep. Last night I caught up on Van Gogh’s ear and James Corbin’s Karaoke carpool.
Tomorrow I’m driving to my acupuncturist in Clapham, and then next week it’s a massive test at Guy’s hospital. After which I’m closing the book. I’ve had too many chapters devoted to sickness, I’m now choosing health. My body is getting stronger, my blood is flowing better, my organs are not failing me and my drug cupboards are bare.
With a little trepidation I am declaring I am healed. I am well. I am healthy and so it is. As my old man always says. Fake it till you make it.