I charged up Tim’s phone a week or so ago and replied to one of the messages, from someone who’d been researching into 60s bands. With some help from Tim himself, he’d put together a list of all the bands’ gigs back in the days that they were touring, before they left for Italy. I knew of this list because Mike, aka Troubled Diva, had sent it to me, but not Tim’s involvement.

There was another message, from someone who’d bought Tim’s book and wanted him to autograph it. Which Tim would have been thrilled to do, first time he’d been asked for an autograph in over 50 years! But there are so many ways of communicating nowadays and I didn’t reply at the time and now I can’t find it. I’ve checked messages (unlikely as he’d have needed Tim’s mobile number), email and Facebook messenger and it’s not there. But I know I’ve read that message and I need to reply.

I meant to spend the weekend writing Christmas cards. I haven’t.

I’ve pretended to be productive. I’ve been quite busy but I’ve been faffing round the edges rather than getting on with the really necessary bits. Not sensible but I need a bit more backbone yet and I’m feeling emotionally wobbly again. I know it’s going to happen, on and off, for months at least and I just have to bear it until it fades into the background for a bit, recognising that it’ll whack back over me again at some time. This isn’t for me, saying this, it’s for anyone who’s been bereaved. It’s awful and just hang on.

Anyway, I’ve put a lot of Tim’s CDs on shelves and all his DVDs. I’ll play them, gradually, and find out what I want to put on to my computer and what I’ll not listen to again. We took hundreds to the recycling place – the ones that he’d stored in the spare bedroom were the ones we reckoned he’d decided not to keep. He always bought music – though he did listen to Spotify too – because he supported musicians.

I often listen on Spotify to music I’ve bought, so that the musicians get paid a bit, all over again.

I’ve also set up all his audio stuff and his tv. I have merely put them in place though, someone who cares about subwoofers and so on can actually do the wiring up. I took photos as we took everything apart, that’s good enough for my contribution.

Tomorrow, we’ll see. I hope I manage something useful.

I’ve got to do yet more paperwork in the next few days. I despair, it makes me very anxious and yet it must be done. I also have a lot of Christmas cards to write, Tim’s as well as mine. Rather a lot of them will need a letter. I think I’m going to have to write a basic letter and personalise it for each recipient. I can’t hand-write them, writing more than a few words makes my hand ache nowadays and I would have to do each one from scratch. I will start tomorrow and aim to have them done – I want to say by the end of the weekend, but it’s more realistic, I should think, to say within a week.

It’s a busy week coming up, in fact. I’ve got several meetings, but at least they’ve all been moved online. I’ve got a trip to Norwich, which is actually for a Nadfas lecture (it’s now the Arts Society, but that’s so vague that no one knows what it refers to) and I could skip it, but I do need to get to the bank to have some papers verified to post off. I need to try to fit in a visit to an old, housebound friend as well. She is 88 and I mustn’t neglect her.

The chickens are all fine in their big greenhouse. I’d thought I could put extra netting over their outside run to make it safe from wild birds, but I’ve realised that the mesh on the sides is too big. I saw a sparrow flying in and out of it today. So, as it’s showing signs of being a bad year for avian flu, I’ll just keep my bantams in, apart from Pillock. I hope he’ll start roosting somewhere where I can catch him, but he’s usually on top of the greenhouse, out of reach. He’s a nice, friendly boy and he hangs around by the greenhouse, looking in longingly, but there’s no catching him or persuading him through the door. The barn cats were afraid of Plank, but they don’t mind Pillock and they are all quite friendly and mutually respectful.

The other thing I need to do is to stock up on chicken feed. And get a bag of mixed corn for the pheasants. There was a total acorn failure this year and they are short of food.

I didn’t bring very much back with me from Reading, this trip. Mostly because the car was quite full of wheels. I did bring some books, a lamp and a wooden carving of baby seals. I should take a photo. I thought they’d bought it in Pembrokeshire, but the label says “made in Indonesia.” It could still have been bought in Pembrokeshire, I suppose.

Today is the first anniversary of Wink moving here. She made kedgeree and I brought champagne. With great kindness and warmth, she has offered to help with the rest of the work. I’ll support her too, any way I can.

Humphery girls are still united, after all these years.

I’ve discovered the full story of the tyres.

The two sets of wheels are not the same size. The winter ones (that have summer tyres on at present and are on the car) are 17 inch wheels and the ones in storage (that also have summer tyres on, which need replacing) are 18 inch. So they hadn’t been planning to put the summer tyres over, which had been our understanding – I can see how that came about, but things are complicated enough already, so I won’t explain unless you really, really want me to. What they had wanted to do was put new winter tyres on the 18″ wheels. However, those tyres are no longer made.

I asked about all-weather tyres. They are available, but not as run-flat ones – if you get a puncture, you can keep going as far as home or a garage. I can, however, get whatever I want for the 17″ wheels, but the present tyres are nearly new, so there’s not much point in replacing them. So never mind. I’ve still got my Focus, so will only drive the BMW if the weather isn’t wintry. I don’t plan to drive it short distances anyway. When the tyres finally need replacing, I’ll get all-weather ones if I can, or else winter ones for them. and replacement summer ones for the others. I’ve brought the 18″ wheels back with me – two in the boot and two on the back seat – and will store them for now.

The staff at the BMW garage in Reading are unfailingly helpful and charming. it wasn’t their fault that they didn’t know the full situation at the start and they went to a lot of trouble to find out the information.

On the way back, I filled the car with petrol and bought a rather nice rice and bean salad with falafels for lunch from Tesco. The falafels were nothing special but the rest was good. It would probably have been a microwaved jacket potato otherwise, I’ve used up most of the food I’ve bought. I’ve still got some cheese, but only one slice of bread. I have a pheasant casserole for dinner, that I took out of the freezer at home to bring. I have fruit and vegetables and only have dinner and breakfast to go. Then I’ll set off for home in the morning.

It’s been a busy and productive day. Actually, what Fiona and I have done could, for the most part, have been done by Tim at any time over the last decade or so, but with all the stuff in my house, I can hardly complain.

Tim’s front spare bedroom is more a storage space than anything else. It has a bed in it, the sort of single bed that has a slide-out one underneath, so can become two single or a double when needed. It also contains his tumble drier, because there’s nowhere in the kitchen or scullery for it, the ironing board, two bookcases, a cupboard full of unfavoured CDs, old 45 records, two roll-up mattresses and other stuff. There’s an unlovely dressing table, a chest of drawers and a small bedside cabinet. Plus several boxes containing old wifi equipment. Or rather, in some instances, it contained them. We haven’t touched the 45s or the wifi equipment or the other furniture except for the smaller bookcase, but the rest has gone. Several hundred other books, lots of old bed and table linen and various quantities of the sort of stuff that you have a reason for storing at one time and never bother to sort out afterwards have also gone.

I’ve kept some books and all Tim’s music notebooks, plus useful bedlinen, of course. Fiona’s car was filled twice and taken to the recycling centre. Reading has a marvellous recycling centre, it must cost a lot to run but it’s really impressive.

Tim’s car is in the garage having a service and some work done – there were several things mentioned on the MOT but they checked meticulously – it’s an excellent specialist BMW garage and they don’t replace things unless it’s needed – and they’ve said that some of them can wait until another time. It’s worth a trip here for a full service. I’ll find out from the other garage tomorrow whether they can do the tyres, but it’s not something to fuss about. The car wasn’t ready until after 5pm and I couldn’t get a taxi to take me until after the place was closed, so I’ll go in the morning.

All in all, it was such a useful and productive day that I managed to feel quite positive. We had meant to start on the kitchen cupboards, but the two booked recycling visits were fully taken up by the redundant contents of the two spare rooms. Though I’d have loved to browse the books more, I know perfectly well that I’d not read them. There’s a wall full of bookcases on the landing and I’ve left books in those, which will be recycled in due course (they go through them and send all they can to charity shops, they’re not just pulped), but they’re furnishing the house at present. If I take away the bookcases, the marks on the carpet won’t be appealing. It’s a 32-year-old carpet and although it’s in good condition, I expect the new owners will replace it, because that’s what happens.

I’ve done a little paperwork but plan more for tomorrow, when I will have no excuse not to get on with things. I’ll leave for home on Wednesday.

I suspect we’ll need a skip before too long. But I’ll also need people to help me fill it. I’m too old to do it all myself and I probably never had the strength.

To explain further from the previous post – there are two sets of wheels, one with summer tyres and one with winter. However, the car had its winter wheels on, then lockdown came in the spring and so Tim didn’t have them changed over. He’d been told that both sets of tyres would need to be changed before too long, the summer ones (kept at the garage in Reading) should be replaced before changeover.

So, when the car was due its MOT, he took it to the local tyre place near Yagnub (I’ve a feeling he might have had a puncture in one of them, in fact, but it’s a long time ago and I can’t remember). They said that they didn’t have winter ones and put on new summer ones, on the winter wheels. They explained that you can put summer tyres on winter wheels, but not winter tyres on summer wheels. So now the summer tyres need to be removed from the winter wheels and put on the summer wheels and new winter tyres have to be put on the winter wheels.

Now you appreciate why I didn’t explain in full in the first place. Though it does occur to me that it’s quite possible that the tyres on the car now are all-year-round ones and it may not matter too much. I will ask.

I’m glad that I’ve had company for the last couple of days, I’d have found it hard to be alone over the three-month anniversary of Tim’s death. As it was, I was aware of my last chat with him and awake most of the night, during the time when he woke gasping for breath and didn’t recover. But I’ve focussed on friends. The balance between running away from thoughts and not facing them, and wallowing too much on introspection is a matter for debate, perhaps, but not resolution.

Anyway, a note of praise for blog friends. John G on Saturday and Mig (and Barney) today. They’ve kept me going and given me love and friendship. And tomorrow, a good friend of Tim’s and now of mine is going to help me out. First by picking me up from the garage (not the garage that holds the wheels) where the car will be serviced, then by helping me with turning out here. Onwards, darlings, if not upwards.

I’m sure that no one with a new car in England bothers with summer and winter tyres any more. Tim didn’t know he was doing that, when he bought his splendid BMW coupé back in 2008. He found out, when he couldn’t drive up the road in the first frost of the winter. So he bought a new set of wheels and has had them changed twice a year, ever since. BMW is good at upselling.

The nuisance now is that I need new winter tyres. I booked the changeover well in advance and had email and phone confirmation. But when I arrived this morning, I was apologetically told that the new tyres hadn’t turned up. I wasn’t cross, there’s no point. Not the man who told me’s fault. I explained that the only time I can get the job done is on Tuesday (actually, Wednesday morning, at a pinch, now I think of it) and if it can’t be done then, I’ll just take the wheels with me and get them done in Norfolk.

So that left me with a free day. I went to the Exotic Superstore in the Oxford Road. I adore that shop. I bulk-buy spices and stock up on curry leaves, Soan Papdi, gram flour, all the things I can’t get in Yagnub. I’ve binge-bought unusual vegetables and lovely things. I may be unable to resist another visit before leaving for home. In the afternoon, I went to bed and slept.

I had an interesting online conversation the other day, on the Times website. There was an article about gut health. Sorry. Someone mentioned that, since starting to make her own sourdough bread and not using commercial yeast at all, she’s had spectacular improvement in her wellbeing. She mentioned that people who had problems with gluten and/or wheat were fine with her bread (not coeliac, of course). Though, if I had that problem, I’m not sure I’d risk it, but that’s another matter. Someone else chimed in with a similar story and I added my piece – I won’t go into intestinal details, but I think so too. I never had any problem before, but it’s better (and, even when it doesn’t rise well, I love my bread) since I went full sourdough. I use a mixture of white and wholemeal wheat flour, wholemeal rye flour and several different seeds, my sourdough starter is white wheat and whole rye flour. It tastes so good that I can be bothered to make it, even when I can’t be bothered with other cooking. My online friend says that a three-day making session is best and that’s what I’ll go for next time; I only take two. Apparently, the commercially produced sourdough bread you buy does contain yeast as well, which accounts for why it’s both light and not as satisfying as mine.

I cried this evening, suddenly. I’d cooked dinner – I didn’t know what to cook, so sliced an onion and went from there – added some mushrooms and an egg and a slice of the aforementioned bread and a couple of glasses of red wine. Not mixed together, obvs. I sat at the dining table and started to talk to Tim and it hit me yet again, dammit.

John G and I had a chat the other evening and he phoned me back afterwards and said he’d cried for the first time since his dad died, after what I’d said – I can’t remember what that was, but it was apparently a good thing. He feels now that he’s let go, it’s been cathartic. I know what he means but it doesn’t work for me. I want to talk to Tim and I do, but there’s no reply because he’s dead. What we need to say to each other just hangs there. There’s no answer, so no chance of ever finding any sort of completion. The mother of a friend of mine died, 25 or so years ago, and my friend told me that she badly wanted to talk through some issues from her childhood, but mother sidestepped the conversations. Tim and I didn’t have issues, but we did have a lot more to talk about and now it can never happen. And we can’t have fun or chat or share anything. There’s such a massive hole. It’s too big even to patch, never mind mend. I’ve learned more over the years and I could listen and talk better to those whom I’ve lost. But it’s too late. What’s in my head could be shared, but there’s no point because those whose replies I want can’t make them. One just has to live with that, there’s no answer. I react more and more slowly, as time goes by. I do try not to say things that are better unsaid. Tim did say that he appreciated that, actually.

Anyway, enough. Let’s finish well. I’m looking forward to a sociable weekend. Though it’s a lot of travelling, it’s actually two-hour trips at most. I have brought a nice dress and will have a big smile on my face the whole time, a genuine one. One has to make the best of every day and I’ve got a lot of blogfriend hugs to pass on to John.

I’m in Reading again and the next few days will be busy.

Today, I drove down and the journey was uneventful, though I’d woken to snowfall. The roads were wet for the first part of my journey, so I had to wash the windscreen constantly. And the sun was in my eyes the whole time, so the journey was no pleasure at all.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll take the car to the garage for the winter wheels to be put on. I hope that won’t take past lunchtime, not sure whether I’ll come back in the meantime or just take a book and hang around.

On Saturday, I’m going to Leicestershire to see John Greenwood, formerly of Publog, for his old dad’s wake. I’ve booked into a local guest house for the night. Then, on Sunday, I’ll drive down to Mig (Come Out To Play) and Barney for lunch, then back here again. Monday, the car is going to have a winter service and various things done to the brakes. Fiona will bring me back here from the garage and is kindly going to help me with more sorting out. We hope to take some things down to the recycling centre and I’ll also decide which of Tim’s books I’ll want to keep. On Tuesday or Wednesday, I’ll come home again.

I’ve brought a load of paperwork with me and have made a modest start, but need to do a lot more. At least I’ve sent in the electricity and gas meter readings and spoken to the estate agent again.

Too much is going awry and I am not ready to talk about it. It’s not about me, in this instance. One thing is that I will, if possible, bring my Atlanta visit forward to late January. Depends on what travel is possible, so decisions can’t be made yet.

It’s only 9.30, but I think that a bath and early bed are a good idea. I’ll made a cup of herb tea and read in the bath for a while.