Me? Well, myself and Lei are off to South Coast RC for round 3 of their Summer Off Road Orgy. Lei did barbeque too which was nice. It went like this: I drove around, got pole in the B. Got away and pulled a 2 lap lead, only for my clutch bearings to shit themselves 30 seconds from the end and took not only the clutch bell but also the spur gear with it. I got 2nd and no bump up, that's racing. The Sworkz 350 Truggy was lovely to drive though.
None of that really matters though right now, for in the evening, I went round to my parents house to see my dad and maybe my mum. On May 15th, only a few weeks ago , my mum had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. In the intervening days/weeks, she had gone downhill a bit and was by now on oromorph or whatever the fuck it's called, frankly, I don't care. I'm sat around the table chatting with my dad, and he says he's just going to check on mum. Seconds later, he stumbles back down the stairs, picks up the phone and tells my sister: "she's gone". My mum had died. On Sunday, June 4th 2017, 8pm. This moment will be etched into my brain for the rest of my life. I couldn't believe it, and still don't. It's like it's happening to someone else and I'm watching it, like an fpv dream. I'm on autopilot, I'm subdued (for now), I'm mentally tired and even now (June 8th), I'm still trying to come to terms with has happened.
In 2010, my mum was 70, and for her birthday. My friend John drove all the way down from Swadlincote in the Midlands to do the disco. We set the gazebo up, got the rig going, food on the bar and drinks in the glasses. Everyone came round and we had a right ol' knees up. We even had a police car and 2 police vans turn up in an attempt to "break up a rowdy party". I answered the door and couldn't believe my eyes with 3 coppers stood there, I swear they didn't believe me until my mum came into the hall clutching a helium balloon with 70 emblazoned upon it, wishing to know who was at the door. They wished her a happy birthday and promptly left.
Or the time I gave her a lift to work on my RXS100 shortly after I had passed my bike test back in '95. She was grateful, but certain she wouldn't do it again. I suppose going down the A3 might have been a step too soon.
This was my mum, whom, as a child I would watch in amazement as she carried multiple bags of shopping and walk with them all the way from the ville to home, no taxis, no bus, no fuss. Or the time she had my childhood nemesis up against the wall by his neck, branding him a "little shit" for his continued bullying of me, he didn't do it again.
Her legendary hospitality. When I lived at home, my friends were always made welcome, sometimes too welcome in fact. On several occasions this one friend would turn up at 9am on christmas morning, and would be happily offered a bacon sarnie. Friends would stay over and there would be snacks and extra food laid on for us to feed upon. One new year, we were all up the pub, and afterward it was back to my parents, where my friends were all offered floor space and blankets, with some breakfast in the morning.
At christmas she would make mince pies, and they were a favourite of everyone, from me to the people in the local one stop.
An incredibly houseproud woman, I was inspired, and still am, by her domestic prowess. We didn't have a lot when I was younger and I was always made fun of for not having what the other kids had, but she taught me to be grateful for what I did have and always try to look after it, and for that, I am eternally grateful.
She was my mum, the bestest mum a son a could ever have and I'll miss her forever.
