I arrived at midday after an uneventful drive over, despite a positively embarrassing episode of filling up with petrol (I never drive enough to be the petrol-filler!). Parked awkwardly like I was trying to create a rhombus shape with the forecourt or something, and sped off after leaving my petrol cap flapping open. At least I remembered to pay hey! (Almost 70 fooking quid, jeez...)

As mum opened the door to me she informed me that one of Frank's sons had, literally an hour ago, organised an impromptu 12 o'clock gathering/tribute for Frank at one of his favourite cycle cafes in a nearby village. She asked me if I wanted to go along and I dropped my bags on the floor and announced I was ready to set off!

I cried when we got there, seeing his three sons, their wives/partners, his grandchildren, his brother and sister-in-law, a niece, even his ex-wife was there. Frank would have loved it. He was such a regular at this place that not only did they know him by name, but had a drink named after him, "the Frank", a strange decaff/skimmed milk affair that nary a person bar him would order, as his stomach was still sensitive from the last lymphoma he had a few years ago. I also chuckled trying to convince his granddaughter Olivia to use the toilet at this place, an eco/compost loo which is basically a hole in the ground with some hay, cheerfully encouraging her that it wasn't that bad, only to have her disappear then flee back to our table, horrified, saying she'd lifted up the toilet seat lid and a load of flies had come out.

Once the gathering had dispersed me and mum drove home then biked over to my aunt and uncle's in a different village several miles away. So we had a decent bike ride and a super tea stop there but, oh man, I gotta stop crying on people. I brought tears to my uncle's eyes as I wept on his shoulder. But I know it won't always be this raw.

Home tomorrow morning, back to Bear and Ollie. Thanks for reading if you've made it this far.

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