A few times a year I drive to Clevedon in North Somerset to polish my nan and my mum’s memorial plaques on the pier. Mother’s day and the weekends closest to their birthdays. The ritual keeps me feeling connected to them somehow. Its not sad, it doesn’t make me cry, instead it makes me happy as I do what my mum and I did for my nan for so many years.

This year, on my nan’s birthday, the UK was to have a partial solar eclipse on my nan’s birthday so I booked the afternoon off to go and remember happy times with nan and mum in that beautiful seaside town.

And I decided to ask my ex to come with me. He may not feel it, but he has been and always will be a part of my family. Mum and my nan loved him – he helped care for my nan in the early years of her dementia.

Its over two hours to drive from Southampton to Clevedon. I asked my ex about his holiday and he talked about it much of the way there. I reassured him a couple of times that I wasn’t bored and that I was enjoying him talking.

A lot of what he told me focussed on the difficulties he had with the group, the heat, and his dyspraxia.

Groups are difficult because he is “shy” (in quotes because its more a case of not understanding group dynamics and feeling lost knowing when to speak, he also feels that he has nothing interesting to say).

There were aspects of that group’s dynamics that I would have found … distasteful: discussing income and money, and possessions is (in my opinion) vulgar. In the opinion of both my ex and myself, a person isn’t what they earn or what they have but what they do with it. Showing off is the pits. He said there was a lot of one-upmanship going on.

The heat really troubled him, and because he was in a group (and an organised holiday) he had little control over his schedule – what time he went places and rest stops. That was an aspect of my holiday that I thought he would have appreciated.

Both my ex and myself need breaks from groups – on his tour organised holiday he didn’t have a lot of opportunities to escape from the little crowd. It was made worse because he is quite severely dyspraxic and can get lost in his own home (I exaggerate), so he daren’t leave the group in case he got lost.

His dyspraxia also makes him prone to losing things – and on one occasion lost his bag and had a meltdown, which the kindly guide (whom my ex liked) found it for him.

He had a sunflower lanyard to indicate that he is autistic, which helped a little – especially at the airports.

I was moved by his difficulties, and especially when he recognised that my presence in the past meant that he didn’t have to face any of them because I can deal with groups more easily, I don’t easily get lost, and I am good with procedural stuff like airports and tickets. I used to feel very unappreciated way back because I made things smooth and it wasn’t recognised or even criticised.

It wasn’t all bad – he told me about beautiful mountains and villages – he loves seeing how people live and the rugged landscape, azure waters, and verdant forests.

The drive was, for me, as relaxing as motorway driving gets. I relaxed into the conversation and enjoyed his company.

When we got to Clevedon, we grabbed a coffee and sat in the cooler shade of a tree. the dog lunged at something and my ex spilt coffee on his socks.

“I can’t wear them,” he said.

“I’ll go to BM and get you a cheap new pair to see you through,” I replied. Fixing things. Again. Its amazing how quickly you can fall into old roles.

Once he was sorted, we parked up on the seafront and went for a walk on the pier. he had a grumble at the price. I gave him the ticket and told him that he could come back as often as he liked in the year, which improved his mood a little. I then told him that I never use the tickets again and I always pay to go on the pier because I like to think that my few quid helps keep the pier open (and I can afford £5 a go … afterall I have probably spent £40 on petrol to get there).

On the pier I sat by the plaques with my Brasso rubbing away. He wandered around with the dog. He didn’t want to do any polishing when I asked him, which I thought was a shame.

He thought that he’d come with quite a bit to Clevedon, but then realised that the last time was six years ago when mum’s plaque was mounted. I knew – because I had missed him.

After a cool drink in the shade away from the seafront, we made our way back. It was busy: I have never seen Clevedon’s beach so busy! And people were in the “water”. Its more like a mud solution – brown and yukky with all the sediment of the estuary. It makes it very fertile and rich for wildlife, but not something I would fancy putting my feet into!

There was quite a festival buzz and it was lovely to see all the people gathered to watch. Many were sensible and had eclipse glasses (unlike me).

The sun was westering, but the shadows were still those of late afternoon rather than evening. The light dimmed so slowly that my eyes adjusted and refused to recognise the change in light levels. The sun didn’t look much different, although maybe there was more red light. A band of cloud passed in front of the sun and scattered the light further.

The sea reflected the bright sun – and the tide was high: I guess that’s something about an eclipse is the conjunction of sun and moon must equal a high tide – I wonder if that would mean that the tide would always be high for an eclipse?

At about ten-past-seven the eclipse reached its peak. Not a full eclipse and lacked the drama of the moon’s shadow racing across the water, but maybe because of that I was more sensitive to other changes – the slight drop in temperature and the way the sun was both bigger with rays around it and dimmer.

It was nice to share this experience with my ex, just we had shared the total eclipse back in 1999 – it proves that just because we’re not married anymore doesn’t mean that our story has ended yet.