The King's Bucket

Yesterday.

As soon as I heard his bedroom radio I knew the King was in.
At home.
Holding court with a disc jockey from Radio Essex.
What I didn't know was when he was coming down.
So I set about my tasks.

Firstly and most importantly the bird table needed replenishing so I stepped out of the 'lived in' kitchen into the grand much cared for garden feeling quite alright. I glanced at the wildly green arbours, the crazed stone angels and one teetering stone bird whose head is perpetually dipped in the dry bird bath. Yes, the Queen thought, this would be an ok day.

Back inside the mismatched crockery was being attacked by flies so I sped through the washing up in my yellow gloves and thought about the King's lunch. Tuna salad, with a little boiled egg on the side, yes he'll like that.
Then my phone rang.

I let it ring because my head and chest were deep inside the wine glass cupboard, it rang and rang then stopped. Something told me to check it, it was Henry asking if I was there!
So off came the gloves and up the stairs I went stopping midway to call out "I'm coming up Henry, make yourself decent".

"Come in Angela"
He didn't sound right, not at all. The usual wily rascal had been replaced by a whimpering schoolboy.
What I saw when I pushed the door surprised and shocked me. The King was on the edge of the bed in his boxers. His white curly mopped head hanging onto his huge chest and a face so red I thought it was about to explode.

"What's up Henry?"

He pointed to a black bucket.

"I'm sorry darling" he said, his blue eyes shining and standing out brilliantly against the cherry red of his cheeks. He reminded me of a slightly sordid Father Christmas.

"It's ok, I'm not squeamish"

So after I emptied the offending bucket we had a little talk.
He'd had a rough night apparently, woke up at some ungodly hour with all kinds of aches and pains and vomited whilst listening to a phone-in.

"What did you eat last night" I asked whilst carefully looking out for signs of a) fever b) food poisoning and c) dementia

"Mussels"

On that I checked his pulse and took his temperature with a stick-on-the-forehead thermometer. He was slightly warmer than normal but not in any danger, but to make sure, to be safe I asked him if he'd like me to get a doctor. After all I didn't want to end up splashed all over the local paper ......EX-MAYOR FOUND DEAD WITH HOUSEKEEPER.....

"Jesus, no, I'll be alright, just need a kip and you"
I smiled like the superior being I am and wafted to his en-suite for a flannel.

As I stroked the big wet cloth over his face he called me an angel.
"Can you see my wings?" I grinned
"No, I'm looking at your flies, they're coming undone."
With that I knew he was recovering fast.

I made him as comfortable as I could, puffing up his pillows, straightening sagging underpants, leaving lots of water and reminding him where the bucket is.
I then returned to more pleasant jobs like the ironing. And maybe making just a green salad and ditching the fish.


On my agenda today?
At home.
Cooking, cleaning but no buckets.
And definitely Angelic.
As always:)