An hour after penning last night's poem Mum fainted. Time Midnight.

And as she lay grey in the hall I knew I had to act.

So jump forward 45 minutes and a big Paramedic kneeling checking mum's everything. On the mobile he went 'asking' for an ambulance.
Asking?
Yes. Asking. Apparently a computer is fed information which determines the level of urgency. When the big man told us this I worried about my mum and the country and the NHS.

He was gentle, quiet and very capable, and Mr H and I felt safe in his hands.
Mum knew very little.

And so as he spoke into his phone I reassured mum that all this nonsense was for the best.

3 hours later an ambulance arrived.
Obviously the computer thinking that turning from pink to grey and enduring shocking arm pain didn't warrant sirens. So on the carpet she stayed

The two ambulance men one old, one young checked mum over talking ever so slightly down to her, which by the way, angered me but I suppose they have their way and meant well. So I let it be and bit my tongue. Then into the ambulance we went. It was chilly black and damp and all I wanted to do was to call a stop to the proceedings and go back inside. But sense prevailed and we tootled off.

As we travelled the senior paramedic told of his 2000 + call outs in 24 hours.
Stumped toes, heart attacks and drunks. Stumped toes? Yes he said.
As mum lay wrapped like a Russian doll.
Idiots.

She was wheeled in to a busy but not overly noisy A & E and there we waited and waited. Finally seeing a Doctor 3 hours later.

No need to go on with this is there?
Tests. Keeping her in. Question after bloody question. And the same ones hours later only this time by a nurse.
Mum being the war horse she is told us to go. So after 8 hours of fumbling about on carpets and ugly hard chairs Mr H and I finally got home.

Bed and toast at 9:30 am never looking so fine.

Visited this afternoon, she looked glassy probably weapon grade painkillers and no food so I chased after Staff Nurse Godfrey introducing myself and making him very aware of my concerns. He was calm and looked a little surprised at my eloquence.
We parted sweetly with smiles on both sides.

So back home to beef sandwiches, cat love and a recorded programme about the Space Shuttle.
Sounded pretty good to me...

:)

Affection

I love the warmth of genuine affection
affection which needs no prompting
that unfurls
uncurls
in the soft hues of this late Christmas night

This night, ribboned with tales of childhood love
we're tied together,
my mother and I
ignited by excited needy tongues
I scatter blue veined talk into the ear of my dear one

and into mine, dropped fragment by fragment,
fractured sentences
love of all sorts being the subject

Words are many though, shot out like bullets
their aim, the heart

And riddled like spent lovers we fall on bloodless Christmas cushions
dreaming of the men we love...


Angela x

Kauto STAR

• Races: 40
• 1st: 23
• 2nd: 7
• 3rd: 4
• Unplaced: 6

And he won the King George VI AGAIN today. A record Fifth Win for the much loved horse. I am blubbing as I type.

But.

Happy for him and his trainer but as sick as an old Mother 'cos I allowed my emotions to get the better of me.

Bugger.

Taking of Mother she has been a real worry today, had me and Mr H. in a dilemma of huge proportions as the three of us huddled together over the bathroom sink I begged her gently to let me 'get help'. She said no.

So we carried her, nearly knocking pictures off me hall wall, into the front room, where she dozed like a gin soaked old biddy.

Might as well have drunk the evil buttermilk I thought, being a tea- totaller hasn't aided her innards any.

Bugger.

On a lighter note.

With a blanket over me legs I watched two episodes of The Professionals whilst turning the pages of a Baking Book whilst putting on Crimson lipstick whilst texting whilst drinking lukewarm tea whilst checking Mother's breathing patterns whilst wondering about small handbag friendly notebooks whilst my tum knocked.

So............. Bravo Kauto and Hello Leftover Beef:)

The Horse Tipped Me Over

Kauto Star

Long Run

BBC website. A photo of Kauto Star, one of dad's favourite race horses. And as I looked I cried and cried. Soppy mare.
That's me, of course, not the horse. Kauto is a Gelding.

All this time it's taken for the flood gates to open and what brought it about? A super horse. And a super dad.
Bugger.

11 year old Kauto is running this afternoon in the King George VI at Kempton against another of Dad's fav's, Long Run. Both swelling his coffers. Therefore mine too....:)

A royal battle till the last fence I expect and one which dad AND mum would have built their day around if, of course, they were still an item.

I asked mum if she'd like a bet (Corals only down the road) she said No.
I thought I'd stroll along and have a tickle but decided I'd rather gallop away from hurt by watching cop shows.

Highlight of the Jump season... and what am I doing watching Bodie's arse.
Bugger.

Nothing new on my back and only pennies in my sack

to sleepland I long to go.

Goodnight All.

2 Yorkshire Tea Breads
1 Victoria Sponge
8 Fluffy Dumplings
3 Mum scents
1 Yellow trifle
70 Dolly Mixtures
1 Phone call
3 Text messages
6 Legitimate Drugs
1 Chicken Casserole
and a Sony Telly in a pear tree:)


And on that joyous note I must make haste.

There'll be no more... until all the food is gone:)

Have a Wonderful time!

GLORIA!

YIPPEE!

I'm fluffed and chuffed because I'll soon be opening all my presents. (2)

I'm also feeling whizzo on account of watching Rocky V last night. What a fabtastic film that was. (not)
Old Rocky knocking every kind of bell out of young gun Tommy Gunn. Didn't like his hair anyway. Stinker. But the film aided my drooping spirits.. so bless you Sly.
And while I watched, mum swallowed a few Dolly Mixtures.
And Mr H. overdid it on the M & M's. His only pleasure.

And then BED. I hid under covers imagining I was tucked in a snow bound hut somewhere North of London. And a spitting fire warmed my small toes.And a man of unusually high height and breadth boomed over me waving a cat o' nine tails asking if I wanted to play...
Then...Monty jumped me, pressing so hard on my booboos I thought they'd explode. No silicone splash though. LOL! Just a few dents.
But bless his heart I suppose he just needed reassurance after all he's finding the 'extra' person in the bungalow a little difficult to deal with. So for comfort, he mugs his mum:)

Today, after I've packed Her safely in the settee, (don't want the old bonebag diving headlong into the coffee table) I'll grab a quick breakfast and do the one thing that pleasures me baby....Cooking!
Prob. make some pukka Irish Soda Bread, Apricot trifle for tomorrow and a few spicy fruity buns. Then prepare tonight's tea. For Mr H and I a Nasi Gorenge and for Mother...I don't know, probably a little chickeny thing.

So m'dears now I must fly. Have a whole lotta loving to do:)

By the way Mr H has just left the bungalow, he's off to town to buy stuff..Present no; 3 perhaps...

A Long Day

Mum couldn't make it to the docs this afternoon so I phoned the surgery...

And after a long friendly chat with the receptionist I finally bagged a chat with her Manager. Then I got what I wanted. A visit by a district nurse.

The nurse then came and did her business whilst talking to mum about weight and energy and bones and London, and after Nurse Sue left I ate three Hobnobs. I was in the mood for anything.
I am desperate.

So tonight I will drink a fusion of Ginger Wine and Cream Soda whilst nattering with Mr H. over thick succulent slices of best boiled gammon. (By the way I put the entire leek in) Then, if it's not too disgustingly late, I might watch Rocky, I II III IV or V. No matter.
The nurse by the way said I was to feed Mother little and often, even full fat food, that won't be a problem tonight I told her, because tonight's pud is a creamy heart stoppingly rich Rice Pudding. Probably add some jam too. If Mother's heart did stop accidentally I'd stop too. Probably forever. Or at least for a week.

Oh I've re-arranged the furniture, and while shoving the settee with mum upon it, I had to laugh.
Here was I...............5ft and 8st, pushing a lump of furniture about without a care for my own back area.

Looks better I have to say, the two armchairs are now side by side, very cosy, but no chance of a major cuddle, especially now Mother is in the room. Which reminds me I simply MUST get a newish t.v for the bedroom, current one has had it. Would be good, if after tucking Mum in, I could sneak to bed and watch something or other. Probably other.

Ho hum Christmas Eve soon and more tending of the elderly, more texting and yet more cooking...And for the last two I Thank God.

I don't like bringing God into my posts but sometimes I can't help it. He kind of pops up/in usually when I'm spent and bloging mercilessly about how harsh life can sometimes be. But if He would grant me two wishes on His Son's Birthday they would be these:

1. Disown all people who are cruel to animals. Especially cats.
and
2. Give me strength.

And on that terrifyingly sombre note I must say Fare thee well.
My gammon needs poking

:)

Night

Ok we survived it.

I must say though in Mother's defence, she really doesn't cause much DISRUPTION. I mean searching for fresh bedding at all hours, scooping her up from the bathroom floor a hundred times a day, and keeping the Kitchen Towel industry going is hardly anything to moan about. IS IT?

Mother dear....She's a feisty old egg. Who, although, past her sell by date, is still floating....(Cooks will get this)

But Today is another glorious day.
One which will be filled with the looking at of bad foot by nursie and the cooking of a nice Bacon Joint:)

Talking of feet and bacon I would like to take this opportunity to say...

I love all my readers.


Singling out...

Nof and Mrs Nof. Mrs Nof, needleworker supreme and the sender of bags and hats. Nof the giver of fine lunches. Next one overdue mate.

The Manc. Penner of extraordinary mail. Some of which make my blood simmer.

The Man from the Met. AKA Blue. Owner of the best pair of Lallies in London. Love him to the point of exhaustion even though he don't listen to my records.

Mr Horsehound. Owner of the finest Confessional in all Christendom. His ears are my sanctuary.

My Sister-in Law. The divine Ms W. A joy. A luvvie. A youthful woman now residing near me.

Sweetie. Retired Constable. Santa all year round. A fine UPRIGHT gentleman.

The Duchess. A Lady in a far away kingdom, now with her dainty mitts around the neck of her Prince Charming. Way to go girl.

Terry. AKA er..... Terry. An old old friend, who doesn't age like the rest of us. A Follower whose comments leave me smiling/wondering... Thanks for your continued support and Fish. x

Jerry. A hardworking grandad man across the Pond who loves of all things British...Mostly telly:(

Moonbeam man. Librarian type who cooks with trimmed eyebrows. Mrs Moonbeam who offered her ears. What a gal.

And others...
Like John Grey. Chicken loving blogger bogged down in Wales or somewhere.
And family type people.

To all these extraordinary people I send, by First Class Mail, my ordinary Love. :)

X

Post Box

Shouldn't have left her.
Mum hugging footstool on my return.
But are we glum mum? No, let's have another cup of tea and watch Britain's Best Dish!

The Italian will win it:)

The beginning of the end or a new begoinnig. Drink but no toast.

Bumpy night.
Cat lumped on my left leg, which was turned towards the main wardrobe.
Numb.
Cat booted.
Then sleep for a bit.
Mr H. up in the dark fiddling to find his long johns.
Methinking " oh please do it quick"
Not likely.

Then winks but not forty.
Awake in an empty bed only to hear Mother coughing.
Blow this.
Up.
A positive stuffy atmos. in the drawing room, so opened windows. Cat interested. If you wanna go walkabout then go, but don't come crying to me when your arse gets damp.
He stay in.

A little later after a dangerously hot shower...
Mother no eat Weetabix. Therefore me get the pip. Grr. So I moaned out with another blasted Mother list and went to the Co-Op, which I hate.

And now, as my tummy screams for fat and stuff, Mother is drinking Ginger Wine in her lurid pink dressing gown.
Me no eat yet.

In the Co-Op I bought, along with alcohol papers and Dolly Mixtures, a long Leek.
It pleased me so much. The very thought of using it tomorrow for Braised Country Bacon makes my simple life worthwhile.

Chatting on the phone while holding a fish slice..

And with Mother doing her impersonation of a drunk.
'Tis the drugs.

Anyway as I whispered filth into the mouthpiece, (it's alright I know the man well) someone rang me bell.
"Hold it hun" I said to Man Friend "Someone's pressing me bell"
"OK Babee but get rid quick"

Eon man in red anorak wanting to get to me meter so his masters can send out, just after Christmas, a jollyless bill.

"You'll need to climb upon me chair" I said holding the fish slice like a wand.
"It's up there, and mind the webs"
Bless his heart there he was, one hand on his thin torch, the other holding a machine with buttons.
He checked and read then checked and re-read then stepped down and thanked me profusely for the use of chair. (Ash)

"Thank you again" said meter man and tripped on the rugged doormat.
He seemed a little flustered, think it might have heard my Man Friend breathing raspily.

Back to my phone call only this time with fish slice between knees.
And then, just as I was giggling (God I hate giggling women) Mother shouted nicely for some more lemonade.
"Hold it, will you?" I answered "I'm busy here"

The conversation went on and on and like a fool I leant against the wall dropping things and feeling things and generally getting in a lather.
But like all excellent things it had to end and so it did. Fantastically.

The fish slice is now clean and dry.

Talking of fish I found a fish finger on the floor of my spare room, must have escaped when I was cracking through the ice on the freezer.

Being held up tonight on account of Mr H's late homecoming is a splendid Cottage Pie.
I loathe keeping a good dinner waiting, it kind of kills the passion. Food is love and love is passion.
And passion should be served Hot.

Not lukewarm, specially on a Wednesday.

No Fancies Today

Today is all about lugging.

But before that I just had to watch Jeremy Kyle's Kindness.
In his show he enriched the lives of people who'd been through the ringer or had made a difference in their community.
Tosh prog?
To many yes.
But it left me feeling healthier.
Kyle can be a bit of a cock sometimes with his polyester hair and faux tough guy act but I suppose today was a tad different.
With the help of an army of colleagues...He made a brave little hairless girl smile, broadened the grin of a brain damaged teenage boy, brought to the viewers attention the work of a former teacher who now helps out NEETS. Lads and lasses not in education employment or training. So congrats to Kyle and his team.

The stage was red with decoration andhad a huge big telly showing a log burning fire, sacks of gifts lay round about and stagehands wore ubiquitous santa caps. I could deal with all this fluff after the hellish day yesterday.
A tinsely ritzy polished performance from Jez was just what the Doctor ordered.
So thanks Jez, cock boy:)

Now to work on lugging...

:)

No Beef For Mother, Not With Her Foot

Just returned from GP's.

Mother has a bad foot caused by a scald. It isn't healing very quickly so the doc and nurse jumped into action.
We will be back on Friday to change the dressing.
We will also be back next Wednesday to see the doc about a few other things, then, it's off to the hospital for a scan. Not of her limbs but of her chest and abdomen, the whole bit in the middle.



The poor lamb is now resting in her fawn coat surrounded by a bulging bag of drugs, my night out has been cancelled. It would have been great to chat over coffee or wine but I can't leave her to her own devices. Not yet:)

I like night time, especially when I gaze up at stars like a child being told about moonmen. I too am agog. I like night time too because I'm a poet.
But I'm not little but I am a poet.
So maybe, after some corned beef, I'll write about the magnificence of living.

Large Meat

I simply had to have it.
So into the trolley it went.
Going to take an age to roast.


Mother Update:

She's getting on my nerves.
Wrong size porridge bowl.
First "No lunch"...then "Where's my lunch?"
Bucket in drawing room for feet.


Meanwhile here I am phoning the surgery so that Madam can get her multiple fixes of ointments, lotions, potions, tablets, powders and pills.

I may try to get OUT tonight, not for long, just a change of scenery on account of me feeling a bit below stairs...

Being poisoned tonight:)
Corned Beef, sliced finely in order to make sure there's enough for sandwiches tomorrow which will be accompanied by wavy chips. Probably 1 ish.
Mashed tatties. Nobs of butter. Too fed up to care about cholesterol.
Peas, nuked. Then sugared and salted.
English mustard, a soupcon.

*

Old Queen of Puddings. A nursery dessert favoured by older people who feel let down by Tiramisu.

A Quick Word...

Carrot.
Large.
Uncut.

Today has seen me faffing all over the place, not for my benefit of course, but for Mother's. Jildy, the man at the Post Office, has kinda given me my own parking space, so often am I in his establishment. Bless him.
We mostly josh about stamps and weights only today he didn't make me laugh...I had to send a postal order by Special Delivery or whatever its called, anyway Jildy said it'd cost over £5! WHAT I bellowed but handed over the cash, it was an Order from Mother so I couldn't disobey. Money to burn she has. Bugger.
And there's me hanging around in charity shops all day...

So off I drove to get more stuff.
The flippetty gibbet in the chemist hadn't heard of 4711 scent so after explaining to her that it was a famous scent from long ago I left yellow hair to her pricing gun...

Then papers...

Then charity shop:) Where I bought a red puffa anorak and three padded hangers.
"You alright?" said Jill
It startles me when people say that because I think I must look A...W....F...U....L
But I grinned like an idiot saying "Yes I'm thank s Jill and thank you for the free toffee"
At Christmas time they always have an open tin for customers/friends to dip into.
Christian charity is fine but no thank you I won't be able to make any services at the Baptist church...

It was raining pussies and hounds on my departure so I strolled to the car just to get wet. To feel something from above. To wake me!

Then home to phone calls a plenty. Not anything to do with me you understand, all to do with Mother's library card, drugs, eyes and diabetes.
I love having her here...

But she does show affection and appreciation by wanting me to drink tea with her. All the time.
I will be old one day and probably in a worse state, (been hitting the champers a lot) and I dare say I'll be cheered by the presence of a great person (probably some burly Lithuanian male nurse) and I'll hang onto his coat because I'm lonely...:(

Cooking tonight:

Roast Chicken
Whole braised carrots (they look so good lengthy)
Peas
Roast potatoes
Stuffing
Gravy

*
Rice pudding and jam.

Now TEA and a little company
:)

What a Woman

Just before I say my bedtime prayers I must have a word.
And that word is Champagne.
Mother had a glass!
What a gal!



More wonderful stuff tomorrow:)

Just made a dozen Devonshire Scones.
Yesterday made a Yorkshire Tea Bread and Austrian Coffee Cake.
I say come one come all.
The world is my worktop.

All these goodies are for a little party I'm having this afternoon, nothing soothes me like having friends round for tea.
I won't however be serving cute cucumber sandwiches.
If my guest requires savouries he's come to the wrong do.


:)

Gas and Raisins

A wee bit chilly willy outside so I'm staying warm inside with the help of my oven.
I haven't gone so far down the road as to not to be able to ignite my gas fire but I feel the warmth from my oven as it bakes bread and other seasonal goodies will do my crotchety joints good

Standing this morning as I so often do with my hip bones pressed against the tables edge, I flipped through a cake book deciding, with the help of the season and all that, to knock out a tea bread or two.
I also had another idea, and that was to make some smaller ones for my neighbours, especially them opposite who dropped through my letterbox the most lovely card. A plump robin perched on a skinny twig. My heart leapt. So for Jo, Steve and Adam a Bara Brith is on its way.

Talking of generosity I asked Mr Horsehound why I make a fuss over people at Yuletide, he said it's on account of my nature and that I can't help it. He's right of course, I can't stem the flow of love which gallops from my body and if I could I'd send baked goods all around the country.
One to Manchester especially, and others to other places aswell.
One teeny weeny thing concerns me as regards food parcels and that's mould.
I could never forgive myself if a package got lost then turned up damp and furry with green stuff growing.
Talking of food parcels I was sent a large packet of Smoked Salmon this luxury fish will be used judiciously on account of it being luxurious and not often in my trolley.

So today, I'm baking and creating and will serve for tea Nasi Goreng, totally un-Christmassy but so yum. Mum will have a slim sandwich.

Talking of which.
Last night was wretched, but she wants a haircut so it's not all gloom:)
Now I must change handbags...

:)

Yes You

Oh God
yes you
Hiding Your face
behind
everything
it's about time
you
yes you
got shot
of Commandments
and
broke your back in the real world
like us

God, my heart
aches

Playing with the sticky stuff

Comfort food for tonight is..................

Bolog. Added fat grated carrot. Go with the flow that's what I always say. Don't procrastinate over small issues or big carrots. Felt better afterwards.
Spag cooked al dente. Want to return to making my own. Will make some and hang it to dry on a coat hanger.
Ched cheese. Parmesan costs the Earth so will stay Home with the ever faithful Cheddar. By the way bought a strong one.
Irish soda rolls warm from the oven. Will slam them in the very moment I get the call from Mr H. He late again. Grrr. Every time I have an evening planned he's late. No midnight whispers in his shell like tonight. Another grrrr.
Mustn't grumble must plug on regardless.

Talking of grumbling and murder Mother asked me, wait for it.... she asked me, just after 5, to evict Monty from the kitchen armchair.
Matricidal thoughts as I eased the poor lamb orf His chair.

....
And for pud I've messed about with a steamed pudding. Into the pudding basin I've dropped some strawberry jam then, just for mischief and art's sake I scattered in like confetti quite a lot of desiccated coconut.
And because I'm feeling like life is wonderful in patches, I'm serving it with hot strawberry blancmange. Firm blancmange is so 1960's. Hot thick and oozing is the way for me.

These small fun activities are keeping me fit in both mind and body.

(.) (.)
^
U

.....Before my day really hots up I must just have a word.
That word being.
THIGHS.

Late last night my Mother ate one.

:)

Tool of Relaxation

A nice lady

A pair of dressmakers scissors were my first major buy of today, followed by groceries, black male socks and tartan style gift wrap.

Sainsbury's was chokka so I took my time but as I drifted along the pasta aisle my heart went funny, a bit bubbly...Oh no I thought as I hung onto the trolley I'm getting the vapours mustn't pass out on account of my wearing of laddered tights.
So...I took deep slow breaths whilst shutting my eyes. Must have looked queer but I couldn't have cared less.
After a couple of minutes my heart got back to normal, although quite what normal is I've forgotten, anyway, I trundled on...

These frequent wobbles are becoming more er frequent so I've decide to chill out at the weekend, limiting my activities to a quiet perusal around a couple of charity shops. Local.
Cooking will be minimal, nothing too fancy or time consuming, by doing this I will take care of my emotional innards.

Relaxing takes many forms for me, sometimes I read or watch a film but usually re-arranging soft furnishings is more beneficial so after this I'll cut up some old blue and white curtains and hang them in the kitchen:)
Then oat biscuits and tea:)
Mother is in the kitchen saying very little:)

After the re-tart of the kitchen and the nibbling of oaty bikkies I'll start on tonight's tea:
Chicken casserole and dumplings.
Really looking forward to diving into that. For pud, lemon and lime jelly with green grapes and ice cream.


Now I must fly, I have scissors to play with:)

I was going to post about old age depression, coughs and scalded feet but hell that's no way to treat an audience so I'll post something good!

Presents.
I got one.
Today.
This afternoon in fact.
I promised NOT to open it, not even to gently ease off a bit o' wrapping paper to see what's therein. So...the LARGE gift is propped up against the fake coals on my electric fire:)

Keeping with the Christmas theme...I also received two smaller but still very important items through the letterbox.
Cards. Big and smaller. Light and heavy.
One from a notorious aunt south of the river the other from my bff across the Pond.

And as I held/clutched them for dear life I visualized them both, the people that is, my notorious aunt is now quite old, and is, by the contents of her letters to me, still the feisty red lipped madam she was in days gone by. Although now she cares for a sick old husband 23/7 and passes the other hour by doing cross stitch. (My dad, by the way, liked Ivy best...)

My bff, someone whom I've yet to meet, is blonde and ballsy and cuts up rough when faced with do or die situations. I like her very much. One day she keeps telling me, we will enjoy English tea together on my 'porch'. Bless her brave heart, I don't have the bottle to tell her my 'porch' isn't really a 'porch' just a faded red doorstep holding a faded old plant pot.
But I would LOVE to meet her despite our communication failures.



Right I've had my say, now I must tend Mother's catalogue of ailments and tend my Toad:)

Nothing But Christmas On My Mind

The mantelpiece is looking perfectly pretty.

Hanging Wooden stars fringed with golden glitter, cards squashed together on account of a blue Father Christmas, his soft clothed legs hanging over the mantelpiece. No room for his sack. Two Tiffany style lamps edging perilously close to destruction, expecting annihilation soon, Mother's murder books the soon to be culprits. Families, homicide and Christmas going together like pudding and brandy butter.

Two Victorian style kids (about 10) in bonnets and capes stand trapped in a love gaze waiting for someone to lift them up and twist their underskirt mechanics in order to set them skating on their tiny wonderland rink.

Another jolly card, showing a miserable cat wearing silly baubles. I imagine the puss thinking.."When this silly woman has finished I'm going out and aint coming back till New Years Eve, LOL"

And the showpiece, a centrepiece of Yuletide joy, a dark ivy green 18 inch long thing with holes for three candles. Hanging from its centre, a fairy-tale red plastic apple and to the left another apple. The best thing about this decoration is its no-messing about hugeness.
But that hasn't stopped me adding.............

What else?
A couple of rogue pills, not mine, mine are smaller and whiter, a hairgrip, not mine, my hair too short to grab hold of, a list of television channels written BOLD, not for me, me don't do much telly any more and finally
a card with snowy olde church theme, for me.

I will, given the chance, lovingly flick through a recipe book looking for a simple festive Fruit Cake recipe. I think I may have one or two:)


Being cooked tonight:

Toad-in-the-Hole with onions and sage
Mashed pots with butter
some kind of veg, probably colly,probably steamed
a little jug 0'gravy

*

Queen of Puddings with Strawberry Jam:)


Now I must FLY>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
x

Oh what a day

Some days are best forgotten...Today is one.

Not that it got the better of me or anything ordinary like that, it just drained every drop of life out of me.
But it's coming to an end now and I am ready for bed, how long I sleep is not important, what is important is that in a little while I'll be out of this chemical/form filled/wheelchaired world. And my mind will be free to roam. Probably to palaces and shacks. Whatever. They are all home to me.


Mum had a big appointment today, and with her usual amazing fortitude went through the ghastly procedure without so much as a delicate murmur.

Tests will be done again but she was allowed out into the cold night air with nothing but letters for her GP. When she was wheeled out through the hospital doors I was so pleased to see her that immediately my own health felt better. (I fainted this morning) So over the moon was I that I chatted on and on to the taxi driver about football and rugby and swimming pools... mum and John being their usual quiet selves just enjoyed the Christmas fairy lights which brighten the roadsides of Rochford.

At the moment she is on the settee frail and pale and drinking Lucozade, she's been through a terrible dark tunnel today lined with tubes, needles, greyness and uncertainty but she's in my living room now sitting small and proud wrapped in clothes too big but looking every inch a Madam, and her palace, her home from home, is bedecked with twinkling fairy lights of red and blue and white.

What a tough little fairy:)

This post has taken an hour to write...

The Very Thought Of....

...making a Gingerbread is making me Happy. Rich damp and dark, with treacle and, for added vavavoom, an icing made with ginger jam.

...taking mum to the hospital tomorrow is chilling me a little. A big test. So no sustenance for her today or tomorrow. I'll make it up to her soon by filling her with non-healthy food as prescribed this morning by her London G.P. Pastries, butter, full cream milk and other life enhancing fat producing foodstuffs. Sounds good to a fat lover like me:)

...reading yet another 50p cookbook (tea time recipes in flip top book) comforts me like the wearing of old socks.

...seeing friends helps the heart like nothing else. Even hearing voices jingles my bells. So the thought of eye to eye shivers me timbers somewhat. Can't wait matey!

...compiling a Christmas grocery list, chestnut puree and cider being tops. Beef for the Big Day, decent sized so lots of leftovers for sandwiches by the fire. Smoked salmon offcuts for my Salmon Puffs and a big fat Red Cabbage spiced and laden with fruit and sugar to go with a small Pork shoulder joint. Smashing hot even tastier cold. That's both the pork and cabbage!

...deciding where to put my 25p Cockerel and Chicken cushion covers, probably kitchen. They are cotton embroidered with luscious fat birds in warm Autumnal greens and browns. American I think.

...a BBC talent show being aired in the new year, warblers will have their day in front of. amongst others, the Legendary Tom Jones. I hope the Welsh belter is kind and doesn't don the Hat of Hate. So tired of tv vitriol.

...Sticking my plastic wreath on the front door gives unto me a feeling of Joy.

...writing Christmas cards lifts me from the pit of worry and rockets me to a bright snowy place where a Robin sits aloft a spade dug deep into the earth....

...Christmas shuffles the blues away:)

Bed bed I cry
for on it soon I will lie
and in its soft dents
dream of money ill spent...

Bed bed I sigh
for in it I will cry
for friends far away
to whom I must say

Goodnight sweethearts...

Positively glowing with adrenalin am I.

Pillbox, plug and haddock being major buys of the day.

And as I strolled through the crowds on this beautiful sunlit day I had not a care in the world.

Mum was safely propped indoors armed with remote control and drug bag. No need to rush thought I.

And so I dawdled along the Southend High Street knocking into gals in tiger print tops, men in white anoraks and Ladies in XXL viscose trousers. And I loved them all.

And then as we entered Poundland I remembered last Christmas and how cold and stressed I was then, Dad was on my case then you remember, and I promised myself there and then by the shampoo that whatever happens on Tuesday and thereafter I'm going to wear tinsel in me trilby!
Blow You!

Big sigh.

Tonight we'll see who wins the X Factor, but if I'm honest, I'm not really fussed. Kind of lost interest since Johnny left. Which reminds me I had to pop into a mini-Sainsburys on my way home and my cash was taken by Mark, the campest cashier EVAH! Loved him and he me on account of my "OOOH aren't I the lucky one?" as he dropped into my hand a penny. "Just for you dahling" he said.
What joy it is to spend a couple of minutes with a fun person.

That reminds me I bought a mock silver ring with a bumble bee welded on.

Mum's being a pain again by lying about hunger, she had me spitting feathers after refusing beans on toast, she will wait she said for some poached haddock.
Aren't old people horrible?


Want Marcus or Amelia to win X Factor...I think I was gabbling on about that earlier....
Isn't middle age a bastard?

My earlier post was lazy.
Few words on account of a mind too soggy to form proper sentences.

I've had a stinker of a day. Tried to get mum to agree to going to hospital after a collapse, but the fighting old bird said NO.
Her demeanour today has been a fusion of WTF/Sadness/Fear.
If, what I've seen today, continues in to this evening and tomorrow morning I will disobey her. For once.

Being cooked tonight.

Lovely fluffy Cod Burgers
Homemade Soda Rolls
Chips
Sweetcorn
*
Eve's Pudding and Custard.

Avon lady. Hurry up. I need starry amethyst glitter on my eyelids.

Lady in Co-Op. You were so friendly. Uplifting. Big thank you. Reduced cucumber sticker not getting you down.

Soda bread rolls. To make. Can't wait. Bread making, the ultimate tranquillizer.

Secondhand recipe book (50p) all Christmas food around the globe. Something thick I can dive into. And wallow in. Possible new found friend. I like thick friends.

Cod Burgers. Baked Fish cakes on top of little Gem lettuce crowned with low fat mayo, shredded cu and paper thin sliced tomato. Buttered Soda rolls to hold the lot.

Snooker. Hoo Hah over Mark Allen's comments still causing a stir. He's right. Barry Hearne. Big Beast and quite common. If he tinkers with the World Championship, I fear a massive walk-out...Not really:) Change is inevitable, even in snooker but to mess wid it has upset my tummy and view on things. Is nothing sacred?
Doughnut (s). Bought yesterday. Could be stale. But will risk it.
Tea. Endless sloshes of the blooming stuff. Tea is my alcohol.

Tiny brown click top purse (30p) embossed with a lady and gentleman. Deutsche looking. Mini holdall for munny.

Now I must go back into The Room. Where Mother slopes and which the cat avoids:(

Cheerio!

TRUMP V. ROBERTSON. NOW. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!

I'm as high as a kite.
What has brought this on I have no idea.
Or maybe a little bit of an idea.
Love. In all its forms.

Is it Buddhists who say that to lose 'self' is the finest thing of all.
Well I've kind of lost my 'self'.
Holding up Mother has taken away most of my self-interest, and that can't be bad. NO longer is my every day all about me, what I wear or eat or who I text. Putting mum up has dismissed life as I knew it.


There's tremendous freedom in being encased in others.
I'm free to lose me.
And that's no bad thing.

This post is all about me ;)
Some things never change...

The Snooker Championship is on!
And a Hoorah for that!

Just been watching Dominic Dale playing the impossibly named Judd Trump. I love Dale but his hairstyle ages him, say about 40 years, meanwhile Uber cool Trump looks exactly what he is...a kid!
I can't begin to say how glad I am that there's an old pal in my drawing room, always loved watching it and rooting for someone or other...Nothing quite soothes like something familiar.

Ronnie O'Sullivan knocked out Davis yesterday, I knew that because I caught bits of it in between doing my nursing duities. More on that later...Back in the 8o's Davis was my main man, always cool under pressure and always pleasant to watch unlike O'Sullivan who, to me, is the worst kind of 'sportsman' tetchy and precious and sometimes downright rude.
Never gracious in defeat and under the tuf nut bravado, a bit of a mummy's boy.
No, O'Sullivan is not on my 'must watch' list.

Talking of must watch lists...
After a long chat with mum's GP we both decided that it's best she stays here with me until her legs get better.
His choices for her were blunt. She either becomes a part-time Essex girl or gets hospitalized. Going home is not an option.
Legs too weak, brain ok, likelihood of a fall high. So with us she stays.
I've already got her on my GP's books where today she had some blood tests , now I/we wait...Her Gp will talk with my GP and decide on course of action. Surely the Queen couldn't be better cared for. Half the bloody country is rooting for her now she has to do her bit and abide my my rules.
And do everything the medics say. Otherwise she'll be in for a very black Christmas:)

I have a million things still to do today, one of them being the rearranging of furniture, always a joy...
I have a mad desire for space and air and light and leg room.
Other mad desires are:
In no particular order:

Ink pen.
Gyrations on the dance floor.
Gyrations on any floor.

Now I must shift the sofa whilst packing up mother on a chair whilst watching snooker whilst thinking about meatballs whilst thinking about Sweeties...


:) :) :)

Night Time Trip

Tonight's covering sky is no different to any other sky
'cept, this blackblue air keeps me from shooting, powering myself into outer heaven
that
warm endless marshmallow slumberville where humans without wings
flatter Angels with their charm
where immortals hobnob with flying spirits
and where tribes of fiery folk sip water from blessed palms
I would, if I could, surrender to this palace of knowledge
this home of the laughing dead
But I am here foot solid on earth
looking through dusty blinds up to the sky.

Come and join the Party

Update from this mornings post...

Talking in advert breaks isn't exactly the way to make plans for life.
But we discussed and came quietly to a half-cocked agreement.
She'd do the sensible thing and open her mouth to her GP and I would continue to fume:)
Not really fume. Just get slightly warm over her recent unwillingness to make a legitimate fuss over health issues.
Got to speak up Mother. If you don't bother, who will?
So tomorrow we will go back to London to do blood tests and chat informally with doc about pencil thin legs and vomit.

My beef casserole is coming along nicely.

And so, with fingers crossed that Mr H. gets home at a decent time (arrived last night an hour late) I'll cheerily natter whilst serving beef soaked dumplings and grape jelly:)

A quick after thought...Jeremy Clarkson is not my cup of tea. His juvenile antics leave me wishing he'd feel the force of poverty or better still, a run in with a decent bout of depression.

Cheerio.

Dairy of a Carer
Day 985...



Last night. Late.
Sandwiched between settee and coffee table.
The little lady lay.
Skeletal.
But arms of son-in-law and hands of child
soon have mama propped.

A decent little poetical effort and so soon after chat about night-time spectres...

My cough, by the way, kept everyone awake:)

After making myself some water based porridge I gave mum a big bowl of fat milked cornflakes, which, I have to say, aren't a patch on any other cereal. Lack guts, muscle I think. Ok for snacking on, maybe while watching an afternoon movie or playing footsie with a man. At any rate cornflakes suck.

I will, as the day 'progresses', feel more human and humane, she can't help feeling the way she does nor can she do much about it so I and maybe others will prop and medicate till her legs have bones again.


Now I must fly:)