And so the Scot stomps on.
His next match is against Ferrer, should be worth rushing home to tomorrow. Out and about again with mother. We won't give a hoot about the weather or being swallowed by a giant octopus or being kidnapped by gangs on the look out for old women who look capable of doing light housekeeping duties either abroad or in Bradford.
Hospital appointment today for Mum.
As we waited in Sub room 1 I clocked the faces of people roundabouts. Not one of them beautiful. All were wedge- like, worn, with faces like grey railway tracks. The men wore beige casual trousers or black polyester smarts, neither matching their shirts or age. I hated them. And I hate hating but as women of all ages bounded heavily from room to room (bloods, weight etc) I wondered why, with such atrocious feet they wore open toed-sandals...did nothing for their femininity..... Just reminded me of herds of filthy cattle.
I'm not in the best mood as you can tell.
Blame mum for this.
She's had a poor couple of days and I can't sit down.
Anyway the appt. went according to plan, no horrid surprises so out we went into the drizzle and home to tea and a little company.
My mate Reg was there so I had someone else to care about, someone with whom I can share thoughts and recipes.
Reg is alright.
Murray and Cilic larked about, Murray eventually dismissing giant Cilic and now bitches into the next round with Ferrer, who I've already mentioned.
Repeating myself?
I'm tiredy wiredy I suppose.
Very early start............ with mum crying into her weetabix because she feels 'low' and me looking for belts so her trousers stay up. Blow this.
But we did what we had to do and felt better for it. Feeling better is all matters. Mum is now on antibiotics for a 'chest infection'. Damn it all, it's not a legitimate chest infection, the kind you or I might pick up on the bus it's another symptom of all her growing all multiplying cancer pals. Coughing constantly being the main tell tale.
Crazed hyper active schizophrenic cancer cells running all over her they are. Popping up here there and every where...
Her GP knew it and so did I.
Blah blah my dear hope the weather gets better. Here take these.
I am so frustrated I feel like running away to the kitchen where mum now sits, her slight body angled towards the the dusty old tv where Wonderful Wimbledon plays on.
"It's not the same this year Ang"
she said earlier her eyes somewhere else other than on me
I could do nothing but agree...
I'm opening a can of corned beef for us tea and making miniature plum crumbles for afters.
:)
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