Delivered a quiet mum to Joan's charity shop where I wheeled her around looking for that must-have item.
After browsing sleepily through a hill of books we brushed our fingers across the blouse and t-shirt rails, managing to find a pretty rose pink jumper. Not my cup of tea but it'll look fine on mum.

Then a flick through the bric-a-brac where I found a stout well made navy blue mug, 50p and an ovenproof baking dish with two segments...(carrots and sweet potato sprung to mind) £1. Mum wasn't looking particularly interested in the mishmash of eclectic ornaments and kitchen ware so we went over to Men's Wear.

And if ever a man ever needed something fresh and of the 21st century Mr Horsehound does. So I waded slowly through a forest of old macs and coats eventually halting at a decent Marks and Spencer anorak. Excellent cond. Great masculine colour, teal blue, good lining and numerous pockets without holes. Yes at £3 a real fair buy:)

We paid Tim the boy manning the till and left with a wave to Jean the bare legged (winter and summer) manageress. Out into squally weather where in a moments I'd be held in the warmth of George's Fish Fryery Place.

I didn't mind waiting for my roe to be cooked, gave me some me time. So I thought about today and tomorrow and the future, but after a few moments decided it'd be more sensible to think only of today. So with a fat hot package held to my sticky - outy zonkies (must remember NOT to slouch and to keep my excellent posture till I'm old, I left Georges and once again sat next to a silent mum and drove all the way home.

Oh dear.
I was pleased with the way the morning was panning out, mum as usual saying very little but keen to watch the sport and eat her cod in the kitchen with me and Monty. So we did. Monty was dropped fish, I sat awkwardly on the edge of the chair eating good roe and mum was armchair sat surrounded by paper kitchen towels and vinegar.

We ate in silence save for the the commentator screaming as our rowing lads battled it out against the blasted Germans, it was great telly and the tea tasted sweet and Monty played football with his fish then mum got sick and it all went mucky and pear shaped.

To hear and see her convulsing and heaving with her little purple clutch bag dropping to the floor and the translucent skin of her shoulders being stretched kind of put me into Mother Teresa mode. I couldn't be angry or feel anything other than pity and tenderness towards this small woman who wasn't in control of anything. Not even her chips.
Her face contorted, eyes watering and with her pink blouse stained I pulled off her clothes and carried her to the front room.
"I'm sorry Ang"
She didn't have to say anything, it was my pleasure, funny word to use when you're mopping up vomit but it was mum's so I didn't mind.
After a nice cup of refreshing tea I put her in her nightie and got her settled for the afternoon. She's asleep now and I'm baking a cake. And funnily enough I'm feeling absolutely fine.