Out and around again today...this time to Rochford  market where I bought some plastic wrapped dates, a pair of men's gloves and a lace bedspread (single). £2
It was the usual thing...
Cold hands and forced laughs.
Mum grumpy. Mr H. stoic and myself lost in mum's world of frequently altered medication, chronic constipation and requests for straw coffins. Mum, you see, is going through a sad painful phase, inhabiting a lonely morbid place where dreams of dad come frequently and hopes of returning to London fading..

I am rung dry.
I've discovered for the umpteenth time that my extensive vocabulary in the rousing the morale area is running out of gas and so I stumble over my words. I get headaches too.
But I bought the bedspread so my capacity for pleasure still thrives.

Later that day.................I drove my good friend the ever so man-in-black Hairy Suit back to his very own abode wherein we played with junior Hairy the12 year old whose capacity for ham sandwiches is very funny.
We didn't play darts or snooker...no not at all. We were an audience for the boy's remarkable acting talent. A natural born mimic. His observational powers, awesome. Made my feeble attempts at showing orf look rather pathetic, but then I'm an old drama queen, and he, just steps away from being a celebrity.
Oh Boy can the lad hold an audience!

And so after a bit of dancing and doing as I was told I hugged the little one then.............

Back home in 'my' Rosie,........... zoomed along did Mr Hairy and I, along dark roads chuffed full of tea time traffic back to the bungalow where a pork and vegetable tea needed to be cooked.
And after a silently eaten meal we decanted warily into the drawing room to watch an Eddie Izzard tape...
He is brilliant so said Hairy, Mr H and myself, mother on the other hand spat sickness fueled vitriol at the dazzling comic.
And that's how life is for me at the moment.
Egg shells are the new carpet.