The Day Itself was patchy.
Mum crying... myself and Mr H keeping our heads down. So not the best way to spend the fun day.
Our beef dinner would have tasted better if there'd been three of us sitting at the old table but mum broke her promise to join us preferring instead her own plate of food and her own company.
This was NOT what Christmas Day is about.
But as usual there wasn't anything I could do to shift her from her large electric chair or put a even a half smile upon her face.
Boxing Day however was better.
Mr H driving into work on account of not a single train running out of Southend, he didn't relish the prospect but the man did well, arriving promptly at work at 8 a.m. and returning to myself, mum and a very excited Mr Hairy Suit before 5 p.m. and me with me Yorkshire puddings still unmade.

The night was fine. Mother kept her own counsel, Excellent boiled bacon followed by slices of  Sitcky Toffee Cake and chilled double cream....
I had a sip of ginger wine, the men preferring softer tipples, mother as usual hanging on to her pink drink from Sainsbury's.

I haven't written about presents!
I got loads.

Today saw Mr Hairy and myself driving in the rain trying to find a shop open that sold Calor Gas, after a little while I told the ever so patient Hairy that I was fed up with looking for gas and that I was going home gasless. On the way back we stopped orf for milk and papers. Spa Road was empty, only life was the black and dust of speeding cars. God how I loathe pig ignorant drivers.

Mother was unimpressed by the lack of Calor but I didn't respond instead hiding in my kitchen till the redness in her cheeks had mellowed.
Talking of mellow... A tall fascinating man from the DWP visited us early this morning informing mother of her right to extra cash.
And as the gentle soul asked mother the same questions she's been asked a hundred times before I noticed how like Jesus Christ he was.
Very long oily dark brown hair, an even longer wispy cobwebby beard, dark brown hooded eyes and a fantastic rings and bells and gizmos watch. God, he wasn't what I'd expected. Sandals even protected His feet.
But he did what needed doing and after getting a signature he left.

I'm making a Bolognaise for tea. And will if I can, resist being forced into another heart breaking conference with mother regarding her imminent departure for London. I love the old bean but she's a twit if she thinks she'll cope on her own, with her bad legs, one good eye, two clogged up ears and three types of cancer.
And more to the point I don't want to be brought to court on a charge of Neglect.
No m'dear love ya to bits but you're living and dying here.



:)