Another Day

Watching Wimbledon is keeping me sane.
If it wasn't for Murray's matches I'd go potty. The fun and swearing in the Horsehound drawing room when Moooooray plods out onto Centre Court makes excellent medicine for mother and I.
I suppose I am, as usual, enjoying a love/loathe relationship with the man from Dunblane. It's like I want him to win on account of him being British and all that but when it comes to it I can't quite bring myself to leap up from the sofa when he grabs the deciding set or when his opponent is roughing him up... something nasty gets me it's as if a tennis demon takes over preventing me, a great patriot usually, cheering him on...Something terribly English nails my English bum to my rose coloured cushion. I cannot clap that man.

Oh well, whether or not  I plump for the drainpipe lad tomorrow you can wager he'll have hundreds of flag waving hat wearing twats/fans sitting in their expensive seats yelling him on to thrash yet another Spaniard, Fernando Verdasco.
Where's all these Spaniards coming from anyway?

Talking of annoyances..these past two days Mother has been an almighty pain. Enough said. Suffice to say I felt like leaving orf the brakes on her wheelchair when I went in a shop buy her sardines.
And as I queued with the fish I imagined pictures of me in the local press...Haggard, 57 year old carer, Mrs Gloria Hortense Horsehound allowed her  wheelchair bound terminally ill mum to freewheel in bus lane. The 76 year old  was killed by a cyclist. Horsehound will be sentenced later today.
I daydreamed out of the Co-Op to find mum, still there.

And so we zigzagged carefully back to the car when a well cushioned old lady, dyed brown hair, ruddy skinned fed no doubt on plenty of lamb chops and gin barked in my face "look where you're going".
I didn't reply. I stood silent, expressionless on the kerbside looking into her rheumy failing eyes. She didn't see me, or hate me, not really, all she saw was someone in her way.
I didn't fight the old girl or give her the length of my tongue, because Life with mother has made me like that. So many things to care about, so many daily look-outs for symptoms of approaching death that I have to be judicious when dolling out bollockings.

We'll be glued to the tennis tonight with a plate of ham rolls for sustenance.