Walking around Rochford market was preferable to a day out in London. Or so I thought. Yesterday was not nice. After an early morning talk with mum she decided that it would be better if we postponed our planned trek to the smoke leaving it to another day in the near future.
She ended the conversation by adding "I bet you're glad"
Another dagger to my heart.

But I got on with the day.
Taking her to the market and local shops with my friend Mr Hairy Suit. And as mum and I talked the same talk about the same tosh I felt like taking to the woods to live in a tree stump.
Such is the sludge of my everyday.

We moved on.

Hairy Suit was as helpful and cheerful as always. A real sunshine.

Later that day...I developed a headache of epic pain, but mum persisted in her verbal batterings. So I went into the kitchen, ate some paracetamol with sweet tea and day dreamed about living life as a singleton.
It's good to day dream, it's the minds way own sweet way of surviving. Books suck at the moment. Can't lose myself in any of them.

Later, in the evening, Mr Hairy left to go home, and a few minutes later I received a call from him saying he'd have a prang in his Micra and could he pop back for tea.
He arrived a few minutes later, pale and shaky, no enormous physical damage, slight whiplash and a scratched and warped car.

After tea and reassurance he went home feeling better, ready no doubt to sort out the insurance palaver.
He's cool in a crisis, I like that.

I was left with mum and her bitterness.

This morning went out again, this time to the Church charity shop. Mum was ashen and weak so she sat on the shop's cream leather sofa and looked out of their large sparkling window. Meanwhile I shopped. Finding a tartan handbag and brown ceramic pie dish. Perfect I thought for a meat and veg pie come the weekend.

Then into the chemist where the friendly lady assistant said I looked very serious and was there anything wrong. I goofed about being 57 and running out of Savlon. She believed it. I mean, how could I have a chat with her about me feeling like I'm being wrung out like a dishcloth.
She was pleasant enough though.

As I type mum's crusty roll is defrosting, she doesn't like ham sandwiches, she likes ham rolls.

I'm looking forward to Friday.
A bit of grocery shopping without mother in tow AND later on I'll be making a coffee and walnut sponge cake AND England v. Chile at Wembley.

Now I must fly...
I'm peckish and feeling creative so an egg sandwich and a major tidy up of the front room is required.