Updated

Mum's resolve is legendary but she's just being silly now.
As pale and weak as wet paper she's still determined to hit the high street.
So in half an hour or so we'll go out and mingle with the people.
I'll push her in the wheelchair as she gazes half blindly at shelves.
It's labour of love.
And as we slice off people's toes who are too stupid or pig headed not to move to one side my heart rate will soar. Mother will remain royally seated.
Sorry and excuse me being the extent of my communication with the folk of Southend on Sea.
I loathe the smug able bodied.

But we'll trot on picking up a bargain or two. And return to the bungalow hot and tired.







I'd rather stay home.

At 11 am we each bought a handbag of varying levels of ghastliness. Mum's being a Primark pale pink with tassles, mine being a Primark copy of a 1972 boho mock leather shoulder bag complete with etched patterns.
By 11:30 we were queuing at Customer Service for a refund.

It wasn't all pointless though. I did have fun in Poundland where shelves of baking equipment promoted by Jane Asher got my juices going.
I plumped for an icing bag with three nozzles, a set of cookie cutters and a baking book which contains the usual variety of tried and tested recipes with one exception...tres leches cake. I must admit to never having heard of it. Apparently, according to Jane Asher it has been popular in Texas for many years AND because of its consistency, more of a pudding than cake. Right up my street.
I HAD to have it.
And so, with mum carrying a basket of baking tools, yellow rubber gloves, hair conditioner, jasmine scented fabric conditioner, lavender air freshener, bag of Bombay mix and 6 pink bed friendly curlers we lined up with the rest of the pre-Easter shoppers.
I was ok, but mum was wilting. Wilting like a the head of a once bright sun filled daffodil. Her chin almost on her chest, her floppy hair trailing along her collar and her vein patterned hands clasped together. In Prayer perhaps.......................................
"I'm not religious" she told me this morning over our cornflakes "But I prayed to God that I could get to the  bathroom"
"And did you?"
"Yes"
"Well there you are then. When I'm not around you know who to ask"

As we left the busy store I leaned over and whispered "What now?"
"Up to you" she said, eyes not focussing at all.
So we went up in the lift to the roof of the shopping mall.......... and pop music blared out as I carefully dropped mum into her seat, then packed up the wheelchair holding the parking ticket between my teeth.

We didn't talk much on the drive home, speaking only once regarding the amount of cars weaving and dodging and speeding their way to somewheres on this fine warm day.

The inevitable subject of what to eat came up.
"Burger?" I asked
"Up to you" mum gently replied

It was  that kind of morning.
Very calm, gentle, without fuss or heartaches. We're getting used to how much we can and can't do in a morning.
A little bit of fun is better than none at all.