Mr Hairy Suit goofing as always.

We had a fab time on Saturday. The food was as excellent as usual, the surroundings pleasantly green and one couldn't wish for better companions. The camera-shy Mr Horsehound and Mrs Hairy Suit obliged us big-heads by being camera people for the day. I'll try to gain access to Mrs Hairy's camera phone and bag a few more pics.
I truly had a wonderful day and after a sumptuous lunch of grilled haloumi followed by liver and bacon followed excitedly by chocolate brioche ravioli and cream we tootled home only to lounge around drinking tea swearing we'll never overdo it again.
We didn't drink though. Well only one of us did. Moi. And that was a little Pimm's and lemonade. The other people supped softies.
Mother was fine about us going out. And even though she'd promised to come I didn't get in a fight with her. I knew she must have felt awful about letting me down on my birthday.

I had lots of cards and presents and enjoyed being with my mates. And that's what it's all about.



Today we've spent most of the day picking up mother...

As I type Andy Murray is playing a big Aussie. I'm no Murray Maniac but I want him to win because I relish getting settled down with some nice sweet tea watching him get beat up by Djokovic in a few days time....


Talking of beating...On Thursday afternoon in the cardiac centre my bradycardia will be discussed.
So no nasty shocks Andy. Please!

A Pint of Wallop or a glass of sherry

Being t- total I'll plump for a bottle of  J2O. I won't though mind if Mr Horsehound and Mr and Mrs Hairy Suit get squiffy. I would though be very surprised.

I'm going out for lunch to a fine hostelry called The Royal Oak with the very fine aforementioned folk, who are as excited as I am at the prospect of dressing up then indulging in fine dining. Put simply every plate of food I've had at The Royal Oak has been fabulous.

Mum though won't be joining us. She's a little tender at the moment so feels it best if she stays in and watches the tennis. (Nadal being on Centre Court at 13:00 hrs followed by Sharipova then Federer)
I was stumped for a reply this morning when, after showing mum the gifts Mr Horsehound had given me for my birthday, she looked blank saying she didn't know it was my birthday.
I laughed.
I had to.

After having two more cups of tea I did what needed doing and we chatted away like theold birds we are, mostly yacking about the caravan Hairy Suit and I are buying. It's sited by the River Crouch. See picture below taken by Mr Horsehound.

River Crouch

A Happy Day

Early this morning after re-arranging mum's furniture Hairy Suit and myself tootled off to see Hairy's ma and pa. It is ma's birthday
A little lady and a big big man. That was ma and pa not me and Hairy.
Whilst we chatted away like a squall of old parrots my old mum was watching Andrew Neil hosting The Daily Politics show on BBC2. Must be where I get my interest in the grubby business from.
Mr Horsehound meanwhile was steering youngsters new to the tv business in every right direction. A born teacher.

I digress.

'Twas a most pleasing couple of hours with Viola and Trevor, and as they enthused about their wild back garden I felt more than a passing twang of sadness. Sadness on account of my mum not being able to share it. Not that mum has green fingers but she does like looking into other people's houses.
Viola was the perfect hostess offering tea and biscuits using beautiful bone china and a ravishing array of delicious biscuits. Real old school and I loved it.
As the four of us surveyed the undulating landscape of the back garden I was struck by how stunningly simple everything was. Simple borders, haphazard planting of fruits and veggies, a miniature railway painstakingly lovingly constructed running around the edge of the wild lawn and, down towards the station hut, a galaxy of golden fish swimming happily and fat in Trevor's homemade pond. Amazing.
Just the type of garden I would like one day. The kind of horticultural haven that would have to bring out the poet......
It was imperfect.
There was, amongst the weeds and lillies, rusting buckets and old yellow hoses, split bags of sand and old plump pear trees, and, by the loganberries a rusting bird feeding station, warped wonky but packed with sunflower hearts and mealworms.
Viola's smile caught on. There we sat in her conservatory which only another hoarder and collector of ceramic birds could love talking merrily and earnestly about rhubarb and life's big decisions.


She liked the gift I'd given her, oriental lillies in a purple pot and the card with hand drawn pictures of non-descript flowers. I think in the future Viola and I will be share many a happy hour.

As it's my birthday tomorrow I need to get to bed right now on account of having a smashing lunch party tomorrow with Hairy, his wife Mrs Hairy, my Mr Horsehound and hopefully, mother.
She hasn't been tip top today but I'm hoping that after a few hours sleep in a pain free night she'll be able to come with us.

Goodnight All

E

.........Embark
without fail
take off without fear
your heart needs to travel
.......Embrace
without embarrassment
open eyed so as to see
your love transparent
........ Enjoy
without hindrance
loving

Big Ball or Small Ball

There's some great tennis at Wimbledon today with the likes of Federer and Sharapova hitting Centre and Number One Court.
I'm hoping to both of them.
However over on ITV1 at 4 pm a footie programme showing England v Costa Rice. Kick-off 5pm.
If super hitter Federer is still on court or indeed the fabulously talented Sharapova what will I do?
Probably tune in to watch England drop out. A sad day for English football.

Ex- footballer Ray Samson was talking on the radio this morning saying a lot of England players in the past haven't taken playing for the National side as seriously as when playing for their clubs. Get away! Always thought that Ray. Always. I'm hoping the current team will be shamed into upping their game when it comes to internationals. All ears and eyes will now be on Euro 2016...I'll be 18 days away from my 60th birthday when the competition kicks off on the 10th June and I'll be hoping and expecting a damn fine show from Roy's boys...





About to try and get Mother out for a morning's shopping in the sunshine. I've done her make-up and hair and she's feasted on porridge so she should be feeling a lot better than yesterday so I'm hoping for no more tantrums.


Yes today should be ok. Tennis, Football, Cod and chips for our tea and tinned blackberries and cream for sweet.

Updated

Wimbledon is here and with it the usual speculation regarding the weather. Also pondered is whether Mr Andy Murray will retain his crown.
Nope. Just my opinion of course. I'm sure there are people who think he will bag another title. But from what I saw at Roland Garros and Queens the likes of Nada and Djokovic have little to worry about. But then what do I know..
I thought the England football team would reach the last 16 but no. On Saturday they're playing Costa Rica hoping they will at least be boarding the plane home with a crumb of dignity in their hand luggage.
Shocking, really shocking.
Talking of shocking.......... myself and Mr Horsehound were up at half past early ( 3:30) dealing with Mother and as sleep failed to return we decided to stay up and, sitting in the kitchen, in the kitchen looked up at a blue and white sky which was a dead ringer for the opening credits of The Simpsons. It made us laugh.

After taking Mr H to the station I crept in so as not to wake mama seeking to gain an hour or two of oneness with nature.
And at 6 am as I glanced out of the window a black and white slimline puss sloped around the back garden gliding effortlessly between my shrubs. His sparkling pink rhinestone collar looking out of place in an English garden.
Our eyes met then he scarpered like the beast he is.


If I can get mum in the car we'll go to the shops this morning, but, if like yesterday she cannot even stand, then we'll do something else.


Wimbledon starts on BBC2 at 11:30.

 Mum was too weak to get to her feet so I went shopping with Hairy Suit. We weren't out long, but long enough to buy a couple of recipe books.

Free..UPDATED

Mr Horsehound and I went out.
First stop Primark for t-shirts and lippy then into two art exhibitions run by Southend Arts. Decent enough works on display. But I'm no critic. With its bland magnolia interior, eclectic mix of creative efforts and goth girl on security it was cool haven in the heart of the Royals shopping centre.
I felt right at home.

Afterwards we visited the Heart Foundation charity shop just opposite wherein old beady eyes here saw a vision of loveliness..NO I WASN'T LOOKING IN A MIRROR..I clocked a simple gorgeous tan leather Laurick shoulder bag. No I haven't heard of them either. But it is beautifully made and elegant. And with a price tag of 3:99 I considered myself very lucky.

Then after realizing we'd been out for nearly two hours we came home.

After Italy failed to do us a good turn by beating Costa Rica we will soon be heading back to Blighty. It'd do us good though to leave Brazil feeling that although we're out we managed to salvage some honour by beating Costa Rica.....
WE WILL BEAT THEM....

won't we?


Wimbledon begins Monday......


Argentina are playing Iran. Fair game, fair game. Tonight's match I won't be seeing on account of needing a movie fix. Probably plump for guns. Probably Eastwood in one of his best. GRAN TORINO. He's 84 you know.

Hey Glo, I know what you're thinking is this my second blog post or is it my first to tell the truth I've kinda lost count.

 

The image of 'keeper Joe Hart lending a hand to the his team mates as they tried to level the match will stay with me for a very long time.
It was 2-1 to Uruguay and time was running out when out of the blue Joe ran the length of the pitch to get in the scrum in the hope of getting a goal.
Sadly, disappointingly,frustratingly it wasn't to be.
Saurez put the Uruguyans ahead then when Rooney equalized I had tremendous hope but Surez had other ideas, he scored again through an abysmal failure in the England defence.
From thence on the game descended into a battle to the death. It was then Joe, decked out in green, scrambled around like a man on fire giving everything he had.
Poor Joe. Poor the rest of them. And poor Roy Hodgson.
The papers are already  awash with speculation about his career as England coach. I think he's done a good job, not by winning everything but by being brave enough to launch into the spotlight the young men who, given time, might hold up the Jules Remy cup. 2018?



Am I mental to still believe?

We played well last night but not well enough but there's still the merest faintest hope lingering in the hearts of every true England fan..If, and it is a MIGHTY BIG if..

IF ITALY BEAT COSTA RICA TONIGHT 
and
IF ITALY BEAT URUGUAY NEXT TUESDAY
and
IF WE BEAT COSTA RICA ON THE SAME DAY, TUESDAY
we will go through.................

Still Believing

It's an English thing. England v Uruguay 8pm kick-off. I can't say any more other than WE HAVE TO WIN.
Again ...

My sweet beef casserole is braising, a kiwi and raspberry cheesecake is resting in the fridge and eighteen small Welshcakes are cooling on the rack. These lightly fruited lightly spiced 2 inch morsels are delicious with a cuppa and I have no idea why they're called Welshcakes.They aren't baked in the oven like normal English cakes they are fried/toasted in a very lightly oiled pan. It takes time but they're worth it. Especially good buttered. A nice decent mouthful that requires no cutting or icing or flapping around with paper cases and bun tins. You must though watch them carefully otherwise they will burn quickly and be horribly raw inside. So patience is the key.

The beef casserole is a Mary Berry recipe which I've tweeked over the years, beef cooked in a spicy garlicky tomato sauce subtly flavoured with apricot jam.I'll serve the beef with rice and garlic and coriander naan bread and fruity chutney.

The cheesecake is jolly good friend, a real standby when I'm at a loss as to what to make for sweet. Biscuit base topped with a cream cheese, Greek yoghurt and double cream mix, tanged and thickened by lemon juice. For colour and interest as well as taste I've plastered sliced kiwis and raspberries all over in a random manner. I'll glaze with melted redcurrant jelly a little later on.
My party food is READY!

This morning, as you can tell, has been busy. I told mum not to buzz me unless she was having a funny turn/breathless or drowning in a spillage. She was quite all morning. Barring of course the usual early morning fiasco of washing dressing and breakfasting.
I got on with the cooking and cleaning in a sane calm manner.
Stopping only to take a call from Andy, the palliative nurse, who was so sorry about having to postpone his visit today. Grr.
I got on with making the party food.

Now I must fly because I'm dipping in a blood sugar level kind of way AND mother is calling for the bedpan.

Come on England...MAKE ME HAPPY BY GIVING ME SOMETHING TO LOOK FORWARD TO.....Quarter Final? Semi Final....FINAL?
Next Saturday against Croatia?

Evening

Footie has been terrific.
Those loveable rascals, Australia, gave Holland a fright... Beer downing sheep growers 2 2 Bulb Chewers 3. Great game mate.

Tonight the gang and I are hoping for another smashing game. Spain v. Chile. Money has to be on the Castanetta clickers but my heart is with the Chilealianianas.

I'm loving the World Cup.

Tomorrow though my love may die.

If England fall to Uruguay and I'm praying to all deities that it is not so, I will continue to bend the knee at the alter of the FOOTGOD because I like the show. The painted faced crowds, the pundits, the anthems, the little nippers who accompany the real men out into the sun-cooked arenas. It's a spectacle that lifts my spirits dear.

If hell occurs...
I'll probably root for a little team, an underdog, someone like Germany or someone. But of course my viewing, my humdrum life my afternoons and evenings over the next couple if weeks would be deliciously enhanced enormously if Roy's boys GET A BLOOMING GOAL. 

Day In Brief

Grocery shopping
England flag on car.
Mother in an upright position.
Shooting off to opticians for realignment of spectacles.
Pork chop (more info on My Table)
Hair gelled.
Chin whiskers unpluckable, razor out.
Flowers on my mind, yellow. For inclusion under maple bush.
Teeth alright.

Once More Dear Friends, Once More

As soon as mummy has finished her toilette we'll be out hanging around the haunts of Rochford Square.
It's Market Day and there's nothing I like more than snipping off people's toes with mums wheelchair.
Oh well here go. I have a feeling it'll be a fine morning.......weather looking fair, I'm looking slimmer ( heart scare is the best diet) and it's just good to get out.
My once pristine bungalow is a bit of a mess and messes irritate me but mother needs upkeeping, feeding, cleaning, inspiring...... the whole carers caboodle.
And I'm doing a good job but the cost is high.


 Things to look forward to:

Tennis from Eastbourne at 1. Practice tournament pre-Wimbledon
Pub lunch with Hairy Suit (with mother's permission)
Footie at 4.
Footie at 8.

And England v. Uruguay on Thursday. I'm having a party, there'll be four to feed. Probably plump for a slow-cooked spicy fruity beef stew.
And strawberry cheesecake for sweet.


Now I must fly. Mother's elasticated trousers have split

A Carers Tale

Your bones I could crush to powder
such is their state
strewn with humps, accessorized by lumps
Your bones in my care I could crush


My heart you've rendered impotent
Such is its state
bleached by the drought of a life lost, made mad by responsibility, grown callous
My heart you've rendered impotent


Wall-pounding, knicker wetting, foam spitting bedtime questions
the whereabouts of stuff
twenty questions every night
with twenty answers every night
ditto ditto ditto
On your table. On your table. Right here. Right here.
And
Yes your light is on
And
No it won't go out
No it won't go out

Till I snuff it out

England 1 Italy Too Many....UPDATED

Here we go again


Fell into bed around 1:30 this morning and what did I get for sacrificing my beauty sleep? A thorough beating by the Italians.
But with some eye gel and a few earlyish nights I'll be eye poppingly gorgeous come Thursday...when England take on the Uruguayans.
I fear for Roy's Boys...Not because team Uruguay are world beaters but because they chop the legs orf ya if the fancy takes them.
And we English don't do that.
Now,
We've never really had a dirty national team our club teams were though............. once upon a time.
In the 1970's Leeds United took the crown for being the most brutal.
And I mean brutal. Not only did feet fly by fists also.
Just ask the ghost of Brian Clough. He managed a little team called Derby County and during one match his lads were kicked to pieces.
But that was the bad old days of English football...

I fear though for Roy's Boys if, come Thursday, they stroll out onto the pitch in Rio wearing only their cross of St George shirts and no armoured underwear they will suffer many bruises.... The Uruguayans, like us, need a win. And us being teribbly decently Brits won't break a man's leg. However....
Uruguay's national motto is LIBERTAD O MUERTE....Freedom or Death.

Must fly...Mother is calling for me to switch channels..There's a football match on ITV.

Five Hours To Go....

I've stocked the front room table with non-heart friendly toffee popcorn, luxurious white chocolate and a punnet of health giving red cherries.
And now as my franks simmer, onions caramalize and buns warm I can say I'm almost ready for England's first game.
I only wish it was being shown on ITV instead of BBC because as much as I admire Auntie Beebie's outstanding sports coverage I loathe Gary Lineker's stewardship of any England match. His attempt at humour is embarrassing and his hardly concealed mocking of the England team is quite frankly, sickening. Why does the ex-England forward revel in pessimism.
I suppose it affords him a certain thrill.
Talking of people doing us down...The wife of Wayne Rooney, Colleen, has said she's soooooo looking froward to Wayne, the kids and herself jetting off on a well earned holiday when England get knocked out. Well my talentless Colleen I do hope you're made to wait.

We all know England's history in World Cup's but that's no reason to wish us ill. 


There will be millions of  homes in England tonight doing what we'll be doing...
Smiling. Cheering. Gasping. Hoping.

Spain 1 Holland 5

Van Persie's spectacular header was the most stylish, sharpest, cleanest goal I've ever had the pleasure to see. Simply magnificent.
His leap reminded me of a deer and when he craned his neck to head the ball it reminded me of why football is called the beautiful game.
The other teams had better watch out because Team Holland are on fire...

As minutes went  by the Spaniards floundered, the Dutch however grew stronger.
I can't wait to watch them again.
Van Persie by the way is 30 years old. I'm  hoping that Roy Hodgson's youthful England team won't get too downhearted.
Where's Becks when you need him?
Camping it up in the Amazon wearing a red scarf and carrying kids on his back like a designer rucksack. Love him though, always have. Not for his uncommonly fine looks but for the way he played for England. One of the best.

Talking of England...
Tonight they play Italy.

Hello Glo. What do you think? Should I stick with the kids or recapture David?.

 Go young Roy :) David's happy in retirement.

Now I must fly. Mother wants to know why Mr Horsehound ran naked into the garden at 5 am.
To rescue Monty of course. The daft old puss made a break for it by climbing out of the bedroom window and leaping down a fair way onto the patio...it was then he realised the climb back was impossible. So a lot of brattish cattish wailing occurred.
Mother will no doubt blame me for having an open window. But I'm 57, I get the vapours.

Ta Ta :)

Glo's Rant of The day

Mexico have just had two goals disallowed.
The linesman dishing out the injustice should be kicked out of the tournament.
Yesterday we had poor refereeing, today poor linesmanship (is that a real word me wonders).
At any rate if this is the standard of the guys overseeing the matches then there's gonna be a whole lotta heartache.

Ranto finisho

Dive! Dive! Dive!

If you can't win fair.....DIVE DIVE DIVE.

Brazil's blatant cheating in the first game of the World Cup added a sour tang to the start of the greatest football show on earth. It also made the overly saccharine opening of the tournament a bit pathetic.  RESPECT being Fifa's buzz word...

After Croatia went ahead thanks to an own goal by Brazil the Brazillians went crazy eventually leveling the game with a Neymar goal but to make sure of victory the aforementioned Neymar bagged 2 more, one an unjustified penalty. He dived beautifully.
The Japanese referee was wrong to award it.

The Croats said they might as well go home.

Talking of going home.
Murray did yesterday. An awful performance against Radak Stepanek. Afterwards the Scot said because of an early exit he'd have more time to practice for Wimbledon.
Oh my Lord.
He's Wimbledon Champion for heaven's sake, but unlike the Nadals, Federers and Djokovics of this world Andy, despite being a champion just doesn't cut the mustard. He just worries me. He has no panache, star quality or the charisma that puts fear into the hearts of his opponents. Winning isn't only what competitors are remembered for it's their ability to instill fear, respect and likeability.
 I don't think Murray does any of that.

Back to the footie....
I hope for a better match tonight when Spain play Holland. 
I'll be supporting Holland.

Talking of support....If  have a pound or two left after visiting the charity shop this morning I'll be popping next door to Corals for a wee wager...

My dad was a gambler and I thank him for passing on the questionable genetic trait....
love you darling.


Now I must fly. Mother is talking to the wall.

AT LAST!

AND IT'S SUNNY TOO!

ALL MY THOUGHTS ARE ON TONIGHT'S SHOW WHERE BRAZILLLLL KICK OFF AGAINST CROATIA!

SO AS I TRUNDLE AROUND THE CO-OP WITH MOTHER THERE'LL BE A SLIGHT JIGGLE TO MY GAIT!

And then there's freshly coiffured Andy Murray.
Today at Queens Club.
Playing I don't know who.
Thwacking the ball over the net sporting a brand new haircut.
He's Wimbledon champion but I don't love him. I wish I could.
But then not everyone is a Nadal, Tsonga or Dimitrov.
Maybe we save our truest feelings, not for those in whose company we feel electrified, but in whose company we feel tenderly drowsy..
If  that's the true case then I'm smitten!



Now I must fly. Mother is demanding!

Such A Beautiful Day

After a tiring but fruitful morning out with mum ( southend for vests) I need some me time. So after domestic duties I'm escaping to a garden centre. Not necessarily to buy anything, but to be free for a while.
I like pottering around at home, looking after mother and all that that entails but it gets to a point sometimes where I want to crash through the love barriers and make a dash for it.
So when Rob arrives he'll be hauled out by his hairy arms to the car and driven off down long and curling roads so I can pet the slobbering old softie of a dog in Four Acres garden centre.
I might buy a pansy.

Another trip...

When mum finally decide to get dressed (with help from muggins here) we'll be orf out. Yesterday we were out also. After preparing dinner mum, Rob and I tootled down the road to Four Seasons garden centre. Ok. What's special about that? Mum went in her pyjamas.

Golly Gosh it was hot too. So hot in fact that my shoulders now look like two hot cross buns. But we had fun. Sort of. After a short while mum got breathless so after rapidly loading the boot with flowers we drove slowly from the garden centre out onto the busy road making our way home to watch the tennis. (A win for Rafa).

I'm hoping mum will bear up to another outing and not panic me by grabbing onto my arm insisting we make a quick getaway.
She often does that.
But she likes Hockley so we  might be out for an hour at least.


More tennis today. This time from Queens in London.
While on the subject of ball games. Only three days to go.....
Brrrraaaaaaazzzzzziiiilllllllllll!

Must fly, mother is calling for paper underwear.

0 - 0

The sight of tv presenter Adrian Chiles, ex-footballers Wrighty and Lee Dixon and the one time England manager Glenn 'you'll suffer for your sins' Hoddle huddled in a corridor while waiting for the expected lightning strike made me chuckle. Live tv at its very best.
The England Honduras game hadn't been going long when the ref hauled the lads off in case an Act of God ruined things. So orf  they trudged.

And we, the tired viewers sat watching our tv screens entranced by the Miami sky, heavy with threatening black cloud. "Well I never expected this" I said to Mother and Rob. (Mr Horsehound being out for the evening) And so there we were, the three of us, titillated kind of by two hours of Britain's Got Talent, the winner being Collabro, a male vocal ensemble. Decent enough. But so predictable. I wanted 15 year old James Smith to bag the £250,000 prize. A young guitar playing Essex lad with a weird Dave Clark Five kind of hair style but with a soulful crunch in his voice. Still never mind, he's had exposure, so his life as an ordinary schoolboy who helps out on his dad's market stall will never be the same again. With the right management and right choices he'll learn his craft and succeed.

After a quick natter with Rob about heavy eyes and early morning shenanigans a la mama I decided with a heavy heart to turn off the tv and go to bed. Mother was not amused. But she could see I wasn't in the mood for tantrums so she did what she was told and went to bed nicely.

And as a gentle breeze swirled through my open window making my deep red curtains sway I laid in bed and thought of Roy.
Pacing up and down the corridors of a Miami stadium, his aching-to-play boys sucking on oranges. He must feel awful....
But not as awful as when the ref blew the final whistle because his team walked back tot he dressing rooms with a miserable 0-0 draw under their soggy belts.
Tut tut.

Tennis this afternoon.
From, I hope, a sunny Paris. Rafa Nadal and Novak Djokovic thrashing it out in a five setter I hope. My money is on the Spaniard although I do like Joko, he's funny.
Rafa meanwhile rarely goofs. In  that respect he reminds me of yesterday's ladies winner the ever so horrible Maria Sharapova. All is tickety boo with the tall Russian providing she's hammering her opponent. But let the aforementioned opponent give her the run around by bagging a set or two then Ms Sharapova fires such nasty looks across the net it makes all her soft leggy blonde girliness fly right out the window. What a madam.
A commentator said the only thing that gets her up in the morning is her need to win. She doesn't need money, she already has so much, the desire/need to beat the other girls is what she wants most. When she played Eugenie Bouchard the other day, Eugenie being drop dead pretty by the way and a fearsome tennis player, Maria appeared quite distraught that, this gorgeous talented opponent was almost as good as her. And that would never do. The crowd was on the Canadian's side. As was I. I think Ms Bouchard is one to watch...



 Now I must fly. The dinner needs attending, the garden needs looking at and Mother is yelling for me to read the scandal regarding Nigel Farage's mistress.
Just another Sunday in the bungalow...

Glo, Glo, you there darlin? Look I know you're busy but can you do me a favour love by NOT putting photos of my boys on your blog. The last pic you posted of Oxlade-Chamberlain put the bok on the boy. So be a good girl and stick to writing. Love you.

"Oh no Glo!" says JOE the goalie

After a mucky pain-filled 5:30 am start with mother (believe me YOU DO NOT want to know) I tootled off to see Nursie.


NO MORE LARD

Although I wasn't about to die my cholesterol was borderline high and so a change in diet was suggested.
Cakes will from today be a treat.
Nurse Tasha said I wasn't her usual cardiac case and that my weight was great. But ever so slight alterations MUST be made
I will survive/live/flourish on fish, chicken, pulses, wholegrain. A more Mediterranean diet in fact. And that's fine with me.

And so as Rob, mum and myself watch some great tennis this afternoon from Roland Garros I will munch on flaked mackerel on brown bread.

My past

I know just how you feel matey!

England 2 Equador 2. UPDATED

An average performance from England. Poor Oxlade-Chamberlain, injured and probably out of Saturday's match against Honduras. The Equadorians. along with other herberts we've played gave us the runaround and that isn't good for someone like me. A true fan with possibly a dodgy ticker. No, not good at all. But I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

Come Saturday Roy Hodgson will have, I'm sure come up with a team suitable to give the Hondurians a jolly good thrashing. Not that I like to see people, especially footballers, maimed but the lads he chooses HAVE to punish regally.

Because if they don't I fear for their mental health as I fear for mine. Imagine if you will, turning up in Brazillllll and coming up against little Italy with three lack lustre matches under ya belt. Hardly inspiring is it? But this is the England team we're talking about, they don't DO easy. They scrape in, scrape by, managing somehow sometimes to crawl through to the latter stages of the biggest tournament on the planet.
England are officially bad for one's health.
But they are loved. Well they are, by me at least.



Back to to the real world...
As we sipped our early morning tea Mum told me that last night she saw her dad.
He had been standing in front of the telly.
His balding head shining. His railway uniform clean and pressed.
He died in 1965.
Pity that...if his heart had held out he'd have see England's Bobby Moore lift the World Cup!

Vintage Satchel delivered this afternoon. All leather with proper buckle fastenings, none of this press stud magnetic nonsense.

.

England's Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain. A good boy. Who, I'm hoping, will stun the Equadorians tonight ( 20:00 hrs our time) in Miami by putting the ball in the net. I don't though mind who scores...A lose against Equador will be too much to handle.

And so, after burgers and chips (homemade of course) I will settle down with a droopy mother to cheer on my boys.
Oh my giddy aunt how am I going to feel in 8 days time when the lights go on in BRAZILLLLLLL!


Now I must fly mothers calling for a dry sheet.

Waiting waiting and hoping hoping

Andy Murray will be on court at Roland Garros later today hoping to get a step closer to bagging the big prize.
I'm hoping I'll be able to watch some of his match. I say hoping because there's no saying how long I'll be out because there's no saying when I'll be out. Mother you see, is taking her time making up her mind.
Already I've been on the phone hoping to hear that her prescription is ready..no not quite I'll have to wait. And now I'm waiting for my blood test results, hoping all the time for a 'great news' result. In other words shove orf you're as fit as a butcher's dog.
But I need to wait. and while I wait I hope.

As I type mother lies in bed eating her breakfast cereals..

As a result of losing my life to mother I'm doing some pretty wacky things. Take yesterday for example. I ordered a tan leather satchel from the Cambridge Satchel co; Even gone so far as to have my initial ' A' etched into the leather.I now await its delivery.

Talking of deliveries. Mother's over- the -bed table arrived yesterday.

I'd better fly now. Mum needs to be wheeled to the bathroom then, after much splashing and vitriolic verbals back to her bed for more considerations as to what to wear.
You gotta laugh!

Aaargh!

After a 15 hour fast I had a blood test but not before being seen Nurse Ratchett. Who, in a very stern way told me in no uncertain terms that I was unsuitably dressed for my ECG.
Oh boy do leave off. Just because I was dressed properly for the weather being clad in tights and petticoat I got evil dagger eyes from the heavily built white haired angel....
Anyway...after the ECG she took it to the doc next door who immediately informed me that I need to go the hospital to see the Heart man.
There's something morbid about the word cardiac. And so after the shock wore off Hairy Suit and I  went to the nearest cafe for beans on toast.
I tried to put on a happy face as pop music blared out in the Beehive cafe in South Street but inside I felt doomed.
What was I going to tell Mother?.  How much more can I take? And to hell with it it all bring out the cake tin.

As expected mum was cool. Didn't ask much, in fact didn't ask anything! All she wanted was a new blouse and did I pay her rent. She did though grasp my hand when I said my plate was over flowing and that it would help if I had fewer things to worry about. I.E. running her affairs. A blank look.
I told her I would continue to care for her in my over crowded bungalow but that she must give a little. Another blank look.
Things aren't going to change for mum, she will continue to be her usual combative self but things might change for me after I've seen the cardiologist.

On a positive note.
Rafa is doing well at Roland Garros today. And Murray is set to play later this afternoon. So not all is lost.
And Wednesday England play another friendly..
I told you I was an optimist didn't I?