And so here we are, waiting patiently in number 18 side room in UCLH... Mark, Rob and me.

Both hips are now replaced, tender but loud loving care given 24/7 by a group of medics, all of whom captivated and enthralled by wonderful Mark.

His first op was 6th May, no problems in theatre but  frantic calls to teams when Mark collapsed unconcious shortly after returning to his room.

After much reassurance and many procedures Mark was cheery in bed with a host of people surrounding his bed like an army of uniformed angels bearing sugar coated orders...

Then the next Friday came...and another gruelling wait for dad and me while Dr Dhir and his colleagues worked on Mark.

The building is newish and whilst sipping coffee downstairs in Costas I looked at some artwork, obviously installed to bring on a feeling of calm. It was cool but hardly a Turner more like Pollack. But it did its job, taking me out of the arena so to speak.

People buzzed around like insects going here and there stopping occasionally to chat with each other, masks permitting.

So after draining the cup and finishing off a raisin Danish we plodded up to Mark's room. It's large airy and has a window which doesn't open. Air conditioning is the thing here in this state of the art department. We talked a bit mostly about what's going to happen next.

How long before we leave and how long can you go without sleep before illness sets in. That sort of thing.

Then a nurse popped in and took us down to recovery where Mark lay drowsy of course and wired up. As I leaned over him tears appeared in my eyes. he's not even MY child yet I have the protective instinct only a good natural mum would have.

Enough sentimentality, gets you nowhere.

So since last Friday it has been a case of three sleepless nights, many administerings of drugs in drips, a barrage of excitable nurses, thoroughly decent cleaners, enthusiastic physios and awesome doctors. Mark is in such good hands.

Earlier today we went for a stop and start stroll along the corridor, Mark using his walking frame of course, a fall would be catastrophic. He did well. The standing at a bar doing squats however is not Mark's fav activity.

But bless him he strode along, feet splayed, but he's getting there getting there getting there.

Rob and me have had words. Only natural I suppose. Having not been able to go outside, streetside, fresh air sunshine and wonderful things like that since...28th April. Had to self isolate from that day until we left home for the hospital on 5th May.

It's been eye wateringly frustrating, being in a room, albeit a large one, since the 5th, unable even to leave the hospital for a gulp of air.

gotta go now

Just been told Mark needs blood transfusions.

And another thing..sodium levels critical .

And Mark 'hears' none of this because he is in his own world where everything is fine.

 As soon as the sun shines there I am scrubbing the patio.

And after the clean up it's in the motor to the Potash Garden Centre to stock up on flowers-a-plenty.

And by jiggery jingo have we stocked...

We love the Potash because it's wide and welcoming and bulging with Begonias, Photinia Red Robins and many many more delightful flowers.

And I bought them all. Well not ALL but I've loaded a couple of trollies and spent many of our English pounds.

And all because of an improvement in the weather.

So, after stocking up on all kinds of flowers, I needed to add some quirky bits...

A silver coloured resin hare looking skywards, howling probably.

A green shabby chic three tiered plant holder.

A 30cm high robin infested bird feeder in the shape of an old log.

Big pots.

A ruby coloured dangling wind chime with touches of the East. Nam yehorengekeyo. I do need to unwind sometimes.

Like maybe now for example.

My step-son Mark aka Markie Boy aka Manager aka Top Manager has wrapped his right arm around my stooping shoulders whilst we listen to ENGLAND V. SWITZERLAND. We are already 1 down.

But being eternal optimists we KNOW Southgates boys will and MUST prevail.

Let me rattle off a few lines about my 21 year old shadow...

He is getting a new pair of hips in May.

He has waited eight months and it has been the most excruitiating wait. His dad, my partner, Rob has been like the dog with the bone. And a more ferocious pooch you won't find.

Once he'd sunk his teeth into the NHS he wouldnt, couldn't let go until someone somewhere helped his son to walk again.

Mark collapsed dramatically one day in the kitchen, his hips crumbling due to the after effects of radiotherapy.

After many long hospital visits, heated phone calls, emotional meetings and in a case of desperation last resorts and all that trawling the interweb checking out prices of going private we finally got a result...

The amazing docs at UCLH agreed to proceed with a double hip replacement. Thank you Mr Rajput.

It's been interesting. Devastatingly exhausting trips to London, numerous meetings with anaesthetists, surgeons, orthopaedic fellows and Wednesday's trip to London was particularly tiring on account of a major get together with all the teams involved with Mark's operation and after care.

Mark's Down Syndrome took centre stage during all appointments. Getting Mark's situation across to people is, to say the least, mentally  and physically tiring. Some people just don't get it.

But we did it. We got there. And in a couple of months, Rob, Mark and I will trot up to London to spend a couple of weeks in the caring arms of the guys at UCLH.

England have equalized.

 Back to the garden. Please.

The patio is crammed in a most delicious way with...Lillies, lavendar, miniature roses, pansies, a Forsythia and lots and lots of flowers whose names have left me. Sorry.

It's funny how a little blast of sunshine, a few bob spent on simple blooms and some good news on the family front has lifted my spirits to an almost drug like high.  

I must sign off now because Mark is nudging me kitchenwards and a big Indian takeaway has just arrived.

Feels good blogging again x

 

It's milky black outside

a lacklustre night

birds silent, their warbles silenced

probably by the sight of the local fox

a wrecker

a killer

a bronze coloured beast licking up beefy juices from the violet coloured plate

St Francis I'm not but I do like to adminster morsels to the hungry and hated

 

 

As I was slicing the last wedge of carrot cake into three I remembered most fondly this blog... 

 

As I write this Mark is snuggly beside me writing earnestly his ' tomorrow 'to do' list. A thoroughly long and never ending list containing such gems as...

Sorting my clothes cupboard .

'Hovering' his carpet .

Dusting a clok.

Polish shelfs.

Sorting out Sam's wooden chest. (Sam is a puppet of dubious parentage) 

Use Aer freshener. near shoes.

Sorting bin liners...

And the list goes on.

Mark as you can see is a very houseproud young man. He takes keeping things tidy to a spiritual level . It is helpful for him in so many ways. He loves 'tidy' And he loves it that I am tidy too. We are, infact, THE TIDY TWINS.

And the fact that he is so determined to do the right thing for his room, which he now calls his 'reception' although sometimes it's his 'office' it is NEVER his bedroom It is remarkable because he can barely walk.

We were told a couple of dark months ago that he needs a new hip (s) and that it is urgent and we are still waiting. We are not surprised.

So daily tasks are arduous. Helping in and out of the shower. Keeping his walking frame close by. Clearing paths.

Mark gets out and about by using his wheelchair, although his outings are limited due to Covid.

We went to see his Granma and Grandad yesterday, and what an effort that was. He's a heavy lad and I'm an old dear but we got there unscathed, had a nice natter over tea, coleslaw sandwiches and chats about cat litter, then came home. Slowly.

As you can probably tell by the apalling standard of this post I havn't written anything for ages. But one should never neglect a hobby. One should never dump a friend.

I've barely spoken to anyone today on account of feeling serious. Serious is another word for depressed. So, like Mark, I swept my troubles away by giving my bedroom a total makeover while. Five USA Columbo dissected the case for the umteenth time. Never neglect an old friend....

It now looks fabulous. I've been brutal in my getting rid of stuff way, polished surfaces now gleam and my few ornaments stand stock still watching on as tears drip from my heart.

Mark is looking as I type 'really fast' and wonders what I am writing. I say 'nothing important' and furiously tap on. He's looking forward to going in the car with his dad to collect his mum from work. Soon they will leave and I will glide into my bedroom and smile at the shine.

 

 

Look I really can't think about anything other than tonight's result...

Southgate's boys beat the German boys 2-0.

And this, for me, is the thickest sweetest icing on today's deelish cake. 

Today has been an ok kind of day. Been houseworking and baking. And that's fine. That's what I love to do.

And readers of this blog of which in the past have been many will know how much the antics of the England football team fascinate me.

Tonight's performance had me nearly choking on a piece of pork crackling but I cheered on and with the final whistle gave my pacemaker something to get its teeth into. I now wait for Saturday's match against either Ukraine or Sweden...

Tonight's win was a super special birthday present for me, albeit it a day late, but any win against any team on any day will always be the most wonderful gift.

Thanks Gareth, Raheem and Harry.

You've made a very old girl happy.

 

 

 Rain.

Rain.

And more rain.

Not a problem for me. I'm resting with Mark. Resting? Hardly. But I must try. Doctor Kelly's advice.

He was charming. Very chummy but very businesslike too. And so as I sat boiling with the heat, he said "you will be having a heart scan".

This on account of what the phsyiologist found two weeks ago when I went for a Pacemaker check up.

Apparently I'd had an event, an occurence in the lower chambers of my heart. Which, the doc said, was serious.

Bugger.

But he was so nice about it, about everything in fact, so reassuring. But his soothing friendly tone of voice didn't quite mask the seriousness of my situation.

After smiling broadly we said our cheerios, he went back to his large desk and I left the  hospital walking briskly to the bus stop.

I shopped till I nearly dropped, getting bits and bobs for Father's Day. Bought a gift on behalf of Mark for his dad, and a box of chocolate brazils for Mark's grandad. Don't know if any of that makes sense. Mark, bless him, can't shop, he hasn't a clue about money. We, his family, do the shopping for him, paying for it happily. Mark just does the "what have you bought? thing.

 He really is a wonderful young man. Full of joy. 

And by jolly jingo do we need that right now.

 

The hanging basket filled with apricot coloured begonias looks delightful.

Been very busy getting the gardens in to shape ready for summer . We were planning a party for Mark's 21st birthday, complete with bundles of his chums, a couple of family members and one or two of our mates from the car club. But we've decided to chop away at the guest list on account of covid not going away...

So the garden ensemble will consist of... Mark, dad, me, mum and grandad and granma. 

And, with the outstanding help from the charity Willow, a special appearance by Britain's Got Talent winner magician Richard Jones. 

Willow has been amazing, they help people who have had cancer, by offering holidays and gifts. They will also be supplying a birthday cake. We can't thank them enough. So a huge hug from us to Josie....Hug coming sometime later this year!

We, that's Rob and me, have, with lots of sweaty work and cash, transformed the back garden from a dullish workaday place to a picturesque slap happy lots of nooks and crannies space with fabulous herb garden, fruit and veg plots and a resident resin Buddha who shares a space with a swinging from a branch monkey.

The garden centre which has supplied flowers, ornaments, swing seats and bird feeders is the Potash Garden centre. 

I can't say life has been easy or even bearable during lockdown, it hasn't but, in the words of Marks's gran, "we're getting there".

Talking of Mark's gran, her lot hasn't been a bundle of fun either. Her beloved husband of over 60 years has dementia and what a heap of stress that has brought.

Rob's been getting 5a.m phone calls saying grandad has gone awol. Again. And can we go find him. So being the dutiful son he staggers out of bed and we cruise the quiet streets looking for the 87year old. Last time he went out for an early stroll we found him talking to a cabbie. On talking to the cabbie we discovered grandad wanted to go to Rayleigh. He was in Rayleigh only he thought he was in Stratford. And so it goes on. And so his wife, who is sometimes NOT his wife but an impersonator, struggles tearfully to hold onto the man she loves.

What makes this so painful to watch, to participate in, to feel is the fact that granma refuses to admit he has dementia. According to her he gets 'confused'...

He was in hospital for a week with a UTI, it was successfully treated and he was sent packing, he nows wanders his home in a daze thinking I'm a nurse. 

The hospital showed very little interest in the dementia or how his wife was going to cope, it was simply a case of 'he has family'...

So here we are...

Rob is working from home. Trying to concentrate being his biggest problem

Jeannie works occasionally. Trying to get her to do anything is ours.

Granma is in denial. Those pansies WILL get planted. My husband is back to his old self.

Grandad is the sole inhabitant on his planet.

Mark is blind.

I have a heart problem

I am watching Euro 2020...

Then Wimbledon.

 

 Another early start.

Crept into the back room just after five, and so not wishing to awake the sleeping beasts upstairs I boiled a little water in small pan over a low heat to make a cup of tea. 

And as I drank the tea I listened to the bird song. A perfect start to anyone's day. Yesterday I saw a Blackbird standing on our model railway track, its beak holding tight a bundle of broken branch bits and dried grasses. It saw me yet didn't move, not even a brief flutter of wings. Then it flew.

There's a cool breeze dancing its way into the little back room, the window being slightly ajar.  And as I look out onto the back garden thoughts of weed killing spring to mind. A job for this morning. I only hope I can get on with the task without interruption.

 

 

 Had a lovely surprise last night.

England v Wales.

Can't remember the last footie match I saw. Sometime last year methinks.

I've made two cakes today. Not spectacular but pretty good and tasty. One for Vi and Trev, the other for us.

Rob, Mark and I are waiting patiently for a nurse to arrive she'll do two Covid tests. One for Mark, one for me.

We need to do this because of Mark's impending hosptal visit on Monday.

Hospital hospital...not relishing the prospect of seeing that place again after the stress of last year...But Mark needs to have an MRI to see whats what. We are all crossing our fingers...Hoping the scan comes up with an all clear.

Travelling up to London Monday afternoon. MRI scan on Tuesday. Then home asap.

 

 Am I trespassing?

Should I tell the new residents of the bungalow that I'm creeping around in their garden?

All I know is that they've modernised the front garden and got shot of my beautiful wood door, replacing it with a red one.

But that's not my business. My days at the bungalow are long gone. I'm a ghost.

 

My step-son Mark will be going to UCLH next Monday for an MRI scan. We are tense of course, hoping and praying that the scan yields nothing grim. 

So Monday...up early, drive to London, Rob and I being allowed to stay overnight with Mark. Rob in the 'relatives' room and me in Mark's room. The doctor remembering how well Mark behaves when he's with me. His mum delivers verbal cannonballs even when saying hello/goodnight.

 So for peace I sit with the young man. And all goes well.

He is a jigsaw of a man. 20 years old, going on 10. Sometimes volatile, always locquacious a dizzy mix of youthful exuberance and old world charm. Mark is Down's Syndrome. 

His cocktail of meds includes steroids which have increased his weight. So we try and try to keep an eye on his food, his food being his friend and comfort.. Only tonight did we have a class 1 spectacular meltdown over his bedtime snack. But we carry on and keep calm. What else do we do.

Me?

 Long silver hair, a creaking left knee, still wrinkle free. Scarred emotionally by whats happened over the past four years  yet still remarkably upbeat. I still cook every day, not shopping so much due to Covid restrictions but I've found inner happiness by shopping online. Mostly handbags.

ETSY UK has given me an outlet for getting rid of my money . I love seeing John the postman staggering up me drive loaded with parcels. He wears a forage cap and drinks at Costas. We have got to know him intimately on account of the aforementioned deliveries. I did toy with the idea of totting up how much I spent during Lockdown, but I chickened out knowing it'd upset me. But upset or not I'm still doing the online thing but not as much....In the past week I've bought a few Corgi cars for Rob from Rummage for Retro, three pairs of earrings from Berty and Gerty and a brown 1970's shopping bag from Revival For Vintage.

Gloria Is Alive And Well Kicking And Screaming Into Her New Life!

I watched a programme on Sky Arts about the poet Carol Ann Duffy, I love her work especially 'Prayer'.

One should never neglect a hobby. But I have. And I've missed my writing.

 

 

 

Bounce Back Boris

When I heard Boris had been taken to hospital I was shocked. When he was admitted to intensive care I sat dumb struck. Stuck to my chair in disbelief. And so bloody angry. 
If ever we needed Boris Johnson's drive, guts and resilience it's now.
C'mon BOJO disentangle yourself from your drip and get back to your desk. Your country needs you.
 
 

 

I've been away.
But now I'm back.
Living not in the bungalow but in a chalet type house.
Last post was four years ago. And what a four years I've had. Endured. Enjoyed.
Days and nights filled with fear, apprehension, excitement, little girl joy.

Today I danced with my 19 year old step-son Mark. He wrecked me with his energy, his lust for living and his non stop I'm alive attitude.
And so he should. He's survived cancer.
But that story is for another day.

I'm still creative.
Making greeting cards. Sewing. Baking beautiful cakes and breads. Arranging my hair in curious fashions. Very long now you know. And silver too. Not grey. Silver. As silver and shiny as the moon. Still reading too. Sometimes I even finish the book....

I very much doubt we'll go to many Classic Car shows this year due to the Coronavirus problem. I'm going to miss them so much.
The whole vintage vehicle world has won me over. I've made chums (mostly old people) but still nice. And ticking off the shows one by one through the summer has been one of the highlights in recent years.
We're lucky to have a choice...it's either the 1961 Rover P4 100 2.7 litre straight six or our 1972 Bedford CF Freeway campervan (my fav) and in the workshop a firebrand red 1972 Hillman Imp super which is nearing the end of a very long restoration. And queued up behind that our 1969 Morris 1000 tradeback pick up which is due for another full restoration after twelve years since the last one.
That's enough about old things.

And that's enough for one post.
I'm feeling funny after four years away.
But you can't keep an old girl down.

I had a 'turn' in the night thought I was having a mini stroke. I think it was because my arm wouldnt lift and I felt nauseous same symptons as in novenmebr. im alright now though I think. I saw John yesteday and it was very good we sorted through some of his vast library. Theres nothing sadder than unwanted books. I loved seeing my oldest friend and Im so happy for him Im glad that once the bungalow is sold he will have financial freedom.
It looks lovely outside and Rob and me are going to Morrisons later. After we dropped john off at the station last night we popped into the Royal Oak pub. Rob had an ale and I had a sherry.
As I held my Patient Assistant PA96000 to my heart at 3am i wondered if it was curtains then I went back to bed hoping for  sleep. It came quickly.
The PA is a gizmo i need to carry at all times. If I get chest pains or palpitations or feel anything strange at all Im to hold the small plastic device against my chest where the loop recorder is embedded.
today I'm wearing colourful clothes.........

I can't get too cosy with electrical or battery operated gadgets/gizmos/appliances on account of todays foray into the world of Loop Implants.
One was fitted today at Southend hospital by a giggle of nurses, one anaesthetist (?) and one jolly doctor. After the bloody surgery ( I bled a lot, apparently)  my opening was glued and I was wheeled back to the ward by a lovely porter (old).Everyone was polite, professional and quite young. I felt very safe in their hands.

This monitor which now lies snuggled somewhere in my ribcage will, over three years, keep a close eye on the bubbling popping and occasional stopping of my heart. What a dreadful thought. Anyway, after a much welcomed mug of sweet tea and tuna sandwich I was allowed to get dressed and go home, I thanked the staff, all of them, for their kindness.

After being given leaflets and advice I was handed a small grey oval shaped gadget which I MUST use if I feel anything untoward in the chest area.
Apparently I press a button wait for a green light then clasp it to the spot where the monitor is hiding and that will relay a message into the aforementioned monitor which will in turn be transmitted to the cardiac doctor.
Isn't medicine wonderful? And isn't our NHS the best? Yes on both counts.

My chest is quite something.
I have a bruise the size of a plum, same colour too, an enormous clear plaster covering a bit of lint which covers the incision point. I tenderley brushed a finger over it and felt a hard bump, bit like a speed bump.I know what lies beneath because I saw it the other day, it's demur appearance belies its power Small things eh!

Nurse Joanne gave me a booklet to read..
I'm to keep electric handwhisks, mobile phones, e readers, power tools, electric pet fences and toothbrushes away from my ches along with a host of other stuff. Also on the no-go near the breast list are ignitions (!) lawnmowers,  but the funniest one was.... Alarmed Supermarket Exits! WHEN I APPROACH ONE PUSHING MY TROLLEY I MUST NOT STOP NEAR IT, TOUCH IT, I MUST WALK RAPIDY TH|ROUGH IT. IF THE ALARM SHOULD SOUND AND I'M POUNCED ON BY A SECURITY GUARD I'M TO SHOW HIM MY SPECIAL CARD WHICH WILL TELL HIM I'M WIRED. AND HE THEREFORE MUST LET ME GO FREE.
God, as if I don't have enough worry...

Can't have a bath either or shower in case the glue melts (stitches are so last century)
I will though be able to have flannel wash down carefully avoiding the wound. All this to-do simply because I had a stroke.

I feel though that this year will be a turning point for me, after the bungalow is sold and I'm embedded in the Tin Cottage I'll do nothing but live...
After all 60 is the new 50!

Now I finish stretching and straining my arms (I'm typing on my lap top at a distance) don't want my gizmo to implode in my chest cavity.......................................................................................

Winter, appears eternal, just a small front of daffodils hunching under the maple tree.

Vicious winds, lashing rain and a grey tinted sky and what am I doing? Filling more bags with unwanted things. The weather suiting the task.

 

I'd be fibbing if I said leaving the bungalow was easy. It isn't. In fact it's sending me quite bonkers. But it is the best and sensible option. For all of us. 
Mr Horsehound will, at last, be free of me. He will be free to gad around town and country with the woman he loves
And I, at last, will live a simpler life in a smaller more affordable place with Rob.
Doesn't stop me caring though, and I do care, very much. 34 years of caring and .
sharing can't be tossed away.
I hope that when the dust has settled Mr H and myself will at least feel comfortable enough to proffer a few friendly word to each other. His new girlfriend permitting...

I went to the hospital the other day for yet another heart test. Bottom line? In a couple of weeks I'm having a Loop put in.
And, depending on what it shows, I might be inline for a Pacemaker. I can barely contain my dread!
But being the type of girl I am, I'll go with the flow. As long as my mind is working I can deal with anything

There are so many good things on the horizon...

Snooker in April on BBC2. Probably have a flutter£££.
The Great British Bake Off. I'm making one of Hollywood's pasties soon.
Britains Got Talent. Cruel I know but I love it.
The X Factor (although I'm tiring of it rapidly)
Cross Stitch projects...
Penning more poetry
Reading


Cycling around the caravan park
Simpler cooking
Spending more time with Mark. He's nearly 16 and heading for a new school in September. Excitement aint the word. We love reading together. He's a wonderful boy who always makes me happy. His enthusiasm is catching. But the thing I love most of all is, and it's very silly and selfish of me, is I can be mumsy.

 
More get togethers. BBQ type things.
Wimbledon
Royal Ascot in June (I stopped watching it when Dad died, maybe I should watch it again, have a punt maybe? Dad would approve.
Eurovision Song Contest? Only if I can arrange a party around it.
And.....Euro 2016. Another date in June/July
And while I'm watching all that my hair will look better, longer silkier, my caravan will morph into a fairy tale Tin Cottage and I will feel healthier and happier.

So my friends as I sit here in the Bungalow listening as my calor gas splutters to its death (been in a month, so not bad going) I feel hopeful. If I could do a smiley I would!
Now where's me blanket?

 

 
 

 

 

Another trip to the Tin Cottage.

The car loaded to the roof with ornaments, books, kitchenalia and our trusty old pouffe. Bit battered but still good for tired feet.
As we puffed our wqy from little room to little room I felt that this was the beginning of a new life. I admit to feeling apprehensive, after all giving up one's solid brick built home for one made of metal can be a bit mind altering.
But I've made my decision and keep to it I will.
I see my agreement to sell the bungalow as a 'gift' to Mr Horsehound, he has after all given a lot to me.
And I am by nature a generous girl and no greater love has a girl for her friend than to uproot and begin again.

I hope in the fullness of time, Mr H.and myself will be able to sit and talk in the garden of my Tin Cottage without animosity. I couldn't cope with that at all, he has always been my friend and despite behaving like a man possessed I'd still like us to be mates.

Rob is loading and unloading, making plans for around the back, decking etc etc. Already thinking about replacing the rather dire doors with stable doors. More in keeping with the country setting we now find ourselves in.
This morning it was chilly so i kept my coat on as I unwrapped precious ornaments, and while waiting for the kettle to whistle I imagined my new life....Therein.....A new rug in shades of wine and ivory, a silver coloured teapot, lots of doilies, a gonging clock, books and craft materials here and there, books on shelves, a camera to hand, binoculars, big tv, retro wireless, aluminium cookware and Monty.

Going to be a huge change for us, but I'm ready and willing, going to fling the doors open literally and metaphorically. Can't live in the past.
 The present is all I am thinking about...
We are aiming to move in mid-March.

Tomorrow furniture is being moved down to Tin Cottage, a lead light cupboard which will hold my most favoured bric-a-brac.

Now I must relax, oh yesterday I had an appointment in the cardiac clinic, I'm to have an implantable loop recorder fitted into my chest to check how my ticker is doing. The doctor I saw was imposing but reassured me everything would be alright.
I smiled. You betcha!

Now tea.....

 

Stroll to post office. Was charmed by sunlight. Much appreciated.


Spent more time last night sorting through dusty files and boxes. Black binbags stuffed to overflowing. John's office is a mess, he was supposed to be coming up to go through his belongingd, but so far zippo.
rob and myself have made progress, the garage is now home to multiple sacks of detritus. All very sad.
And although I've binned a lot I have not touched his books or photography memorabilia. Some items are sacrasanct.
However my stuff isn't.
I now own two coats and five handbags. The rest awaiting its trip to the dump. 

The bungalow feels bare, souless, even a little ghostly, but I suppose that's only natural considering what's happened. When Mr Horsehound left a bit of me left with him. 
But, as the song goes, there is a season for all things.
I'm hoping for a bright light Spring followed by a glowing calmer Summer. I won't be thinking about Autumn and Winter as I learn and embrace a new life in the caravan, I'll deal and cope with whatever they bring.

Talking of coping I have another cardiac appointment on Saturday morning. How lovely! This is for an MRA scan whereby they flood my bod with a special dye in hopes it shows up just what the heck is going on. Procedures don't bother me, I just do as i'm told and crack a few death jokes.
Then on Monday a follow up appointment to hear all the news!
My Goodness I can't wait to get all this behind me. I have a new life to get on with and I've already made plans with Mark to cycle around my new home, the riverside village Holiday Park, taking in the scenery and scaring the life out of the wildfowl.
He now reminds me of it every time I see him. What a great boy.......

Anyway I must now fly...Have Minestrone to make and as the sun continues to bright up the bungalow kitchen I feel very optimistic.
 

Up to my eyes in dampness.
Mould everywhere.
Getting ready to move on.
And as I filled black sacks with stuff from twenty years
of bungalow living my wounded heart filled with good blood and carried me.
My husband visits occasionally so we can discuss estate agents and in both our eyes, sadness.
I can't go into our sob ridden exchanges suffice to say we come eventually to a sort of quiet resolution.
I hope in the fullness of time (whatever that is) we reach a nicer place where Mr H and I can look at each other without blubbing.
Later on, much late on, probably sometime in the summer, I would be willing to hold out the adult hand of 'understanding' and maybe engage in grown up talk with Mr H and his girlfriend. But I've been informed that the girlfriend wouldn't be willing to engage in any such action. Which I find strange considering she'll be in a far nicer frame of mind. Money always has that effect...
But I mustn't be bitter. Does one no good. My whole self is concentrating on two things: Going to the cardiac clinic being one and managing the whole house moving experience. Rob is being superman, as usual, and inbetween working, hanging out with his son, he's helping me empty rooms.
Once the bungalow is sold I'll be able to concentrate on making a new life with him and Monty. Aint gonna be a doddle but we will do our best.
Our aim is to be out of here and in our caravan, Two Ducks, by the middle of March. The estate agent, Neil, will handle the viewings.

When I'm ready I will probably start a new blog.....the Bungalow days are over!
Until then I'll post when I can, I get a wee bit tired now so try to manage my time efficiently.
I've missed blogging, it has always been therapeutic and oh boy do I need therapy!

Now I eat....