Two weeks ago today the Strokestruck.
But here I am waiting to watxh the news at six.
My brain, although working, is on a go-slow. Taking a foot off of the pavement and into the road takes a minute or two. Luckily I always have someone with me. Utterly out of the question is the idea of moi going it alone. For a while anyway. But in the the meantime I eat amd sleep and oh my goodness do i sleep.
I had a session with Ailsa my physion today and love her as I do I could have throttled her as she made me walk up and down my hall looing tot he right, and to the left then stepping oven a small footstall. I failde miserqably. I walked ok....but when my brain needs to make TWO movements simultaneously I bugger it up. Typing not a problem. But don't ask me to drink tea too. Or even acknowledge that you are in the room.
It'll take a while Ailsa told me, to get back to perfect normality.But return I will....

My tatstes have changed.
Sweet stuff is a no=no, meat is on the back burner so to speak, I've been living on vegetables and fish fingers.
I long to sink my teeth into a chicken curry.
I'm attemptoin a little cooking this weekend, keep ypu posted on events.

Now I must focus on politics.. Thank goodness my Brain Attack didn't kill all my interests.
I thihnk Corbyn is a gonner.

On Friday the 13th I had a Stroke. Hospitalized for five days. Now recovering at home. Not allowed to drive or go out alone. Can't concentrate for long. Activity like brushing my teeth requires slepp afterwards. General mood is low. Shock factor off the scale. Time its taken to write this? forever.
Support is great. Rob taken time off work. Team of medics visiting every day. Prognosis? High risk of another one. My feelings are a sick mix of disbelief, despair and fear. but mingled inbetween theses is one of my finer traits..optimism
I will change my diet, my attitude towrds everythinjg.
John is keeping in the shadows.

And so as Igaze silently into the screen catching sight of typo errors I really don't give a shit.

And with that comes a certain relief =, freedom.
Nomore shopping lists, worrying about weight or whether God exists, aI am at one with the uhniverse .

Christmas in around the corner.
And as my situation has changed I'll be making Christmas presents this year instead of buying them ready made.
Baked goods of course.
Cakes and breads mostly.
I won't be always up to my eyes in flour though I have a needlwork project on the go. And I'm beginning to wonder what I've taken on. Mainly because I can't sew.
But that hasn't stopped me before.
My attitude to needlework is as long as it look nice it won't matter if its's made in an jaw droppingly amateurish sort of way. It's the thought and love that goes into it that counts.
In a mad moment I decided to make a cross stitch Unicorn.
If I ever finish it I will hand it to Rob's mum, Viola for Christmas. She loves Unicorns and has a particulary sweet one on her windowsill. Rampant, white and a wee bit dusty. My effort will be framed
I very much doubt there'll be other sewing gifts ,I'm sensible enough to know where my talent lies.

Can England carry on winning?

Lithuania shouldn't be a problem.


My reading has been eclectic. Elizabeth Goudge, Mary Stewart, Agatha Christie and poetry anthologies.....
And inspiration comes from others and nightmares.


I saw London in crystal
spears of it jagging into a mauve sky from the the dome of St Pauls
and floating on the river
rafts
sharp
 singing loud with visible notes exploding
and the hundreds of broken quavers making music
still

But back to sport...
I haven't missed a game, and tonight after tea I'll continue the love affair.

Spent Sunday afternoon at Vi's house. Rob being the dutiful son helped his dad with the family's miniature railway. Something to do with signals or something.
While they did that, I helped with lunch.
And very good it was too.
A traditional roast chicken with oodles of carrots and peas and little sausages and crisp puffed Yorkies and on a big white plate some smashing roasted potatoes. Gravy to drool over.
'Afters' was an impossible choice between a plump chocolate mousse cake or a jewel-like fruit salad.
I chose both.
Vi cooks very well.

I didn't know Mozart had a sister. Did you?

Much has changed here in the bungalow.

Furniture shifted and made better.
Dining table covered with lace tablecloth.
Home made table mats protecting the cloth which protects the table. Needlework in one place instead of scattered all over the place. A pin cushion here skeins of threads there and Aida cloth dangerously gathering dust by the bed settee.
My vintage wireless is in the grate.
Photos of mum and dad stare out at me from the mantelpiece . I often talk to them, mum and dad that is, not the photos, the pictures are paper. I wish there was another phase other than 'I miss them' that could sum up what their departure has done. But there isn't, at least I can't come up with one. So I miss them will have to do.

Dad, Mr Horsehound and a very silly mummy behind the chair circa 1989

Mum COULD be funny...1987

And I can just be weird! 1985

Eating arrangements altered. 
On account of needing/wanting space in the kitchen we now eat in the front room. Tiled kitchen table now used soley for prepping food. Huge amount of space now. Much better. More workmanlike. I do though still show my creative side by having a large ceramic vase in butter yellow on the windowsill. I couldn't go completely functional. I couldn't go stainless steel and smoked glass. I feed off of wood.

Antiqued bric-a-brac shelved in glass fronted cabinet.
A recent addition, costing 99p, Harry a well made small black and white china cat. Green eyed and not without some class, having not a hole in his underside, which one finds in most mass produced ornaments...possibly circa 1960's. At any rate he's gorgeous and I'm so pleased I found him in Oxfam. In Sudbury. A quick dip into the many charity shops before going to Kentwell Hall in Suffolk.
It is one of England's finest moated Tudor Mansions. And we all loved walking through the many gaily painted rooms. The living room walls were painted red.
The kitchen was my ideal. A long wooden table, rough walls. A clutch of 'Tudor' women dressed in olde garb wished us a Good Day while talking about a man who often takes advantage of their good and generous nature especially where food is concerned.
 "A pox on him" said one old dear wiping her hand on her apron
It was fun.
And tranquil. 

The Kitchen

A large patchwork quilt in shades of claret, lilac and snow white covers my old duvet. My bedroom hasn't changed much. Still not enough space. Old built in wardrobes sicken me. But they do hold my jackets and coats.
Last week I picked up a metal clothes rail for £1.50 so all is not lost.
Giving away sack loads of old clothes and handbags has afforded me a little breathing room too.


Visitors are many. And often. Mostly Rob's family. I did though spend some time recently with Mr Horsehound. We chattered on and on yet not saying much about important things. He did though enjoy his pasta. And I his company. The old git. By the way it's his birthday today...He doesn't want anyone to know he's 60.

Mr Horsehound

Before England play San Marino on Saturday in a European Championship Qualifier I have dinner guests on Friday. Jeannie and Mark, I'm making a Beef and Potato Pie.

Mum and me. Circa 1967

Some things never change.

Mr Horsehound. Circa 1985