The Day Itself was patchy.
Mum crying... myself and Mr H keeping our heads down. So not the best way to spend the fun day.
Our beef dinner would have tasted better if there'd been three of us sitting at the old table but mum broke her promise to join us preferring instead her own plate of food and her own company.
This was NOT what Christmas Day is about.
But as usual there wasn't anything I could do to shift her from her large electric chair or put a even a half smile upon her face.
Boxing Day however was better.
Mr H driving into work on account of not a single train running out of Southend, he didn't relish the prospect but the man did well, arriving promptly at work at 8 a.m. and returning to myself, mum and a very excited Mr Hairy Suit before 5 p.m. and me with me Yorkshire puddings still unmade.

The night was fine. Mother kept her own counsel, Excellent boiled bacon followed by slices of  Sitcky Toffee Cake and chilled double cream....
I had a sip of ginger wine, the men preferring softer tipples, mother as usual hanging on to her pink drink from Sainsbury's.

I haven't written about presents!
I got loads.

Today saw Mr Hairy and myself driving in the rain trying to find a shop open that sold Calor Gas, after a little while I told the ever so patient Hairy that I was fed up with looking for gas and that I was going home gasless. On the way back we stopped orf for milk and papers. Spa Road was empty, only life was the black and dust of speeding cars. God how I loathe pig ignorant drivers.

Mother was unimpressed by the lack of Calor but I didn't respond instead hiding in my kitchen till the redness in her cheeks had mellowed.
Talking of mellow... A tall fascinating man from the DWP visited us early this morning informing mother of her right to extra cash.
And as the gentle soul asked mother the same questions she's been asked a hundred times before I noticed how like Jesus Christ he was.
Very long oily dark brown hair, an even longer wispy cobwebby beard, dark brown hooded eyes and a fantastic rings and bells and gizmos watch. God, he wasn't what I'd expected. Sandals even protected His feet.
But he did what needed doing and after getting a signature he left.

I'm making a Bolognaise for tea. And will if I can, resist being forced into another heart breaking conference with mother regarding her imminent departure for London. I love the old bean but she's a twit if she thinks she'll cope on her own, with her bad legs, one good eye, two clogged up ears and three types of cancer.
And more to the point I don't want to be brought to court on a charge of Neglect.
No m'dear love ya to bits but you're living and dying here.



:)

.......There's a big fruit cake on the dresser, made last night, wrapped in foil.
More baking being done this afternoon, some of it a little fancy, all of it made with copious amounts of love.

But before I get me bowls out I have to take Mother out. Yes OUT. Never in the history of all my Christmaseses have I ever gorn out on the Eve. But how can I deny mumsie one last bump and grind around the blasted Co-Op.

If I have time I'll eat.


Merry Christmas ALL

X


:)

,,paddled my way around the blasted Co-Op to pick up last minute baking essentials. ( had an idea when eating breakfast in McDonalds) so armed with a few last quid filled the basket with sweet and savoury ingredients.

Breakfast for me is usually porridge but had been invited by Mr Hairy and young Master Hairy to partake in a sausage and egg McMuffin at 9 a.m. so drove like the clappers with windscreen wipers doing a merry dance to an early morning brekkie date.

On arrival Master Hairy was already tucking in, whereas Mr Hairy's McThing looked kinda sad. Only half eaten and falling out of its wrapper. My arrival soon changed that. Master Hairy's smile lit up the burger place while Mr Hairy rapidly swallowed off his limp sausage then set about ordering my early morning nibble.

Gotta say it, nothing quite lifts the heart than good food with mates. I delighted in Master Hairy's company, he's a boy of outstanding charm and possibilities and when waiting inline for his second breakfast of the day I couldn't help but begin to love him.

We didn't sit glumly as the rain thrashed the panes instead we joshed about our middle names, Father Christmas, Jack and The Beanstalk and presents. The years dropped orf. Suddenly I was 10 again. Goofing. Larking with bottles of milk and generally having the time of my life.
So thanks Mr and Master Hairy for a wonderful free and breezy morning.

Then to the Co-Op and that's where I came in... I'm doing a lot of cooking over the next few days and being a cook I never know when to stop. So what started out as a few bits has turned into a sack full of bobs!

Okey Dokey..Now I must get on. It's Saturday and I've a few things to attend to. First orf...bread making, then more yeasted dough for tonight's pizza.
A pudding will be useful because pizza, however large, don't always fill a cavernous tummy:)

..........Been a good day with mum. No swearing, or 'looks', no crying or many requests, just a quiet friendly at-ease day with a great girl/friend/mother. Really.

Joan loved the bread I made for her. Told me she'd fill her sandwich with cheese and onion and that her husband loves my cakes and that she's so worried about Debbie her daughter who is very ill... The middle of a shop is not the place for giving advice so I didn't. I just nodded as she looked deeply into my eyes and I wondered if she wanted to cry.

This afternoon saw me feeding Mr Hairy a simple sandwich then after the briefest of visits he left and I got on with making a Beef Madras.
I bought a pink roll neck jumper today and sparkling pink stoned bracelet, the two go well together.

Had a chat with the lady in the chemist as I waited for a prescription. Asked about mum and then went on to tell me about her 92 year old mum who has Parkinsons.

I've put a large bespectacled father Christmas in a bush near the door.

I must say goodnight now as I want to read another two chapters of Stephen King's 'The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon'. before I drift orf.

Goodnight All

More Upheaval.

......I'm ready to go to Sainsburys but first we wait a visit from the district nurse.

They're good eggs, the nurses, some easier to talk with than others but overall ok.
I'm wondering what London district Nurses are like... will they be as jolly as Sandra or as cool as Lynn we'll find out...

Mum cried this morning.
Her shrunken face red, her eyes mauve ringed, her mood, desperate.
She wants to go home.
No doubt.
In the past she's seen sense realizing that being home alone wouldn't be wise. But this time, this morning, sense was trampled and love for her home and the life she had in it with dad, won out.
Therefore I told her that after Christmas I'd somehow get her home.

A talk with her London GP is first on the list then, if she's still adamant about dying in the Smoke, I'll set about refreshing her rooms and sorting out home visits from various agencies.

I knew this was coming.

So m'dears, along with a visit from a bod from the DWP next week it looks as if the start of the new year will be interesting.


I'll be frying some steak today, always try to cook something special when Mr H has a day orf.
Also on the agenda, baking a fruit cake for charity shop Joan and a big Farmhouse loaf for us. Which reminds me Hairy Suit bought me a 4lb loaf tin. It's such a whopping beauty that I've put in on the windowsill.

Now I must fly:)

Our Christmas

The lights on the tree....Grapes sized diamonds hanging on thick sage green
Ginger Wine on a doily. A curvaceous decanter waiting to be handled
Fat stocky red cinnamon scented candle impaled on matte black spike. Its scent soporific.
A tall orange oil lamp waiting for a new wick.
Church like candle, vanilla in flavour, lit high looking down from its over ornamented holder.
A round apple green cloth box home to a handful of toffees.
A shopping list in my bag. Nothing ridiculous or fancy. More a case of simple food got glorious. Beef for the big day for example.
Two small wooden trays holding five soft and smooth toy cats. Their home; the top of plastic coals on my broken electric fire.
Father Christmas in the shrubs. Held in place by withering scratchy branches.
Last year's plastic wreath leaning against the wall underneath the outside light. Steady on account of a noisy solar powered blue tit pressed up against it.
Mounting excitement at the thought of Buche de Noel on Christmas Day. Unadorned, no plastic holly, only a dusting of cocoa.
Hidden presents.


Today has been relaxing.
I did my list with Hairy by my side and Mother asleep in her electric chair..
Faggots for tea.


Now bed.
Tired but content.

....................A chilly but friendly stroll around the top end of the High Street made me happier and more determined than ever to make this Christmas a good one.
We drifted into Oxfam where a bird-like lady enthused as mum laid her five murder novels on the counter.
"Ooooh dear" said Bird woman "Someone likes crime"
Mum did her imperious thing by saying nought.
£8 on paperbacks then off to the other shop, the Cancer Relief shop in the untidy down at heel part of Southchurch Road.
Inside though a very clean and happy place. A cream jumper for mum and a fringed tan brown suede skirt for me. A steal at £4.50 for two. We hit our way out nearly bringing down a rail of menswear.


I was parched so was Mother so I suggested/asked if a sit down with mug of tea might just be the ticket. She agreed so into the Franklin cafe where three elderly life worn male patrons sat hugging their mugs whilst thumbing well used papers.
"Sorry love" said elderly patron 1
I'd brushed his chair as I attempted to manoeuvre mother in between his wooden chair and deeply sunk brown leather two seater sofa. Why do British people apologise so readily. He was blameless it was me whose steering was awful. But we got there eventually and with mum and Mr H in place I ordered two teas please and one sugarless coffee. Ta.
(The girl who served me needed a comb through her hair but her life situation was unknown to me so I tried not to judge.
The tea was really good. Very hot and generous in size.

On our way out I did a few quick soulful dance moves to Hey Ya! which was bellowing beautifully from the on counter radio.
"Look, she's dancing " said uncombed girl to stiff red haired mangeress
I loved it, letting go, doing something mad till mother blew away my starstudded bit of fun by snapping
 "Let's get out of here"
Good God dear mother, don't you ever want to boogie?

It had got windy so I draped Mother's fur scarf even more tightly around her head and neck and walked away in the direction of Boots the chemist and Smiths the bookshop.

Boots was sardined with shoppers and so I was glad Mr H had taken on the responsibility of driving mum around the top floor of the bookshop so as I could have a few minutes to myself looking for a red lipstick. I think red lipstick is fab. It's Hollywood, it's a kiss me quick message, it's womanly and painted onto my generous lips it simply says Enter.
Anyway.........I checked and tested then checked and tested again, so much testing infact that my left wrist was awash in various shades of red. I finally plumped for Rimmel's Rose Passion ans Maybelline's Red Passion. The latter, according to the box lasts twenty four hours. Hmmmm...We'll see how it fairs after my lips have dealt with a plate of chicken fried rice.

 After paying up I went to Smiths where I found Mr H and mum hugging/ staggering with armfuls of books and papers. I laughed then went walkabout to see if I could find anything for my friends.
Ten minutes later and several pounds lighter we departed and came home.

It was a good simple day. 
No big money spent, a nice friendly cuppa in a warm steamy cafe and a remarkable mother insistent on living life fully till life exists no more.

:)