Mother is taking Dog to the vets this afternoon. There is nothing wrong with her, it’s just for her annual booster.
Which brings to mind the time when Granny took one of the dog’s anti-epilepsy pills by mistake. Oh, what fun we had with that. No 1 Brother-in-Law went around taking the p*** and barking at Granny for at least a fortnight.
Mother says we should be grateful for small mercies. At least Granny got rid of that annoying twitch……………..
Mother has hoovered the car out. I have felt her forehead and it doesn’t feel warm, so I can only suppose that this event is not down to some delirium inducing illness but some great desire to see three months worth of leaves and grit removed from the interior. Mother doesn’t like hoovering. She says that it’s too much like hard work…….
Uncle Andy has been fixing the heater in the bathroom. Where once was two lonely wires there is now a warm air emitting device. And it works (!?). Bliss……..
Mother also has a set of orange MDF letters on the wall over the sink which spell ‘wash’. Sounds revolting but it isn’t. When the dementia sets in she is having ‘pee’ put over the toilet and ‘don’t forget to get dressed’ over the door. It’s all about future-proofing……..
Mother was right about yesterday’s training session. It is, yet another, scoring system.
Picture the scene: You are in a bit of a state because you’re constipated. You haven’t had a decent pooh for ten days. You’ve barely slept and have a toilet seat shaped ring around your bum caused by sitting on the loo for hours at a time. You’ve convinced yourself that you may need surgery to remove the bung. A friendly nurse is your saviour, riding in on the back of a white stallion (or a Nissan Micra) to give you two suppositories. Much to your delight and relief, the remains of ten days worth of food come rapidly out of your nether regions and all is again well. You’re knackered. You need 17 matchsticks to keep your eyes open. You can’t think straight. And then this little voice says……..
‘Have you had a fall in the last twelve months?’
To which the patient replies ‘Please don’t think I’m not grateful, but you’ll be falling yourself soon when I clout you round the head. I need sleep. Sod off out of my house’.
Believe it or not, we never take offence at that……………..
Disclaimer: This story is entirely fictitious. Mother doesn’t know anybody with a white horse. Or a Nissan Micra……………
Mother has been asked if she would like some extra shifts. After she had recovered from the fit of apoplexy that this request elicited, Mother examined the offer further. They are asking her to cover a higher grade job for the same pay. Mother wonders if she has had ‘I am a complete idiot with no self esteem’ tattooed on her forehead. She politely declined. This was after the rant of four letter words with lots of consonants she needed to undertake just to get the insult out of her system.
In years gone by, managers would have sold this as a ‘development opportunity’. However, people with 4 years, 4 months and 4 days to go haven’t got much more developing to do…………..
By the way, good luck to another Auntie who is having a small but highly significant procedure carried out today. You know who you are……………………
Mother has been to Granny’s today for the first time in a week. Oh how she had forgotten the delight of seeing Granny take out her teeth and suck out the remnants of her dinner. Gives the term ‘packed lunch’ a different meaning…….
Granny has also announced that we may be distantly related to someone who has just won £46 million on the Euro Lottery. Oh well, a miss is a good as a mile. But for an accident of birth, Mother could be telling the NHS to get stuffed. Don’t suppose a begging letter would do any good….
On the good news front, Mother has just opened an e mail from the Nurses Union confirming that her pension is safe. No thieving Government minister who may not know who his father is (work that out for yourself) is going to get his thieving hands on it. So 4 years, 4 months and 5 days to go………….
Granny has been ‘measured up’ for a stair lift. Evidently things are looking up…….
Mother can’t wait. She’s never had a go on a stair lift. She reckons that it’ll take six or seven trips before she gets fed up of it.
The men in the kitchen are continuing to demolish it, one tile at a time. Apparently, they are very good and clean up after themselves. You can’t beat seeing a man with a hoover…….
Despite this. Mother can see some industrial strength dusting in her future by the end of the week.
Granny’s kitchen is being re-tiled this week. Mother is glad that she will be in bed during this event as she couldn’t cope with the trauma.
Number 1 brother in law wants to ‘borrow’ Granny’s 15″ telly while the man is knocking the tiles off the walls. This is to keep the device safe from flying debris and because he wants a ‘peripatetic telly’ to flit from room to room and he wants to see how it looks in different locations before he commits to buying himself one from Currys (other electrical retailers are available). Mother says that he should sign a receipt for it. In blood. Twice. Otherwise Granny will never see said telly again.
It would probably go down the same black hole as the one which used to exist at the hospital. Most things which went into the Medical Division offices never saw the light of day again. They lost tons of vital paperwork that way. Mother thought that she might have been on the verge of an important scientific discovery, but in the end she found out that their filing system was shit…………..
Following the door coming away from its mooring incident over Christmas, we have decided that our little grumpy friend might wish to start a new type of variety act – Unhinged and Brockit – like Hinge and Bracket except there’s only one of them, he can’t play the piano or sing light opera, doesn’t wear a frock and doesn’t come from Stackton Tressel. For our posher followers, Brockit = ‘Oh goodness my dear man, I think you’ve just broken that’.
A few of our more unkind followers have suggested that he might wish to come to our next soiree as the ventriloquist’s dummy. I would like to think that this means sitting on someone’s knee shouting ‘gottle o’ gear’ but get the feeling that the whole experience would be somewhat more painful than that………………
Let’s just say that he’d have no difficulty hitting top ‘C’ afterwards………………..
Planning goes on apace for the Murder Mystery thingy mark 2. Everyone is currently trying to incorporate chocolate into every course of the meal. Which is OK if you’re having chilli, but might spoil the taste of broccoli and cauliflower soup. Mother says that even Uncle Alan, friend of the Soup Dragon, wouldn’t eat that…….
Mother is also busy planning an evening out at the Bridgewater Hall. She is going with Auntie Jan, who has agreed to help Mother spend her £40.00 birthday voucher to see somebody that she’s never heard of. Mother says that Auntie should have a bit more faith – Mother was listening to Celine Dion when she still had bad teeth and she’s ended up OK…….That’s my mother, forever the trend setter…………………
Auntie Jan is after someone who can hang a full drop. Now, despite my innocent feline mind, I get the impression that this is a euphemism for something. I can’t help but think that she wouldn’t keep on about it if all she wanted was a chap to stick a roll of blown vinyl on the wall…….
Mother has often said that all she needs from a man is the ability to tile the bathroom. Now we have that plastic cladding stuff on the walls in there (sounds revolting but looks really good), that concept is a bit redundant. She now needs a man with a drill, for shelf fixing and other manly pursuits. This is because, if she was let loose with a drill, there’d be a hole in her hand precisely 30 seconds after she turned it on. Good if you want to make a living out of the ‘stigmata’ effect, bad for just about everything else………………