After several years of lone working, Mother is soon to be equipped with a tracking device.
No doubt the people who offer this service will insist that you will only be satellite tracked if you indicate that you’re in danger, but if the Americans can pinpoint a gnat’s arse in Afghanistan and bomb it to smithereens, paranoia is allowed to creep in. Big Brother could definitely be watching your every move
And the dreaded ‘webinar’ thing is raising its ugly head again.
For the final time, this is not a bloody word…..
Mother is amazed. I have deafening borborygmi. Just sitting here minding my own business, when a rumble which is 3.4 on the Richter Scale emanates from my intestines. Rather stupidly, Mother put her stethoscope on my tum and nearly ruptured both her ear drums.
At least I have farted…..
But I have managed to shake the ornaments off the shelf….
Apparently a skool has stopped puppils from wareing a Marie Curie dafoddil. This has cauzed upraw on Facebook, wiv peeple riting many posts in disgust. One mocks the grammar of anover in a terribully unedukated way.
Movver wonders why peeple are so thick. If you’re speling and grammer is crap, don’t kriticize the efforts of ovvers. Glass houses and all that. Plus, you will only be revealed as the compleat dickhead you are.
(Thank God that’s over. Have you ever tried to compose something on an iPad without the over-enthusiastic spell checker changing it? Which makes it all the more remarkable that the aforementioned posts were so bad. Back to school the lot of you…..)
Mother notes that lots of people (especially women) are raving about the new Poldark and its swarthy leading man. Most of these folk would not be averse to him parking his slippers under their king size divan.
Mother is not amongst their number. She finds him slightly yuk, a situation which might be reversed by him having a wash and getting a decent haircut, followed by the wearing of some nice trousers and a shirt which isn’t smothered in frills.
I don’t suppose he’s too fussed about her either…….
Yesterday was the much lauded eclipse. A day when the sun was obscured by the moon. Don’t know what the fuss was about really. Round here the sun is very often obscured by those fluffy things called clouds but we don’t make a song and dance about it. Bet Brian Cox couldn’t talk for hours and have made anything better out of that. ….
Could have been worse. We could have had pagans across the park dancing round in the nuddy and sacrificing a cow to the God of Sunlight in an attempt to get the big yellow ball released from its temporary hiding place. Then, when the lights came back on, they could have had a nice beef dinner. Yum…..
Anyway I missed it. All I could see was the dark behind my closed eyelids. As ever, Hypnos was calling and I succumbed…….💤
Mother is not a fan of things that stink. Body odour, three day old curry, smelly houses, people who need an introduction to the soap – you get the gist.
Consequently, she has the house full of fragranced candles. According to Aunty, you can smell Mother’s current favourite evaporating away from halfway down the street.
Now she has an idea for a completely new and fresh scent. Forget Clean Cotton. Forget Baby Powder. Forget Fluffy Towels. What about ‘Snuggling your head in the cat’s fur when he has been outside for several hours on a lovely Spring day’?
I think the title might need a bit of work…..
It is with great sadness that Mother would like me to mark the passing of Sir Terry Pratchett, known for his great wit and failure to allow early onset Alzheimer’s disease to define him or prevent him from doing whatever the hell he wanted. His work features on our 2015 calendar, and his words will make people smile all the way through the year.
Alzheimer’s is shit. It robs people of their dignity and forces families to say goodbye bit by agonising bit.
Mother says that she will take this quote with her when she ponders why some decisions are made by NHS higher management…..
Sodomy non sapiens, said Albert under his breath.
“What does that mean?”
“Means I’m buggered if I know.”