Overheard At The Local Shop.

SMALL (GIRL) CHILD: (joyously, clapping hands) jelly! Jelly! Jelly! Yay!

...Oh, to be young again...

Alice x

Sorry For The Lack Of Posts.

Things have been...
     Ugh.

I've been feeling pretty low.
     Then I decided to evaluate my life thus far.
     And now I feel worse.

The following things are apparent:

1. If I don't get my eating under control and stop 'comfort'-gorging (as I believe the modern term is), I am going to keep getting bigger, and more and more uncomfortable, and more and more unhealthy until I can't move.
     Which would be very, very bad.

2. I am perfectly happy living where I am; with Mother, the dog and the cat.
     It's hard for others to understand. Even those that know the two of us well - well enough to know that I am not yet another example of the dreaded stereotype; an adult aged child, coddled and waited on hand and foot by Mommy and never having to grow up - don't get it, and it is difficult to explain (particularly without becoming defensive. Being constantly prejudged and labelled as an immature loafer by people who do not know and have no real idea about any situation but their own does that to a person). They don't understand why I don't yearn - as they did/do - for "my own space".
     One reason is that I am (at present and unless my feelings change for the foreseeable future) romantically unattached, and that I at the same time have no interest in living alone, which leaves the choice between living with a house or flatmate that is family, or one that isn't. Another is that while my meager wage is enough to live on independently, it is only just do-able; once the essential (and I mean 'essential') bills are paid there would be nothing left over for anything at all, and why - as one of my friends put it a while back, though I forget which one it was - scrape and live uncomfortably alone when you can scrape quite a bit less and live a whole lot more comfortably with someone else?
     But that isn't it, really. Simply put: I live with Mother and Mother lives with me, because we like it that way. Both of us, neither one more or less than the other.
     On a practical level, we share bills and split life's responsibilities and daily chores between us, each contributing equally, both financially and pragmatically, in our own way. On an emotional level, we are a Team. Like all pretty great Teams, we have interests in common and interests apart, which gives us the company and space we both need. Like all realistically imperfect teams, there are things about each of us that the other finds irritating at best - and when in an exceptionally bad mood, intolerable at worst - but this is to be expected, and 99% of the time these differences are both accepted and tolerated, because that's what people living happily together do (the other 1% being the 'realistically imperfect' part, because we're human and for two people to live together without having the slightest disagreement ever about anything, is, well, unrealistic). Most importantly, however, like all the best Teams; we help one another and support one another through good times and bad, ordinary times and odd. And that's what it boils down to. We are housemates, soulmates, friends; more sisters than mother and daughter. We are...well, we are just GOOD together.
     With life's turns and twists, who knows what the future holds. This partnership may change for either good or bad, transmogrify - whether due to another person or an event or both - into something different or end altogether. Who knows? Who cares? All I know is that it is working right now.

3. I am NOT perfectly happy in my current job. It is a job, which I don't hate, and I - indeed, we - are grateful for the money it brings. I am also grateful that the hours I do give me three afternoons free a week from 12:30 onward (not counting my weekly day off), and for the fact that - workplace politics aside - it is nicely uncomplicated. But I want to do something else. Something that doesn't involve me getting filthy and ending most shifts drenched with sweat (sexy).
     Which leads me to the next thing.

4. I have no clue what I want to do.

=SIGHS=
     Blah.

I have been toying around with ideas in my head for a while now. Ages, actually; years, if I am honest, on and off. Day to day living and dramas here and there - in many, many forms - have provided a nice and almost constant distraction  from having to think about it too deeply, but now the thoughts keep coming back and won't go away.
     I need to do SOMEthing, I just don't know what.
     I have no focus, no direction,  no definite or proactive aim (God, I hate 'yuppy speak'). I know change needs to happen, but can't seem to find the motivation inside myself to make a start. Whether that is because I am lazy or because I am scared, I don't know. Perhaps both...?

Anyway. That is where I am, right now.

...Damnit, Best Friend 0.5: why did you have to come and settle nicely back into my life and then make me (properly) think?
     This is all your fault!

It has to be.
     Because, obviously, it can't be my fault.
     Because I am perfect.

...Apart from being a grossly fat, junk-food addict, of course.
     ...Who has no current goal in life...
     ...And has yet to finish even one of the (many, many) books she has started writing...
     ...And will be 32 this year (oh God, oh God!)...

...Yeah.
     Apart from that, it's all your fault.

Yep.
     =nods=

Yep.
     =walks off=

Alice x

The Excitement Never Ends.

There is, or at the time of leaving there was, a pretty, plump white pigeon - a homing pigeon, is that the term? a ringed bird, in any case; marked as belonging to someone, rather than being feral - in the indoor area of The Store's Garden Centre.
     Judging by its behaviour, it has decided that it likes it there and has set up home.

That is all.

=bows. walks off=

Alice x

The GOOD news is...

...due to illness within the ranks at work, I have been asked to move my shift to an earlier time; 10:00-14:00 instead of 12:00-16:00.
     Which is good.

The BAD news is, that means that I have to move NOW, before my breakfast has had time to go down, and scramble around getting ready and putting a sock on the dog (don't ask).
     Which is bad.

...Still.
     10:00-14:00. That is much better.

Alice x

P.S. incidentally; I have no idea what happened to the font in my previous post. I've tried to fix it, but to no avail.
     Ah well, ne'r mind. It can stay wonky; see how much I care...

An Epic Journey: 10.5 Miles Long...

A lot has been happening the past two weeks. Sick elderly relatives - one hospitalized and one anxiously waiting to be -  a frazzled and exhausted Mother, a frazzled and exhausted me, worry over the threat of my job being lost (long story) and as the cherry on top of the cake; the insane stress of the dog undergoing multiple tests and then having major surgery to remove an enormous lump that wasn't a lymphoma, as had first been thought, but in actual fact a cancerous tumour (an even longer story).
     Good times.

Anyhoo, I don't intend to dwell upon any of that now.
     The Great Aunt is stable. The Grandmama is still waiting but otherwise fine, The Mother's workload is stabilizing somewhat. It turns out that the treat of B&Q's closure was an idle one, for now at least. And most important of all, the dog is just dandy; indeed, he is frustratingly so (he is supposed to be keeping still).
     So that's alright.

What I intend to talk about today, is the saga of the fetching of Hathaway (that's our lovely little silver car) from the garage. Because I have an hour to wait before starting out for yet another vet visit with the (increasingly active and uncontrollable) dog, and really, it's funny as heck. Terrifying at the time - for us, at least, cowardly worriers that we are - but still; funny as heck.

Right-ho, then!
     Onward...

~.START.~ 

So! Our car was poorly bad. 

     Hathaway had been making very odd and unnerving noises, intermittently, for some time. Then all of a sudden the noises became ten times worse and didn't stop. So, we parked him up, borrowed The Grandmama's car (which thankfully was not in use) and waited for MN Autos to reopen. 

     It's a great place, and run by a great guy: reliable, trustworthy, patient, honest. Annoyingly, and in this instance inconveniently, there is a long period of closure over Christmas lasting from 23rd December until late January (wherein Dave sods off to visit relatives), but overall it is worth the wait, and so wait we did. 

     Then, once the garage reopened on the 20th we called up Dave, explained the problem, and delivered Hathaway for prognosis and treatment.

     24 hours later, we had a diagnosis, a fair sounding estimate and a date the work would be finished. 

     All well and good. Fast forward three days...

It went well to begin with.

     After dropping The Grandmama's car off at her flat - well, not AT her flat as in IN her flat. Outside. By the curb, rather than in her designated spot because apparently she has loaned that to someone called Greta - we called a taxi, which picked us up and drove us to the entrance to the road leading to the infamous 'Hoobrook Industrial Estate'.

.....And that was where the trouble started. 

     It was closed.

     Yep. Closed. For road resurfacing. As in, NO ENTRY: GO AWAY!*

Thinking on his feet - or rather on his seat, as he was sitting down - the taxi driver drove all the way around the one way system to reach the other entrance to the road to see if we could get in that way, only to find that we couldn't. 

     However, just as we were talking - Mother and I - about having to be driven back to Wolverly to reclaim Grandmama's car and did we have enough money to pay for that or would we need to stop at a cash-point, the driver had another idea. No fear, he assured us; he would drive up to the cones and then go and ask the workmen that he could see if it would be OK if we nipped in real quick to fetch our car.

     Great, we thought, or at least we thought that until we reached the cones and the taxi driver got out and then instead of walking past the cones to greet the workmen he moved the cones, got back into the car and drove; DROVE over the newly half surfaced road up to the flabbergasted looking workmen who stopped everything they were doing to stare at the taxi in disbelief,

     Then the taxi driver, unabashed, drove a bit closer so that he could roll down his window to tell them about our car situation. Mother, by this point was near hysterical and wanted to go home (picture a plump, 5ft2in dark haired woman whimpering mostly unintelligible things regarding 'leaving' in the backseat), but neither one of us was brave enough to actually voice this to the nice taxi driver - known henceforth as N.T.D - so we just sort of sat there, feeling varying levels of hysteria (Mother's; high, mine; medium) as the car bumped and scraped its way towards the probably very annoyed workmen and then N.T.D leaned his head out to address them. 

     After a bit of (surprisingly polite) to-ing and fro-ing, it was eventually decided that we would be allowed to drive through and fetch our car, providing that we left the back way so as not to drive over the resurfaced road twice (or, rather, three times, considering that the second time around there would be two cars not one), which was the cue my panic level rising to around the same height as Mother's was sat at, as I yelped loudly that we didn't know 'the back way' at all. The only 'way' we knew was the way we had come. 

     Fear not, N.T.D had assured us both calmly, upon hearing my cries; he would show us. All we had to do was follow him. Which was nice, and soothing, or at least it was for about 30 seconds until we came upon the first workman to be unaware of the plan a little down the way and our panic levels soared back up again at breakneck speed. 

     Stopping the car again, N.T.D explained the situation again, and was - grudgingly - allowed to continue.

     Then 30 seconds after that, we came across another uninformed workman...

     Lather, rinse, repeat.

Now well and truly spooked, Mother and I sat in stupefied silence as the taxi finally reached the right turning and trundled its way down the horrendously uneven and potholed road - right there we have why Hoobrook Industrial Estate is infamous - leading to MN Autos, and ground to a halt directly outside the building, where our car sat swathed in darkness and all on its lonesome. Whereupon, Mother got out.
     Walking over to Hathaway, she patted his bonnet fondly and bent down to retrieve the key - which as had been arranged on many occasion was behind the driver's side wheel - only to find it missing. And that, for some reason, the spare key she had brought with her just in case, did not work, in any of the doors.
     Cue: utter hysteria. 

Hurriedly, I got out, after checking that the N.T.D was not going to abandon us, and rushed over to help Mother as she frantically scrabbled around in the dark hunting for the illusive key.
     To aid in this, N.T.D helpfully turned himself around and shone his headlights in our direction, and after a few more minutes scrabbling, the key was located on the ground nearby. Whether it had fallen out on its own at some point before our arrival or Mother herself had knocked it out of place accidentally as she reached for it in the blackness was unclear, and given the state she was in it certainly wasn't a question I was going to ponder out loud, but the main thing was that we had found it, and that - God willing - we would be able to drive home.      
     At Mothers behest, I unlocked every door and she flung them all open one by one, shoving the bags of stuff we had cleared out from The Grandmama's car - the blanket Bingo had lain on; by now utterly filthy, maps and directions to various places, Mother's gym kit and trainers (ah, the primary supply teacher's lot), a plethora of empty storage tubs (no idea why) and various bits and pieces for the bin - unceremoniously onto Hathaway's backseat and then slammed all the doors shut again. Then Mother waited by Hathaway while I got back into the taxi, paid N.T.D what we owed him - adding a nicely comfortable bonus on top (which, by golly, he had earned) in gratitude for both his kindness and patience in dealing with two women that were rather obviously not able to cope with life** - then I got out of the taxi again for hopefully the last time, and headed back to where Hathaway was waiting, equally patiently.
     Sitting ourselves inside, we breathed deeply to calm ourselves down before beginning the drive, then - after waiting a little while longer for Mother's brain to unlock itself and remind her precisely how to drive - we got turned around, hooted the horn to signal the off, and started off behind N.T.D to find our way out. 

Bless him, he drove at about 4 miles per hour around that trail - we know because that's how fast Hathaway said that we were travelling - and waited until we had not only cleared the industrial estate, but also two islands worth of road works with cones confusing the lanes, still at less than 10 miles per hour, before flashing his lights "goodbye" and finally driving away to leave us to it. 

After negotiating the next island, thankfully workmen and cone free, Mother pulled into a nearby supermarket car park.
     For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then Mother broke the silence.

"Well that's that," she said, softly, staring ahead of her with wide, strained eyes; "we have our car back,"

"Yes," I said, in reply, also staring numbly ahead with wide, strained eyes; "we have."

"...How much was the fare?" she asked, after a pause. 

"£8.40," I told her. 

"Not bad, considering," she nodded. Then she added; "how much extra did you put on top of that for a tip?"

"The rest of the cash in your purse."

"And how much was that."

"£10."

She nodded again.

"Good." ...another pause, then... "Do I have my bank card?"

I checked: "yes."

"Good. Let's go get some whisky."

"Let's," I agreed with a sigh.

~.END.~

Alice x

* in defense of Dave from MN Autos for not having warned us, the original roadwork plan was for one half of the road to be done at a time, to allow cars to pass through the road - a main road - reasonably as normal and grant access to the numerous businesses within the estate; it wasn't until the day the road works actually began that some bright spark decided that as only one business was open past 6-PM and none at all after 7-PM, it would be fine and dandy to close the whole thing and do the entire damn thing. 
     ...Thanks for that, whoever you are, 
** in defense of us, it had been a very stressful week already, and we were anxiously awaiting news of the results of the multitude of tests performed on both The Great Aunt and the dog at the same time, so we may have been a little more panicky than usual.
     ...Okay, a lot more panicky. But it really had been a stressful week... 

Note To Self:

When attempting to show one's Mama a picture of something one saw earlier in the morning using Google Images, typing in the word 'thrush' - minus the word 'song' - will NOT get one the result that one is expecting.

=SHUDDERS=

Alice x

=SIGHS=

As it turns out, Operation Give The Grandmama A New Hip has been postponed for the time being.
     'Postponed', that is, as in 'cancelled'.

You read right.
     The hospital have cancelled her operation due to a lack of beds; something that is not of course their fault - sh...er...stuff, happens, right? - and we are now back on the waiting list, awaiting the arrival of a new letter with a new date.
     All well and good. As I said, that isn't the fault of the hospital that there aren't enough beds and emergencies have to be dealt with first, obviously.

It's just...we'd all nerved ourselves up, y'know? Grandmama especially.
     And we'd all been running round arranging things to help Grandmama to get ready - which had been going on for weeks and weeks. It's not a case of being admitted, signing your consent form, having a good wash and (if needed) shaving the appropriate area along with a quick blood test (again if needed) anymore; oh no. There are a myriad of "pre-admittance procedures" to contend with now - which was very stressful for her because she hates being a burden to anybody.
     To make it worse, for the past week Grandmama has had to wash every inch of herself in this horrible smelling special prescription soap and then thoroughly dry every inch of herself afterwards - this for a woman in her mid eighties, who is immobile enough now that she has to sit down to take a shower, and previously had dried herself by the method of wrapping up in a bathrobe and lying down on the bed to allow nature to take its course, Cue me spending the first half of my holiday at her flat to help out - and then wash every towel/flannel etc. used along with single item of clothing worn the previous day, and then from Monday onward she was  barred from going out except to her prearranged hospital appointment for yet another blood test - which had to be done twice on two different days anyway, because a mistake had been made in her notes - lest she come into contact with an infected person, and she couldn't be around the dog, which made arranging the time I spent at her flat helping with washing and fetching and filing (don't ask) very difficult - because Mother already had work booked and you cannot leave a nearly eleven year old dog without access to somewhere to piddle for ten hours plus - and then to top it all; she wasn't allowed to take her usual half sleeping tablet or have her usual little drink the night before due to the operation being booked for 7-AM.
     And then, at the last moment, postponement, which was expected, because (yet again) stuff happens, and finally, hours later (after Grandmama had been without food for almost 10 hours and without water for 6), cancellation, which hadn't been expected by anybody.

I mean, it's bad, isn't it?
     To mess someone about like that, no matter who or what is at fault, is bad; particularly somebody that is vulnerable, which despite her strength of character my Grandmama certainly now is.
     Poor Grandmama.
     She's been putting herself out in one way or another for almost a year now (the terribly 'urgent' cases have a deadline of 12 months, apparently, rather than the usual 24) and now she just feels utterly flat and depressed.
     It's taken a long time for the pain to become desperate enough that she would even consider an operation at all - terrified of the idea of it as she is - and once she did, she obeyed all of the rules handed out to her (silly, uncomfortable and/or inconvenient as many of them were) and put up with being shunted from doctor to doctor and poked and prodded and asked questions of a most embarrassing and personal (and unfortunately, necessary) nature, and then there was all that hoo-haa with the soap and not being allowed to do this or eat that or drink the other and then she was under house arrest for three days and then got up at hell-O'clock in the morning after a bad night's sleep minus her usual tablet and nip of brandy (and it really is a 'nip'. In a pub if you were served the thimbleful that my aged grandparent guzzles as a 'single', you would be justifiably revolted), and now it is all off and she has to wait for the whole thing to begin all over again.

And I know it's not the fault of any individual person or of the hospital; they're doing the best they can under the crap circumstances the government have put them in, and there's no use being angry about it and that this is just the way it is, but - AARRGGHH!
     I am just so fed up and tired and pissed off.
     We - all of us - are.

Anyway, that's it. Rant over.
     I just needed to get it all out, and now I have, so there t'is.

As a nice silver lining to the cancellation; Grandmama is alive and - mostly - well and the thing we have all been having nightmares about - no matter how unlikely everyone keeps saying it is - hasn't come to pass.

Plus, tonight there shall be good company, a trashy horror film, and wine, so; yay.

Alice x