KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON RELAXING

I did think, when looking forward to the prospect of a whole week off, that we would be going out for days, relaxing at home, taking the dog out somewhere new. Possibly pottering about in the garden, maybe getting a few jobs done. You know, the sort of thing you put off for months until either you miraculously find the time or it's too late to bother. Our wedding anniversary was on Monday, and we promised ourselves lunch out somewhere nice.

Oh, there was the small matter of the conservatory roof. We had booked up to have it replaced this week. It would only be a couple of days. Plenty of time for other things. At least that's what we thought back in March. From that distance it didn't look like a problem…

Unexpected event #1
Internet connection lost last Thursday.
You don't realise how much you use the internet until you haven't got it. Had to work up the cheek to ask my parents if I could go round and use their internet. Very limited as to what I could get done in time available though.

Unexpected event #2
Phone call on Sunday afternoon from Roof Guy. Materials for job being delivered midday Monday. Well, that'll be ok. We’ll go out for lunch when they've been. But Roof Guy arrives midday on Monday as well as materials and asks if it's ok to take the roof off. So we stayed in. Good job we had moved the furniture out of conservatory already. New router arrives from Sky and with surprisingly little bother, we are reconnected to the World. Hurrah!
And never mind about lunch out, my Dad cooked us a delicious dinner, bless him! Gordon goes and fetches it home – chicken in korma sauce. Thanks Dad, you're a darling!




Archie wonders what is happening to his house.

A restless night follows, as I feel uneasy about our roofless conservatory. What if it rains?
It doesn't, it just drizzles.

On waking the next day, we hear the dreadful news of the terror attack in Manchester and all our little niggles pale into insignificance.

Tuesday is spent keeping Roof Guy topped up with tea and taking photos to record progress. I don't know why.
By Wednesday afternoon the roof is on and all is finished, and a very good job he made of it too.

Sam the cat takes it all in his stride

But there's a lot to do putting things back and clearing up. Too late to go out for lunch.
Thursday is full of things we meant to do earlier in the week but didn't have time for. Didn't expect to feel quite so tired!

Unexpected event #3
I'm up early on Friday and take Archie out for his walk as usual. It's a beautiful day, already too hot to wear a coat or jumper. All is fine until time to go home and I go to put his lead on and find he's been rolling in a hefty dollop of dog poo. It's all stuck into his collar and harness, not to mention all over his neck and shoulders. Oh yuk!
I get off what I can with baby wipes but he has to be bathed when we get home. Archie is less than keen on this. His collar, harness and lead have to be scrubbed and disinfected. I give up on the old blanket from the car, and throw it away. There's only so much dog poo we can face before breakfast.

Later there's shopping to do, and a trip to B&Q to buy a new rainwater butt. Must get my new plants in too. The grass has to be cut, we're expecting rainstorms tonight! No time for lunch out again. I'm not too bothered about it. We’ll get round to it one day.

Back to work for a rest next week. But now it's the weekend, time to put my feet up and get my nose in a good book. Bliss!

THIS IS WHAT FRIENDS ARE FOR...

Yesterday was a dull old day in Somerset. Grey skies. Intermittent rain. A bit like the first few pages of My Family and Other Animals….

And it was very quiet: my husband is in Poland with some friends having a jolly, where it is warm and sunny, where they are having saunas and sightseeing, where they are staying up at night sipping cognac and singing. And yesterday he phoned me up and told me all about it.

He mentioned that his friends had been chatting about why they get away with their mates as a group, but their wives don’t seem to do it.

Guys! What would you do then?

Yup!

I was on the phone…

See that photo up there ↑ that is when I went to Portugal with a friend last year. Magical. Eating grilled squid in fish restaurants by the harbour, walking through olive groves, nipping into Spain to get a Wi-Fi signal.

So I phoned-the-friend and I said let’s get a bunch of us together to go away like the guys are doing. I said let’s book a holiday and get away. Let’s find somewhere sunny near the sea and get away from the routine of, well, whatever…

And she didn’t say calm down and think again in the morning, or that she couldn’t afford it, or that she didn’t have time, or that she was too busy, or that she’d think about it. No, she said come over and let’s plan.

So I took the nearly full bottle of Shiraz that I’d started the night before, and some 70% dark chocolate [the ‘healthy’ kind] and was straight over there. Out came the laptop and the wine glasses and we trolled through pages of Italy before we decided that it was too expensive, so we went back to trusty cheap old Portugal and found a beach house where you BBQ on the terrace and walk out of the back door onto the sandy beach. And the first mate we contacted said 'I'm in!'.

That’s what friends are for – not to say ‘we can’t’, but to say – ‘Go for it!’

THE OLD LADY ON THE HILL

                 

I didn't set out to be a carer. 

Having got a first class honours degree in Psychology under my belt at the age of 51, I was setting off merrily on course to become a Psychotherapist. I was just completing the first year of training when it became necessary for me to get some money coming in. Anyway, long story short, I applied for a job as a community carer. Just for a year or so, until I find something else, I thought...

But you know what?

I found I enjoyed having a job where I could make a difference to people. I loved working with older folk and listening to their life stories. I find them fascinating. I have met so many characters over the last ten years. 

Let me tell you about one of them ... 

The house stands grey and forbidding in the untended garden, alone and aloof like the old lady I am about to visit. I make my way down the garden path and see a face, also grey and forbidding, staring stonily at me from the downstairs window. 

I approach the dilapidated back door –  front doors belonging to some old country folk are never used except perhaps for funerals – and knock with more confidence than I'm feeling. There eventually follows some scuffling sounds, then muttering as the old lady struggles with the key in the lock. After a few minutes the door creaks open.

“Who are you?” She demands threateningly. She looks exactly like a witch, minus the broomstick and pointy hat. I expect to have the hounds of hell set on me if I don't give a satisfactory answer. 

“I've come to help you get some breakfast and light the fire”

“You'd better come in. Where's Gordon? I usually have Gordon. I don't know if you can light a fire. Don't expect you can do it properly. Not like Gordon. One match he uses. That girl who came yesterday took three matches to light my fire. I can't afford to be wasting matches like that”.

I try not to bridle at her remarks. Sybil doesn't know it but I have had years of experience lighting open fires. But for her it doesn't matter how good a carer you are, in her eyes there is nobody like Gordon. You just have to do your best and hope Sybil is in a good mood.

 There’s a cat, her pride and joy, which must not be inconvenienced in any way. If the cat has chosen to take a nap on the bed, then you must not make the bed. 

I get Sybil some breakfast and a cup of tea while she sits on a rickety chair complaining about her back and watching me like a hawk while I haul a load of coal in from the outhouse. And I manage to light the fire with one match.

Then I turn to make the bed which is in the same downstairs room. Dammit, the cat is sleeping on it. If I don't make the bed Sybil will grumble even though she doesn't want the cat disturbed.  Anyway, I can't win unless I can get the cat off the bed and make it look like that's what it was going to do anyway.

Hooray, Sybil shambles off into the kitchen, probably to find a poisoned apple to give me, and I ‘encourage’ the cat to move while the coast is clear. I make the bed while the cat gets its own back by using its litter tray, just so I have to empty it.

After her breakfast, mollified by having been sent someone who can light a fire efficiently with one match [despite not being Gordon], Sybil becomes almost chatty and pleasant. She tells me she was born in this house and talks about her father who used to ring the local church bells. There is an undercurrent of resentment in her conversation, and I listen to her with great interest.

Later, I learn that Sybil was kept at home as a young woman in order to look after her ageing parents. She was never allowed to go out, especially with men in case she got married and moved out. She was needed to do the work at home. It's hard to imagine what her life was like, trapped in that dark depressing house all her days. She is a thorn in the side of social services, always pleading poverty, saying she doesn't get enough help, complaining about those who they send.

After Sybil’s death, when they came to sort out her house, they discovered a bin bag stuffed with thousands of pounds. 

She had drawn her pension and benefits every week and lived on a shoestring, complaining that she didn't have enough of anything and counting her matches one by one…