more doom and gloom

Tuesday night at mum's. After two hours of Mistress Hyde, Dame Jekyll made a welcome appearance and hung around for an hour before I left. I reminded mum that I wouldn't be coming on Wednesday (I rarely do).

Wednesday night at home. Mr Lily has prepared a feast in honour of his wife's rare appearance at the dinner table. I pick up my fork and the telephone rings. Mr Lily answers and attempts to explain to mum that I'm not going tonight, he's cooked a meal for me. At some point she puts the phone down on him. My heart sinks. What should have been a relaxing evening is overshadowed by anticipating mum's displeasure on Thursday.

Thursday night at mum's. All seems well at first, if you ignore the usual 'take-me-to-live-with-you heavy hints. Finally she asks "where were you last night?", "at home", says I. "No you weren't" says mum. "Yes I was, Mr Lily made tea for me and lovely daughter" I reply. "Well why did he answer the phone?" "Because he was nearest!" "I don't like talking to him, I'll just phone you at work in future." As the evening wore on she threw in a few mean comments, describing Mr Lily as "ignorant" and referring to some make-believe incident where I'd put a note saying 'keep out' in my purse to stop him going in it!?! (In the past she's also claimed that he gave beloved son 'a good hiding' when he was young and that's why he never came home from University??!!) It occurs to me for the first time that these stories, for that is all they are, link back to tales she has told me of her father's behaviour towards her and her brother in their youth. Is she confusing Mr Lily with her dad? Over tea she suddenly says "its a good job you don't want me, I'd be miserable living with him (Mr Lily). I bite my tongue.

The retirement flats we went to see at Nunthorpe some time ago, just opposite her sainted doctor and a row of shops, are advertising a £27,000 reduction in price until the end of July. She is considering taking another look. I'm not holding my breath, she didn't like the look of them the first time and the built in kitchen includes a microwave set far too high up.

The new cardigan hasn't left the hanger yet.

Its my birthday on Sunday and right on cue to celebrate the occasion, a massive cold sore has appeared on my top lip. It gave me a rather attractive pout before it got to the yellow alien invader stage. Shoot me now. Please.