I knit big stuff too!

end of the drought!

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.

and grrrrrrrr.........

Last night, after returning from the pub considerably later than I, Mr Lily asked me where the boxed new phone under the coffee table had come from. I started telling him the story of mum's amplified phone but three sentences in, he dialled a number on his mobile and started having a conversation with his friend, telling me to "go on" at the same time! "Fuck you!" says I ( most unusual for me) and went to bed in the spare room.

Dog got me up at 6 this morning so I made a cup of tea and continued working on Mr Lily's cardigan. I spent an hour sewing the button band to the side seam before I realised my mistake and had to start again. Now its ten to ten and I'm sitting here in my dressing gown with wet hair trying to motivate myself to get ready to go to mum's. I hate Saturdays.

a quick ramble through the past week

True to her word, the doctor has written to mum to invite her in for a chat as she hasn't seen her for a long time and while there, have her B12 injection and some blood tests. Mum hasn't rumbled my dastardly plot - we go to the surgery on Friday.

I have my appointment with the consultant this afternoon for the results of my transthoracic echocardiogram. I just know he's going to say the tests were fine, dammit. Meanwhile, I'm still in my pyjamas at 10:50, trying to motivate myself to clean the bathroom and hoover up.

Husband got his results from his oximeter tests yesterday, he definitely suffers from sleep apnoea and has been told to stop smoking and lose weight. He has also had to shave off his moustache so the CPAP mask will fit with a good seal. (That's not himself in the photo, by the way.) He tried it last night, not a huge success - had to keep taking it off to blow his nose and kept making farting noises when he breathed through his mouth. He abandoned it in the end. Pity, the machine made soothing wheezy-breeze noises and the farting was funny. Still, can't be entertained all night, those days are long gone, lol.

Anything else? Ah yes - reminders of old age creeping on - my son turned thirty a few weeks ago and two of my friends are 60 this year. Bastards, don't they know I'm still 27?

Ok, I'm going to stop procrastinating RIGHT NOW.

can't complain

All things considered, life isn't too bad. I've been reminded of how fortunate I am this week by the arrival of an old friend of my husband who dips in and out of our lives every year or so. Back in the 70s they were both good looking, fun loving, free spirited young men. My guy has retained his individuality and rebellious streak but in every other respect is a conventional loving husband/father/working man. His friend never did settle down, he is an alcoholic and mostly lives in a van, stuffed to the gunnels with all his worldly goods, and travels about the country in it like a motorised hobo. He is a stranger to soap and shampoo so smells like a dustbin and looks distinctly unsavoury - grimy face and hands poking out of layers of equally grimy clothes. This year he was 'rescued' by an organisation that helps rough sleepers and after a period in a hostel, has been given his own flat in Canterbury. There's nothing in it, hence still living in the camper van, but he's hoping to furnish it with a social fund grant some time soon. You can't help liking him, he's a seeker after truth - his conversation is a combination of paranoid rants against immigrants and authority and rapid fire fact after fact on every subject under the sun, although you have to be in the mood to cope with his constant chatter and questioning. Definitely a bit wearing at the end of the day, especially if you're wanting some quiet time. He has a good heart though and I do feel sorry for him. I think we're his only friends in the world.

On the mum front, the old dear lulled me into a false sense of security for a few days, being cheery and quite sweet, then on Thursday night reverted to needy mum, resenting the time I spend with my own family and sulkily trying to get me to go last night by saying she had nothing in to eat. Well, she had a ready meal but said it was too big for her and clearly would rather go hungry than waste any of it. I stuck to my guns and had my usual Friday night with husband and friends in the pub. And very nice it was too. I ate fish and chips, chatted, laughed a lot, knitted, unknitted, spilled beer all over the place and finally arrived back home at 11 (stone cold sober). Our friends , who became increasingly loud and incoherent as the night wore on, were most complimentary about Mr and Mrs Lily's relationship (30 years wed this April) and they had a point. We may not always have had a smooth ride, but we've survived through a mixture of contrasting personalities, shared interests and lots of laughter. We're best friends and genuinely care for each other. I'm a lucky woman.

Once more into the surgery, dear friends...

Huband's chest x-ray results disclosed yesterday - nothing wrong with his heart or lungs! He says he can't believe it, they must have mixed him up with someone else. He is, however, officially a fat bastard, having a 20" neck and weighing over 18 stones. He couldn't believe that either!

I described husband's poor sleep pattern to the doctor who agreed it was a strong indicator of sleep apnoea, so now that's two of us with appointments at the sleep clinic! The doctor brought to our attention the government guidelines released to GPs yesterday that patients suffering from sleep apnoea and who may have experienced falling asleep at the wheel (both of us!) are required to tell the DVLA and stop driving until their condition is under control. Gulp. It only affects me on long journeys so I think I'll pass on that one, especially as my boss has said I can take the train for distant meetings. Husband is going to start working locally in January so I think he should be ok too.

Cough, cough. I think I have a chest infection, just in time for Christmas. To quote Mr C. Hell, esquire, bah feckin humbug!

burning the candle at both ends

Its just after 6pm on Sunday evening and I'm ready for bed. It has been a hectic weekend:

Friday afternoon - accompanied husband to the doctor's for his blood test results - apparently there's nothing seriously wrong with him! (Big relief as he was fearing prostate cancer - I'm just gobsmacked his liver's A-OK).
Friday night - straight to the pub after the doctor's to celebrate with friends. Picked beloved son up from Darlington station and brought him back to the pub - he'd made the journey from Nottingham to be with his dad as it was his (dad's) birthday on Thursday and he (son) had been worrying about the test results.
Saturday morning - early start with mum as I'd booked a hairdresser's appointment for her. Surprised her by picking up son at the end of the road and after the hairdresser's we three went for a meal before dropping son off at a friend's as they were going to the Boro match (they lost 3 - 1).
Saturday afternoon - Meanwhile...took mum to Morrisons (sigh) then went home, quick kip before....
Saturday night - Joining daughter, son and husband and thousands (well about 30) friends in the pub to remember an old friend who died a year ago at this time. We then took over a restaurant (apart from one table - poor things!) for a very noisy Indian meal. Home to bed.
Sunday morning - up at 5.30am to drive son back to Nottingham as there were no trains that would get him there in time to start work. After a hellish 2 and a half hour journey in hail, sleet and rain, struggling to stay awake, we arrived. Straight back on the motorway to head back for home; not even chewing toffees and swigging coca cola could keep me from dozing off at the wheel several times, don't know how I managed to get back in one piece - scary.
Sunday lunchtime - short nap then off out for lunch at the pub we'll be going to on Christmas Day.
Sunday tea-time - in bed by 6.30pm.
Sunday evening - back up again a few hours later, leaving snoring husband behind, and joined daughter in the back room. Which brings us up to now - 11.30 pm.

Sputter, sputter, fzzt.

and sometimes surprisingly sweet

You were right, clippy mat!

men are stupid

tired now

That's because I've been up since 4am. I went to bed last night before 9 - it had been a stressful day..mum in a discontented mood, mollified by my washing the kitchen floor. Then stuck in an hour's traffic jam waiting to get into the retail park with an exasperating running commentary from mum, followed by 2 dithering hours in Morrisons to buy half a week's food and another traffic jam to get out. Didn't get home until 7.30pm and by then was too exhausted and flat to feel like going to a friend's Halloween party. Anyway, woken in the early hours by him indoors' sleep apnoea, spent half an hour poking him every couple of minutes to restart his breathing then gave up when the snoring got too noisy. Wide awake by then, downstairs for tea and cake and another go at designing a better life map for the previous post. I'm nearly done but need another break. May go back to bed soon. This is not good, is it?
I didn't go back to bed, it's 10am and I've finally finished the new life map (see below). It's official, I am an idiot.

Impulsive, moi?

Before getting ready for work, I thought 'I'll just check my e-mails' and there was one from Paypal, promising entry into a £10,000 draw for anyone shopping on one of their featured sites. As one of them was a ticket seller, I had a quick look to see whether there were any for the current tour of one of him indoors' favourite women, Tina Turner. Only 2 at Manchester Arena on OUR 30TH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY! Reader, I bought them.

Just a quickie

..cos I've so much to catch up on - we lost our internet connection on Wednesday night and it's been just AWFUL being cut off from all my favourite haunts! Have just got in from shopping with mum (three and a half mind-numbing hours in Morrisons and she still hasn't bought enough feckin food to last the week) and am looking forward to having a good old root round eBay. No doubt (?) you'll be relieved to know that every single one of my blood tests came back fine and my blood pressure is tickety boo (I was rather hoping they'd find something wrong they could fix). In an effort to find out why I'm so bloody knackered all the time, my doctor has come up with the theory that I might be suffering from sleep apnoea and has made me an appointment with the sleep clinic! He arrived at this conclusion by measuring my neck, noting my womanly curves and establishing that I snore. Well yes I do, but NOTHING like the cacophany emanating from himself, especially when he's had a good drink - he snores, grunts, chunters, whistles, forces big noisy jets of air down his nose and sometimes does this HUGE gasp/jerk/yell when he starts breathing again after holding his breath for an age. Anyway, I'm quite looking forward to the sleep clinic experience, all good fun!

Oh yes, a moment of sympathy please, for poor traumatised husband...I finally persuaded him to go to the doctors yesterday for investigation of his many ailments which include a distinct possibility of prostate problems. It's taken me 18 months to get him there and his worst fears were recognised....rubber gloves, gel, knees up to neck...need I say more? (hahahahaha, ahem, sorry, just composing myself) Aren't men babies? They should try putting up with all the indignity that accompanies examinations during and after pregnancy/smear tests/coil fittings/mammograms etc etc.

Reflections

This is beginning to feel like the norm, sitting in front of the computer with a cup of tea at daft o'clock in the morning, this time precipitated by a hot flush, husband's snoring and an empty tummy. It's lovely and peaceful here in my back room, with the just the table lamp lit. Husband and daughter are asleep, our sweet little dog has just been out and rather stiffly climbed the stairs back to bed, a little damp from the light rain. The only sounds are the whirr of the hard drive fan and the blood singing in my ears.

I'm feeling quite content. I managed to clear some tasks this afternoon before going to pick beloved son up from Darlington station; so good to see him on top form again after all the stress he's been under recently. All's quiet on the crazy ex-girlfriend front and he's just been promoted at work so is buzzing from the upturn in his fortunes. He has a fun weekend in front of him, richly deserved - paintballing with his sister (the brave organiser!) and pals tomorrow, then over to Manchester for a friend's 30th birthday. It's always a blessing to have him home - living in Nottingham, he can't afford to come up more than a few times a year and I'm afraid we're hopeless at organising trips down to see him.

In a funny way, I'm rather glad about my depression diagnosis. Without it, I wouldn't be on Prozac and feel happier and calmer in myself which I'm sure has helped me relate better to mum, has made me feel cherished by my daughter who always makes sure I'm ok and, just maybe, has had an impact on my relationship with my husband. I feel closer to him than ever before, he's been very gentle with me and probably now realises why he has been married to an occasionally crazy woman over the last few years! After 31 years together, it's easy to take each other for granted, settle into a routine and lose touch with the feelings that brought you together in the first place. I haven't always have been able to say this over the years, but hand on heart, I love him and am glad he's always going to be a part of my life.

Happy anniversary

Yesterday was a good day. First stop, mum's doctor for the results of her blood tests - all OK. It was the first time the doctor had seen her since her stroke so out of hearing I said that her short-term memory had been badly affected and she was easily confused. The doctor then asked her what day, month and year it was and I thought this is where she gets them all right and I look a right b****...mum answered confidently Friday, April, '77. I was startled as I hadn't expected more than a year or two out, but the doctor was great. She said "Yes, that's right" and mum came away feeling really pleased with herself. I decided not to tell her the truth as it would only have worried and upset her. Next we went to the hospital to see the consultant for an after stroke check-up, no major problems but he wanted to change some of her medication and there was much checking of charts on the computer and making notes in the file and explaining to me what was to change and why - poor mum sat bewildered throughout, isolated in her deafness. (That's something else I have to do - arrange an appointment with the audiologist to get a more effective hearing aid. Mum's GP thinks it will help with the confusion - makes sense.) We dropped the consultant's recommendations off at the surgery and went for lunch. Back to work in the afternoon, managed to finish a report despite lots of interruptions and for once was able to go straight to the pub to meet husband instead of back to mum's. Think my anniversary presents to him went down well - a large leather pouch he can fit on his belt for work with a jar of special edition 'I love you' Marmite inside! His presents to me were fun too, a silver love knot on a chain and a crystal deodorant block! Had a delicious meal of sea bass with chilli, coriander and lemon and enjoyed the company of friends before going home. And finally to bed....where surprised by amourous advances! I'll spare you the undignified details but there were a few minutes when we were both in hysterics at the picture we posed. There we were, coitus interruptus - one reaching for an inhaler, the other for the KY; don't you love middle age?!