Monthly Archives: March 2009

A strange day.  Dropped Graham off at his mother’s so he could spend the day cleaning the top of her cupboards and doing other jobs she can no longer do for herself, then to the doctor’s for medication.  Seems they can’t book me in for Monday in advance so I have to be on the phone to them at 08:00 and take my chance.  I’ll get there, see if I don’t.

When I got out of the surgery it was raining one of those freezing cold, hard rains with a wind to match so I decided against walking through Neath to the bank, got in the car, and headed towards the place where I thought the bank might be.  After two one-way traffic signs and a slight diversion, I was lost.  Again.

Don’t know what it is about Neath but I seem always to get lost when I’m driving through on my own.

Not to worry, I ended up on the road to Cadoxton and Cilfrew, gave in gracefully, and drove through to the chippie where I picked up a pie and chips meal, took it home, and devoured it in my nice warm kitchen.

There are worse things.

I’m currently much engaged on the Parthenon [in Athens, Greece], thinking about the state of reconstruction against the model of the original and also against my memory of my last visit.  I have a poem brewing, I think.

And so I was home, snoozing, and dreaming of Parthenoid normalities.  Don’t ask.  Not all of a poet’s thought trains are good to follow.

My cough is better.  Each recurrence is less troublesome, and takes less time to clear.  A matter of holding on and waiting for longer days and more sunshine.  I shall still pursue the case with the doctor because I’m not happy with the way they’ve left me on cardiac meds.

Doing a lot better today, having had a fairly decent night’s sleep.  I’ll keep to the programme, and get prepared for my scheduled visit to the doc on Monday.

Graham’s been pressing on with the hall, stairs and landing, sanding the much abused paintwork and making good the damaged and soiled walls.  He’s just now applying a coat of white paint to the stained wood surrounds and frame of the door leading into the living room.  That’s going to need several coats so it makes sense to start work there.  He’s still not sure whether to paint or paper/paint the walls and he’s holding a long debate on the subject.  We’ve been here before.  My memory seems to be better than his so I could tell him how it’ll come out. I don’t want to spoil the fun, though.

And so it goes.  Another day.  It rained.  Dolly got wet and swore roundly at me for it.  I gave her a good rub-down with a warm towel even so.

I’ve lost count of the number of times my winter cold/cough has flared up to lay me low since it started early in December.   Here we are, almost to the end of March, and I’ve been hit again.  Just when you think it’s safe to scream in the water, eh?

Horrid.

I have an appointment with the doctor on Monday and he’s going to have to deal with a patient who, quietly, pleasantly and firmly, is about to take over control of his case. I get the distinct impression that no-one in the new surgery has sat down and read through my medical notes.  In consequence, the whole man is not being treated properly.  If I don’t take charge the likelihood is that I’ll end up in hospital with acute bronicals.

There have been a number of reported cases in Welsh hospitals where a C. Difficile infection has taken older folks off to the happy hunting grounds after a winter of colds has left them with damaged resistance.  Apart from a one-week course, I’ve steered clear of antibiotics because I know that they kill off the normal beneficial bacteria in the gut, leaving the patient wide open to infection.

As I say, horrid.

I had a little rebellion today.

It was a routine thing, up, coffee and computer, ablutions, off to Sainsbury’s for what is to become our weekly shop (saving petrol & wear & tear) and home again.

‘Home again’ did it.  I got to thinking how very circular and shut in this routine is making me feel.  What with that and the cold (still with me, but much reduced) the homeward journey was quiet and thoughtful.

“Where are we going?” Graham asked.

“Home, of course.”

“No we’re not.  We’re going to Carmarthen.”

“Oh, soddit.  When did I take the wrong turning.”

“Don’t know.  Wasn’t watching.  Not to worry, we can take the next turning and come back.”

Which is what we did.  Silence fell again for a little while until he asked:  ”So, what’s up, doc?”

By the time we got home, perhaps twenty minutes later, we’d sorted it out.  We’re going to aim for a weekly day off duty, out on a little trip if possible, but a break in the routine, giving me something new to anticipate.

That’ll make me feel a lot better, and get the juices running.  We’ve promised to start next week.  Monday shopping.  Tuesday waiting in for the piano buyer to call and take the little darling away.  Wednesday, out somewhere.

“I’ll make up a packed lunch and a big flask of coffee,” I said.  ”And pack the folding table and chairs so’s we can sit on top of a convenient roadside heap of gravel.”

“It’s a date.  Except for the gravel.”

“Oh, alright.  I’ll give you the gravel.”

As we pulled onto the driveway we noticed we were having visitors:

Exotic visitors

“Not that I’ve been complaining, of course,” I said.  ”A routine life that has peacocks in it isn’t all that bad.”

“You weren’t complaining.  A rut is a rut, even with peacocks.”

“That’s all right, then.  I shall still give you the gravel.”

It ought to have been an event-filled morning, the last bit of balmy weather for a while.  As it was we had to wait in, twiddling thumbs, for the ParcelFarce man to come and collect a big heavy parcel–Graham sold our redundant dehumidifier on eBay–” between 9 and 2″.  He turned up at 2:28, just as the last trace of sunshine disappeared behind the cloud and a chill wind blew up.

We decided we’d dash out for shopping to Tesco at Neath Abbey and grab a burger lunch in Burger King on the way home.

Tesco’s was dire.  The Burger King was fine. I had a double whopper meal with super fries.  Graham had to have the same otherwise he’d have felt left out.  As it turned out I ought to have made a much smaller choice because I was really struggling towards the end.  I have been training myself to take and enjoy much smaller portions as I approach 70.  There’s no better way to postpone 80 indefinitely than to continue eating meals fit for a navvy.

“Cor!” I breathed as I stuffed in the last morsel.  ”That was mighty meaty, matey.  What shall we have for dessert?”

“I thought you were full?”

“Course I am.  My savoury tummy is stuffed.  But as you know perfectly well, dessert goes into a different compartment.”

“Ah yes.  I’d forgot.  Something with ice cream in it?”

“You gottit.”

Home, and a late siesta, more out of form than necessity.  It’s just getting dark now, at 18:41, and the sky is almost clear.  It’ll be cold tonight or I’m a monkey’s uncle.