the squalor, the squalor

Day 2 of the kitchen. Last night we used the cooker. Today it was dumped on the skip, in all its antique (26 years old), grease laden splendour. But now there is no running water or cooking,or washing machine facility. The front room has already become a comfortable sty, with us picking our way through boxes of cutlery, tins and cat food pouches. The cats disappear all day, one deep under our sofa, the other to parts unknown. But when the workers leave and all goes quiet again, they emerge warily, driven by hunger, for they have missed their lunchtime pouch.

and so it begins

As promised, the builders turn up this morning and press right on with the ripping out of our old kitchen: only our welsh dresser, fridge and washing machine will survive the metamorphosis. Noises off, as it were, lived up to fears and expectation, but on returning home this evening it is mostly done. How long we will have to live like this is not clear, though the figure of 4 weeks has been offered.

And so it begins indeed. For the next month we will have to endure the weasel words and the downright lies, the cant and the grossest hypocrisy, all of which goes under the name of "electioneering". And will it all make any real difference in the end? I would direct you to a poster I used to display on my wall in my student days:

WHICH EVER PARTY YOU VOTE FOR, THE GOVERNMENT GETS IN

calm before the storm

This morning my wife and I go for a walk out on the edge of town; a varied foray through steep woodland paths and muddy fields, with an ascent of about 300 metres. We have a spot of lunch in a nearby pub (bowl of chilli for me, tuna melts for her)before going home to complete the kitchen clear-out. This afternoon, the builder (though tomorrow he will be the destroyer)rings to confirm he'll be here bright and early.

I'm mainly worried about the cats really; they hate loud noises and sudden events, as of course they all do. My wife also, is concerned I fancy, but she remains outwardly bullish. Me? I'm terrified.

easter funday

Today we go off to my mother's seaside home for lunch. Arrangements having been confirmed (see yesterday's blog,)we duly arrived, armed with the dessert, viz a very pleasant apple crumble from the hand of my wife. My mum seemed tired, almost sleep deprived somehow, but she managed to put on a brave show.

After a very serviceable lunch we walked for a couple of miles along the beach, in bright sunshine, but with a chilly north-westerly breeze. My father-in-law, whatever his mental faculties may be failing him, certainly kept up with our normal walking pace with apparent ease. Later he fell asleep whilst still holding his cup of tea and I was only just able to rescue it before it fell from his nerveless fingers. As it was some did fall right into his lap, giving him the appearance of having wet himself.

Tonight we'll watch the Doctor Who from yesterday which we completely forgot about. Maybe it's a sign. I'm worried anyway: they say the new bloke (producer, that is) hasn't got what Russell T Davies had. But we'll give it a try.

faith restored

I didn't mention that I went back to my physiotherapist last week for my return visit. I was able to report, with considerable surprise, not to say relief, that my shoulder had improved substantially following the very simple movement programme she had devised. I have always been a little sceptical of the claims of that particular ancillary service, but this is magic! The pain is less, the range of movement greater. She told me I could resume juggling and produced 3 tennis balls with which to demonstrate my skills. Now these are not the ideal balls for juggling, but I am quite experienced and gave her a passable little show. To my delight she then asked me if I could teach her how to get started, which is something I love to do, though I haven't taught anyone for years. I gave her the basic steps; now she and I will meet again in 2 weeks, each working on their own programme.

quite good friday

On a day where brief intervals of sunshine are shot through with much longer periods of rain and gloom, we begin the preparations for the kitchen people who are arriving next Tuesday, to rip out our old one and put in a new one. My contribution: I filled eight cardboard boxes with stuff and carried them down to the garage at the bottom of the garden. That's my mini-workout for the day, if you like. Then later, my wife had to take several forays down there to retrieve things I shouldn't have moved (vinegar, glasses, coffee mugs) that we are going to need prior to Tuesday. Tomorrow is the big day, when we take most of the furniture down there. It's a big space, but I am already doubtful it will be big enough to take everything that needs to be stowed. And the house itself is already crowded.

I had arranged with my mother for us, plus my father-in-law, to go to her house for Easter Sunday lunch, but last night she phoned to say she had "double booked" and could we go on Monday instead. I agreed at the time, but this morning I phoned back to say the kitchen people were coming on Monday (a lie) therefore we would have to cry off. She concedes, but 5 minutes later rings again to say that that wouldn't work. We batted the issue back and forth for a few minutes, before she finally agreed to stick to our original (Sunday) arrangement. I'd like to say this is all about her gradually failing powers of memory, but it isn't. She's been pulling stunts like this all my life, changing arrangements then blaming me (as she did on this occasion) for getting them wrong. It is part of her highly manipulative way, but she forgets that both I and my wife are used to manipulating on a daily basis as part of our job descriptions, and also that we are skilled in resisting manipulation. Nice try, mum...

mourndy thursdy

Things have been very quiet over the last few days as people gear themselves up for the "spring break". But someone did come in with shoulder girdle pains and a high ESR. I lost no time in prescribing a high dose steroid regime for him. I've made that mistake before, as my readers will know- and no one else is ever going to go blind like that again on my watch.

COMMENT

Unseasonal snowstorms have affected much of Britain, particularly northern Scotland. We'll all have heard of the tragic death of a young person in a bus crash caused directly by the blizzards, but another story from there will be less well known. A seal in a seaside aquarium was washed out to see by a huge wave, and the owners have expressed concern because he is 20 years old and has never known life in the open ocean. Poor thing! Imagine his fear, his bewilderment. In America recently, a killer whale drowned someone in its "pool". A pool! Seals are used to ranging over hundreds of miles of territory; whales thousands. To incarcerate these magnificent creatures in goldfish bowls for our amusement is wrong, and should be stopped.