~o~
Sunday 16th 57F/14C. Bright overcast with the sun bursting through. I woke at 5am. Then watched the minute hand crawl around to 5.40. Before I and my bladder, finally ran out of patience.
The first shuffle to the distant bathroom was accomplished at a fairly modest pace. I had previously calculated that my plastic fire bucket would not exceed my strict 2kg allowance. It had, after all, only been abused twice in the night. I ignored the disheveled hulk in the bathroom mirror. As I pulled the tissue stopper. Which had averted yet another bloodbath from my right nostril. On the previous evening. The last of numerous attempts before I had even dared to lie down.
From the bathroom I swung back through the kitchen. To struggle mightily with the formidable load of the stainless steel kettle. Some personal sacrifices must always be made. To achieve lift off and the first coffee of the day. In my defense I needed something and preferably soon. Just to wash down the six tablets awaiting me on the bedside table. You may take my solemn word for it. The local tap water does not improve with age!
I settled down to my familiar routine of checking emails. Answering those I still felt strong enough to manage. The weekend news websites were typically shallow and strewn with the detritus of sport. The weather chart diluted by coming rain.
7.45. I have hardly moved. Save for the routine of tea making and the saturation of my homemade muesli with low fat milk. Even lower fat Mini-Milk will be on the shopping list henceforth. Muesli is a posh term for porridge oats from a brown, paper bag. Organic brown of course. As are the currants sprinkled on to the heap and thoroughly mixed in. No doubt the produce of child labour. In some forsaken hole south of The Line of Human Conscience. Usually referred to as "The Med." Thus far and no more. Lest thine eyes and thy nose, doth offend thee.
8.00 The sun has given up the struggle for the moment. I await the return of my guest. From her lofty retreat in the attic. Now so clear of the debris of a lifetime. That the oriental carpet may be admired in full. Without so much as a stack of assorted, vintage boxes. Interfering with one's clear view to the horizon. Of the acreage available for cavorting to music and other mayhem. Should one so wish and still have the capacity for the same.
I myself can no longer manage the stairs. At least, not without a mobile resuscitator tucked under my best arm. The other remaining locally painful and swollen. Now with a fetching, but fading shade, of Parker-Quink's Best Blue-Black. My nether regions remain firmly stained however. As if a full bottle of the literary lubricant had been dropped inadvertently into my groin. Modesty prevents my sharing this decorative ornament in my typical, pictorial form.
My usual solitude is to be broken further later. By the promise of a glass of home-made honey. Carried here by a good lady of this parish. Whom resides not one kilometer from Chez Hovel. Her accent harking back to the halcyon days. When Blighty once claimed to have mastery over The Colonies. I am almost sure this will not lead to quite unnecessary acrimony. Having simply promised myself. Never to mention tea.
8.30 My family visitor has arisen. Complained as to the hour. Then retreated to her lair. Whom am I to complain? She had fed the fish and brought the light. One can ask no more of a volunteer.
Next I shall make up a tentative shopping list. One based on the still vague belief that I shall be able to drive into the village. Then push the young[er] lady out. Armed with an extra shopping bag. While I rest from the labours of gear changing. While avoiding poorly skilled, local drivers.
The old car remains a bit of an unknown at this point. Having not been started, let alone driven, for probably some weeks. A new battery had been inserted in our recent history. So all might still be well. It had better not break down! My insurance company will surely expel me. For yet another call out. The old car really has to go. It will no longer be required for its habitual, trailer towing duties.
The Morris has been promised a rescue mission from the city hospital car park. Where it has been accumulating painful, hourly expense. My English friend will have his car available. Once his wife returns from work on Monday. He will ferry my visitor and myself to the city. Then follow us home. Just to be sure of our reaching our destination. My health, strength and stamina remaining debatable qualities and quantities at this difficult time. Unfortunately my guest of the last week has never learned to drive. She will be riding shotgun. Just to ensure I retain a semblance of what is loosely referred to as "being in control."
9.10. More sunshine. In a fit of arrested development I made myself morning coffee and marmalade coated, toasted rolls. An arduous task where heavy kettles and full jam jars are concerned. I almost missed the mug with the coffee powder! My aim having become somewhat compromised as of late. I had felt the need to gently push my own boundaries. To test my race fitness on the day. I have concluded that Pogacar has little to fear from me in the mountains.
There followed a wallow in the sits bath as I had my first shower in days. Talk about shock and awe! Every splodge and sheet of purple bruising instantly turned to black! It was still good to feel clean again.
Then I made an online order for some groceries from the local supermarket. Just to stock up on the daily fare. It saved my having to drive. Even if I didn't have to physically shop. The order was accepted and delivered in short time. Excellent service!
12.45 Time for a spot of lunch. Or at least the quiet contemplation of a healthy one. I am still confused whether Extra-Mature Cheddar lies safely to the west. Of acceptable fodder for the recovering heart patient. Honey is laden with sugar but... My usual jam falls under the same banner.
Cold sardines on toast were scrumptious. Followed by a banana with a little low fat milk and a cup of black tea. My latest trick is to use a smaller plate. To make meals seem more generous. I was fortunate to find some pretty blue plates in a bottom cupboard in the kitchen.
8.00 Raining. Dinner was chicken with broccoli and boiled potatoes. No salt or butter involved. Followed by an organic apple juice and a few blueberries. Kindly produced and served by my guest.
The Morris will now be fetched from the hospital on Tuesday by a good friend. While my visitor will be delivered direct to the city station. This will save me straining anything unnecessarily during my slow recovery. I am in no pain but breathless after shuffling only a few yards indoors. There is still some local pain, discolouration and swelling in my right forearm.
~o~
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