Oh dear. All I ever seem to do is moan. I know that myself and I'm being truthful about it. It doesn't take a wise bird to recognise the fact that I'm in danger of becoming boring. Sure in my head I'm 16, fact is I'm 31 years older than that but, Shhhh tell no one!
My daughter and I linked arms as we walked in bright sunshine -- Hang on, did I say bright sunshine? Yep! I did, seems like summer paid us a visit today although rather late. It was a comfort to walk around without a jacket, I nearly took off my jumper, but Hey! As I was saying! We walked into town and it was full of smiling faces and jolly tradesmen who thought all their birthdays had come at once. People buying summer attire and taking interest in the salad stall -- it was all too much by the end of the day.
Parking, Argggh! dare I say, ''Nightmare?'' What is it with some folk, pushing and shoving, arms waving all because of a little vacant oblong slot. Disabled bays all full and the occasional look of disgust as I appear to get out of my car without any aid. I'm sorry to say that the more mature generation are the worst. I'm just waiting for the first person to ask me why I need a disability badge and I've been practicing my reply for years. Of course, should that situation arise, I'd probably be struck dumb. I'd be tempted to lift up my clothing and reveal my feeding tube then knowing me I'd probably get arrested for indecent behaviour.
I guess I'm a true moaner. I never used to be. The older I get the worse I seem to go -- hence my quote about the mature generation above. Perhaps it is an age thing! I'm hoping not. So a trip around the market and then off to the hospital to see my dad. He's sitting pretty in bed and I'm half dead with a blistering cold. It's hard to tell who the patient is except I'm not in pyjamas. " Wash me these will you love -- Oh! and can you post me this and get me some new undies?"
Hold on! I'm actually a bit ill myself and I'm running round like a mad dog. My dad thinks I'm wonder woman and of course, I am! I arranged all of my mum's funeral, took care of all the legal stuff, entertained the relatives at the wake and now I'm nursemaid to my father who's in hospital more for convenience than sickness. He's waiting for a scan and an endoscopy and it all takes time, so they decided to keep him. I know he's not a well man -- he has COPD and angina, but they're under control. He has a bad stomach, though, and my own assumption is nerves. Well he has had a lot of stress with my mum and all but so have I.
Back home the house needs cleaning. I have all of one hour to do it before my other patient comes home -- the hubby! He'll have had the worst day on record, starving and ready for his nightly sprawl across the settee. By 7pm he'll be snoring and we'll be turning up the volume on the TV to drown out his grunts, except if it happens to be football (or soccer to you) then it's a different story. Put the soaps on and he's away with the fairies.
My life isn't so bad, so I keep telling myself, it could be worse! But then again it could be better -- some folk have all the luck. (Are they really that happy?)