It was a wasted night. We had watched a quite watchable film called the Queen Bees or similar. About a group of ladies living in a community for people over a certain age. A story about the reluctant resident changing her mind and the mean one becoming good. You get the idea…
For some reason I just could not sleep, so I got up and worked on my painting until about 05.00. It has not been received with any enthusiasm which was disappointing. So maybe T won’t get it framed for his birthday. I shall turn my attention elsewhere.
Soon after 04.00, I heard shower-like noises coming from the ensuite. I assumed T had become overheated and decided to cool off. But no – he bounced into the kitchen telling me he was ready to go. I asked him where he was planning to go at 05.00 and he seemed a little stuck for ideas.
I made some brekkie and we both returned to bed where I did catch up on a little lost sleep.
It was easy for us to get H out for a walk, since T had already got up once.
The day had started cool and grey, but by now the sun was breaking through and the temperature was soaring .
Castle Meadows were surprisingly quiet, only the odd steer was in sight. It was a two poo and roll-in-the-poo walk for H.
It was lovely and cool on the shady towpath with a ‘just right’ sort of breeze doing its best to pleasantify the atmosphere.
It was shortly after this that things went wrong. Badly wrong. Very badly wrong. T wandered off towards some dead trees in the long grass, to find himself a stick. He fell at the first hurdle, but emerged in a dread mood of bristling, blisteringly, blustering ill temper.
He had been bitten (-all over) by every insect on the planet. He was in deep shock, extreme anger, it was all my fault, he needed to go to A and E- there isn’t even an open chemist in Wallingford, never mind an ED with the specialist equipment required to deal with the severity of his agony.
The curses and insults littered the air, and little H covered her ears with her paws . We drove to Didcot. Why? Because the supermarkets there will have something to help you! Was roughly how the noisy exchange went.
I acquired sone steroid cream in the absence of antihistamine, which he hurled across the car because he wanted ‘professional’ treatment. It has to be applied sparingly and not on the face. So he slapped it all over his face and on his arms and legs. In thick layers, whilst telling me how close to death he was.
We arrived home and he demanded to know why? And why weren’t we in an ED department or a GP surgery.
He then, immediately washed off all the cortisone cream. Detailing his feelings in colourful language, whilst at the same time telling me how stupid, uncaring and selfish I was.
I hung up the washing, whilst he danced around in his own world, which slowly became closer to normality.
(Though his agony was still serious)
He had calmed down enough by 14.00 for us to go out to lunch at the Crooked Billet, a new to us, but highly recommended, venu in Stoke Row.
There was nowhere to park anywhere close. There were marquees up and all sorts and people spilling out in all directions. Of the New Cherry Tree Inn that is! Teach me to read signs and not assume.
I tried harder and eventually found the right venu where we were treated to a delicious meal and a 90th birthday party. I’ve not been to one of those before. Either people are not ninety yet, or they are dead, in our world.
T ate every scrap of food, and more, once he had ‘deciphered’ the menu and ordered. He can’t deal with menus any more. He can’t orientate himself around the courses; he can’t read a menu and he can’t remember the choices, in order to make a choice of his own. It is quite a difficult area.
We returned home well fed and FTB.
And I caught up on my missed sleep.
Lena and Timur went to Windsor.
Ali and co went to Devon to see Pen and co and the new estate.
Dave is practising DJ ing for Rupert and Yoko’s wedding with new digital equipment . Gone is all that vinyl. Into their loft I think. Those were the days!
Thought for the Day
It’s going to be hard work.
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