Another twitchy night, largely due to my stuffed up nose, which refused to resolve itself. It’s mostly a psychological problem.
I awoke and carried out the usual jobs and eyed up Heidi. Yesterday it had felt too warm to walk her at the end of the day, although we did, so I decided a morning trip would suit us best. T remained in bed.
So H and I trekked to Pangbourne where we bench hopped. Because we were there quite early, there were not many people about, only mainly dog walkers. I chatted at length to a lady with a woolly spaniel. It was lovely and warm and sunny but clouded over before we left.
As it turned out, the lady, around my age, was the daughter of near neighbours of ours, from our Burghclere days. Her parents are Val and Trevor Dorey. Trevor had worked in the city and took holy orders late in middle age. They worked tirelessly for Miriam Dean Trust, an African Charity.
The village became divided when some jerk of a post-Tony-Jardine, new, interim Vicar was totally unsupportive of their efforts calling it a pagan charity. He also once lectured the ladies of Burghclere in a sermon: “Ladies of Burghclere, you have all been guilty of lust…”
Since the church going population was mainly lustful ladies of a certain age, he was not too popular, and God gave him his come uppance.
The Dorey daughter had taught at Cranford House for 25 years. Small world.
I returned to dig T out of bed because we had an appointment with the lovely Katie, a Sue Ryder nurse from the palliative care in the community team. Fleur took T off to the Beetle after the initial meeting. He was in good form today but was tired after they got back from the pub.
Plans for the future are being considered and will be put in place and arrangements are being made. It’s hard when you cannot ask the person concerned what they would wish for.
We will have between weekly and fortnightly contact, to start with. It feels as if there is no end to fully funded care and choices available. Bitter contrast to those dealing with and suffering from dementia. Throw in a dose of cancer and a magic wand is waved. To have dementia is almost like a punishment .
I had tablets to collect from the surgery, and that is how the afternoon drew to a close.
The day was one where the clouds came and went, but it stayed warm. It was a day where little H overcooked herself in the sun and then had to retreat.
T did not eat his tea and was in dry coughing mode before bed. His inhaler seemed to settle him down. Both were probably not helped by some chocolate goodies that he found.
Tomorrow we have a family day at Marwell which will be tiring.
Flies have been pesky, brought out by the heat.
This time last year, we faced drought restrictions and everywhere was brown and parched. This year we have just experienced the wettest July in over 100 years and the grass is green and lush and constantly requires my attention. Last year it appeared dead.
Thought for the Day
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