A long, crowded bus journey.
Where did all these young people come from at 8.30 on a Saturday morning? Have they been to bed yet?
A long black coffee. I’m never really ready to engage with the day without that.
Making an effort.
Fix the hair.
Walk half a mile in the wind and rain.
Decide the hair is best ignored.
Hugs for Herself, who’d forgotten I was coming.
Struggle to understand anything my mother is trying to say. Fail.
Thank Mr GP for medication. Mine.
Fix Herself’s hair.
Apply lipstick, blusher and eyeliner to Herself.
Wheel Herself round to the nurse to get eyedrops and saliva spray.
Wait for Door2Door bus.
Arrive at house, with Wonderful Carer.
Eat lunch while chatting to Wonderful Carer.
Herself intervenes to ensure less discretion on my part.
General conversation turns to gossip. She’s a bad influence, that one.
Tidy up kitchen.
Wonder what the would-be-robbers would have stolen this week if they’d made it in. The household is full of sentimental value, but nothing to make a quick killing on.
Get lift to bus depot with Herself’s Handsome Husband.
Experience relief that illness hasn’t further diminished his driving.
The young people are back on the bus- decide they’ve been to visit the Ulster American Folk Park. (Well worth a trip; the girls still speak of its cold cramped smelly conditions with some horror- so, highly effective then.)
Home, to find that the household had been baking.