You just don’t...

realise how much you need your leg until it lets you down.  I discovered that pearl of wisdom on Friday night.

Since moving to Hythe, we walk everywhere, it’s so good for your health, what! Coming back from the shops I could tell my gammy leg was getting gammier by the minute. I flopped into my sexy German recliner as only a Mae West lookalike can, hoping the elevation or a very large gin might work its magic, 
last bit’s a fib!

As man was off for early doors at our friendly local I decided to slip into something more comfortable ie out of my corset!

Going up the stairs my knee protested at each rise until three down from the top it said 

‘Bugger this!’ making the protest in terms of excruciating pain. With a cry to curdle milk I sank down.  Himself was up the stairs 
like a long dog out of lane five 
at Catford dog track.

‘I’m not going to the pub and leaving you in this state!’ he said as he peeled me off the ceiling.

‘Go, I’ll be fine!’

‘NO!’

I do love a masterful man, 
(hope he doesn’t read this?)

For the next half hour we 
struggled to get me back down the stairs. 

‘I am taking you to A&E!’

The pain was too bad for me to 

do anything other than feebly agree.

Alright, me, feeble and agreement aren’t usually words one would instantly put together, however that gives you the merest sensation of the pain.

Friday night in A&E isn’t to be 
recommended, when I was wheeled in, the sight of wall to wall bodies was enough to give me even more pain... we’ll be here for 

three days!  Whether it was the 

fact I had only two days before 

been investigated for a DVT, 
I was very swiftly fast tracked  into see the triage nurse then into ex-ray to discover, no my knee wasn’t broken or dislocated, I had a lot of arthritis and to add insult to injury a calcium stone behind the knee.  Never heard of it? We were in and out in one hour and ten minutes, my experience with our NHS has been fantastic.

Getting out of the car my 

cries were heard along the south coast; the Dungeness fog horn was instantly redundant.  It took us forty five minutes to get up the stairs on my bottom, getting into bed was another interesting experience.  I always cracked on about what a high pain threshold I had, maybe not?  Yesterday I popped pills, me who doesn’t do pills! Paracetamol my drug of choice.  Prone in my chair I resisted the temptation to ask for himself to peel me a grape... 
I always knew this walking business should carry a  government health warning, now if I had a dog it would be so much better!?!

Look, I know I said...

I am having a break, however...

Picture the scene, two old duffers  are sat up in bed reading the morning’s newspaper on their flat things, when this photo appears in the paper.

Seeing this transports me back.

Years ago wandering with then husband and son along this very stretch of beach, I decided to remove my skirt to sunbathe as I walked.  You did that sort of thing in those days as you looked intently for fossils.  I draped my
 denim skirt over my bag and 
wandered lonely as a cloud along a deserted beach.  Nearing Charmouth I thought best I make myself decent as we are approaching civilisation.

Glancing down, yes you’ve guessed it, the skirt was gone!  Turning back we retraced our steps passing just one man who walked by with just a nod and a smile?

The skirt we never found.

Not one of my finest hours: climbing on the bus back to Lyme Regis, minus apparel to cover my 

lower half!

Recounting this tale to hubs far more interested in reading about the sad state of the world. 

His reply...

‘It will no doubt be found in 8 million years time!’

No answer to that is there?

I’m pulling the...

plug for a while!

Living in Limbo-land doesn’t have a lot to recommend it.

My joie de vivre has like the bubbles of old champagne gone decided flat.

Where this miserable old crone has come from I have no idea?

The big chat hasn’t happened.

That I think is the main reason for the wide open featureless space that occupies my brain.

Audrey, once again has rallied; my leg has gone out on strike in sympathy with hers.  I’ve heard of husbands getting phantom labour pains but this is frankly ridiculous! I am off to the DVT clinic tomorrow, after a mad caper  up and down the road twice, to get a doctors appointment, all this with a gammy leg!  Along the way, I lost my red beret and in case you are wondering I did have my knickers on!?!

‘Red hat, no drawers!’  I was more in the mood for ‘no’ nonsense as the half term kids screamed around the waiting room. Sadly my days of striding out knickerless are long gone...

On that happy note I will wish you

 farewell!  Well at least until my usual jolly demeanour has resurfaced.

A flavour...

of my weekend.

My socks: I have taken an executive decision to wear and then throw away.  Extravagant some might say?

However I have decided before the council come round and decide a blue plaque is required on my sock drawer, I need to act, grade 2 listed antiquities they most definitely ain’t!  Although by dint of age they could so easily be.

After making sweet potato and chorizo soup and fruit scones to take on the dreaded visit, Audrey cancelled on us. Her very swollen legs have taken a knock on a friend’s car door, if the skin breaks she is going to hospital! Our visit postponed until tomorrow maybe?  Then will she be strong enough to hear what we have to say?  I doubt it?

Tonight, Hubs is making us a romantic steak supper, I may even

 sip on a wee glass of red wine.

Two books bought this morning from the local hospice shop, in readiness for our week long road trip between Hythe and Ludlow.

This one, reading it in order to whet my appetite ready for the off, I have the distinct impression I’ve read it.  The prose fair jumps of the page.  I will read a tad more, then if I have, it will go back for another person to spend a pound on reading a master storyteller’s tale.

Don’t look now but this mindfulness discipline is having a huge effect.  I ought to say here discipline and LL aren’t natural 
bedfellows; all my life I have 

made an art form of being cantankerous... Go with the flow? Not on your nelly!

Apart from a smartish march up to the shops, that and me leaning over to turn the amaryllis round, as it will keep insisting on growing towards the sea. I am so tempted to tell it, life won’t be any better in France than it is right here.  Got a feeling it will  take not one jot of notice!

This will be all I will do today, especially as we are well on with the packing.  Just eight weeks to go...

Any ideas why...

just today I am unable to reply to my comments.  Alright, I know I only get a handful... however!

My ignorance on all things technical is now apparent to all!

If you do have an idea as to how I can get back to my usual MO it would be wonderful to know.  I have tried replying as suggested via my google account, do all that  jumping through hoops carry-on, ie ‘What was the name of your great-great uncle Sigmund’s first dog?’ And blow me down with a feather...
NOTHING FLAMING WELL HAPPENS.  I am on the cusp of having a hissy fit and flouncing off!

I don’t want to comment as Google account, I want to comment as ME!

Help, but be prepared for a wall of silence in reply... only saying!

Mindfulness and me...

Imagine if you can...

a fart in a colander looking for a hole to get out!

This expression exactly  represents me.

A power, a force,

a pain to be around.  I must wear folk out, just watching?

When asked, Hubs says you are fun to live with.  Am I?  Now what I ask myself is when does the fun stop and the pain begin?  Which in my case internally, hypertension is maybe a marker as to the toll already sneakily be taken?

Meditation, has helped hugely with the navel gazing, the looking back, the if onlys.

Mindfulness... Pher... I haven’t got time for that!?!

I am far too busy doing absolutely blooming nothing to be bothered with that sort of carry-on!

That is until this morning, when a week in, our 30 minute body scan 
elicited a blooming revelation.

Now I ought to say here...

I have this leg. Which is the rogue leg of the outfit.  The one that sported a broken ankle, followed with a DVT the result of the break.  It then had the blooming audacity to give me crippling sciatica, which to this day, years after, I still carry the distinct sensation of a metal bar under my right foot.  The last few days I have developed a painful knee, yes you’ve guessed
it, same leg!

When the teacher told us she 
wanted us to do a 30 minute body
 scan each day, I inwardly groaned
 and thought that ain’t gonna happen!  A week in, don’t look now but it has been done every day, bar one. The truly amazing thing is, as the week progressed I began to see the sense, not that I would admit to that, mind!

Well, back to this leg...

during the scan, it hit me square between the eyes, well right buttock to be exact!  I hold my right leg slightly under tension... who knew?

In fact I have just realised I am doing it right now as I sit tapping this out on my flat thing. 

What a revelation this mindfulness is.  At this rate I could morph into a new improved woman? 

Don’t hold your breath...

Like a crab...

I have walked sideways up to telling Audrey.

All day I have had a thumping head, my BP is high and felt today especially as I had the distinct impression the not telling her was the reason I was suffering so.

After a bracing late afternoon stride along the prom, I came in full of resolve to begin to break our plans to her.

All good so far!

On FaceTime my opening gambit was as usual 

‘How are you today?’

‘Miserable and sleeping a lot!’

She then proceeded to tell me a catalogue of woes.

How could I begin to tell her today?

As it happened she asked about my blood pressure which gave me a very subtle in.

‘I have a stonking headache which I am pretty sure is because of my not enjoying living here!’

She knew and said that she wasn’t

 at all surprised!  That’s what she had been afraid of!

I said we want to come over for chat sometime and left it at that.

We talked on over many and various subjects.  After the call ended I felt quietly pleased that I had broached the subject in a careful

 way.  Allowing her time to mull

over the implications.

A start has been made...

You know you are...

spoilt rotten when...

a padded envelope arrives with what you take to contain batteries for the FDAs, so as they are in your book... boring you don’t trouble to open it, just fling it in a drawer.  This morning’s post brought an envelope containing the aforesaid items.  Opening it I suddenly thought...

‘What was in the other package?’

With curiosity definitely piqued my stout legs carried me upstairs to look.

Well blow me down with a feather I can’t find the flaming thing!

Has it been used as ballast for packing, I even rifled through the paper collection box... no joy!

If this doesn’t just illustrate what a madam I have become I don’t know what does?

You know you are spoilt rotten when himself offers to break the awful news to Audrey.  Being a retired senior police officer he is well used to breaking bad news... however, I will do the deed together with the diplomat onside.

You know you are spoilt rotten when, without a qualm he offers to nip into the chemist to get tampons.  No, in case you are wondering I am not that young!

If the roles were reversed there is no way I would step into the surgical appliance shop to get him a spare part for his truss!

So there you have it...

a spoilt lump!

The elephant in...

the room hasn’t been told as yet that we are moving away.

I have put it off, expecting every day she would die!

On Thursday our faceTime call was all talk of how painful her legs had been and how the nurse said she should go into hospital.  No chance!  I am still getting it in the neck for the fateful day last August we took her in thinking she wouldn’t survive the journey, let alone be still here all these months later.  In a restaurant a week or two ago, she started on and was getting quite nasty laying the blame squarely on my shoulders.  Since my suspected TIA I have decided to keep myself safe, so told her I couldn’t be a party to her getting cross and rehashing what was definitely in the past.  She carried on: my cheeks lifted off the seat before she realised I was serious.  I could feel my BP on the up and in
my forthright way let her know 
 exactly how I was feeling.

I phoned last night and there was no reply.  All of a sudden I imagined all sorts of reasons as to why she wasn’t there. Has she been taken in and we don’t know? The guilt was playing havoc about how awful I had been.  A while later she was on faceTime looking and sounding rosy, not with cider, but with whiskey.

‘I have been out with the girls having a sundowner or two!’

She’s never out in the evening!

‘How are your legs?’ 

‘I haven’t even given them a second thought, bet I’ll have a hangover in the morning!’

As the call ended I thought...

‘I need a drink!’

Wouldn’t mind but I don’t drink!

And we still haven’t told her,  
and you know something, I’ve got a horrible feeling at this rate she will see me off this mortal coil!

‘Give me a bucket...

of sand and I will sing you a dessert song!’

I said today on the phone to my latest beau... 

Billy. Remember him? Bunter, in case you’ve forgotten.

When he was last here

he sat opposite me in my king’s chair, I sat under my much loved palm and flirted with him, albeit gently, all the while sitting between us, Hubs thought, she’s off again.  He’s seen it all before, trouble is everybody, but everybody knows how daft I am.

Even the wives of the aforesaid

victims don’t turn a hair on their beautifully coiffured heads, just sip their pink gins and think

‘Harmless old bat!’

Anyway back to the story...

‘Now about this palm!’

‘I can picture you now as we speak!’

He gallantly replied, all the while thinking

‘Harmless old bat!’

‘I am worried about it in the dark container!’

I think at this point I need to fill you in as to how we finally got the deal through.  Only after getting grief now from our buyers as well as the wicked witch of 
Shrops, we agreed to move out one week and move in a week later.  That left me with the problem of 
the palm and how it would fare 
being left a week in a container.

The size of it meant we couldn’t
take it with us on our road trip.

I was beside myself with worry.

To the rescue rides B. Bunter Esq.

‘Being as you are one of our especial clients (they moved us 

here) I will just for you, ask the lads if they will remove it from the container and put it in our reception area for the week!’

What a man: collapsible grosgrain top hat notwithstanding!

The sold sign and the wild weather today.

Thoughts on things...

from an alcohol free mind.

The thing is, I did think I would miss the weekend glasses of wine, not a bit of it!  My favourite tipple now is a cocktail of beet juice and ‘Big Tom’ a spicy tomato drink, which I love.  It’s like so many things in life the thought is very often better than the actual.  The smell of bacon cooking to me is better than the taste. Coffee roasting, the aroma, more appealing than the quaffing. 

Monday, the latest in a string of exchange dates has been and gone. No surprise there.

Today... maybe?

If it does actually happen I will have a drink to celebrate and it certainly won’t be the earthiness of beetroot, it will be the zing of an odd Pinot Noir, Pinot Meunier and Chardonnay grape...

The cottage in Ludlow we have bought today... can you believe it? No?  Neither can we.

On a do nothing...

but wait type of a miserable wet day, a parcel arrived.

Our faith in the kindness of the human race was restored.

Joanne, thank you.

No news on the house front, I
 didn’t realise how much patience I actually possess.  In the meantime I nibble which isn’t ideal however  needs must when the devil drives.
This particular devil in Ludlow is in the form of a woman with a chariot with knives on the wheels...