That feels much better. I've been at the cuckoo's nest all day.
I get home, make a nice greek salad to eat in front of the ABC's National Trust house program.
Mother calls from the nest.
"Can you see what I'm doing with the video? It's rewinding and I can't stop it."
"I'm three kilometres away."
"well just tell me what to do." (the temptation, the temptation)
I am mentally in her bedroom, guiding fingers to buttons and getting her fingers off the remote.
"I've got all that but the DVD isn't coming through."
"You just got me to turn off the video and the TV. You didn't say you wanted a DVD to play."
"Get the remote, turn on the power button, the green one in the left hand corner. Push the round button to return to DVD play. Press the play button on the machine, the one with the triangle pointing towards the wall."
"It's playing white lines round and round."
"you've put it back to Video. Undo all the fingering you just did. Have you got a DVD in the machine?"
"Of course, I'm not stupid, just a minute while I check. DVD is in the little square slot thingy."
"Press play, triangle points to the wall."
"Playing now." Clunk goes phone.
I'm seriously thinking of phoning the Vet Clinic to see if I can do a deal with the cat and Mother.
(stupid blogger left this out or maybe I'm getting 'mother disease') All this was not said gently but in a steadily rising crescendo much like Phil Spectre's 'Wall of Noise" so the next time I see one of those disaster movies where the cook/flight attendent/somebody's cat is at the controls of a 747 and there is no shouting from the control tower, a boot is being thrown at the screen.