After all the hoo-ha about 11-11-11, I can only say it was an excuse for every psychotic nitwit to crawl out from underneath their rocks and annoy me including my own family. It looks like they're going to keep going right into 2012.
I have been trying to dry out since Wednesday when I was caught in every major downpour the sky decided to dump on Melbourne. I can count on Saturday's downpour as well which kept me bailed up in the hotel with an unvisited list of bead and chocolate shops. But Wednesday had to be the best. Picture four of us huddled together at the bus stop under umbrellas which kept the top half reasonably dry but the bottom was filling faster than Lake Eyre. The only bloke in the group had his shoes filling from the water running down his trousers. I couldn't find enough curse words for a cheap made in China for Avon umbrella which, if it wasn't pushed into the wind blew itself inside out with great ripping and shredding. My fault for not taking the big Australian made beauty but who thought that stepping out the front door in sun meant rounding the corner into the Cape of Storms.
2kms to Doc Marvin, where he laughed off the double figures in the BGL book because I tried to beat the anxiety and panic attacks by going way out of my comfort zone. Kindly gave me two sterile bottles in a big bio-hazard bag in return for the jam jar full of top quality non-Perrier water. No infection and no sugar despite the big 72 hour readings.
Over to the bus stop then, I mean I was already wet and walking home would soak me as much as going on to mother but Miss O'Dyne had sent her a letter and she does love a letter to open. A big thanks to Miss O'Dyne from mother (she is available for adoption). Doc Marvin had upped the pain relief again so she was looking a lot better than on Monday. Anyone complaining to me about nurses striking is liable to get kicked since it was an agency nurse who forgot to give the old girl the proper medication on Sunday, that's two Endone now, not the one that you read on the notes the last night you were at the Home. Read notes every time. Stupid! Once the pain runs past the medication, it takes a while for everything to catch up and settle.
I will go down tomorrow because we have a room to ourselves and I don't have to put up with the strangler, mad E who continously mistakes me for husband Murray and drop all her clothes anywhere A, usually near me. I have also been invited to La Porchetta's, the volunteers' afternoon tea, the residents Christmas party, the residents Christmas lunch and, goddess help me, the post Boxing Day BBQ.
All I want for Christmas is a rock, with a very large hole underneath vacated by a November nitwit.
*wanders off singing loudly "I will survive"*
All I want for Christmas is Boxing Day, when the insanity has largely eased and there are left overs in the fridge.
ReplyDeleteAnd keep singing the survival song. Loudly when necessary.
With all that water you should have swum home.
ReplyDeleteHubby has ordered Xmas dinner from local charcol chook outlet, no cooking for any of us seeing as we're an over-whelming 3 now.
I think it is a great idea that Miss Ann O'Dyne adopt your mother.
ReplyDeleteO'Dyne has a father who is up for adoption and I had him lined up for Mad E of the
ReplyDelete"Don't you turn your back on me Murray" line.
Lovely wreath makes me think of my favourite Elvis song - Blue Christmas.
You most certainly will survive. You have to. Who else will feed our hunger for "pretties", and regale us with tales from the nursing home?
ReplyDeleteThat's a lot of Christmas party food you'll be having!
EC, that was always the best part of Christmas especially if I'd been given a book. Reading and picking at the leftovers and there was nothing nicer than mum's cold pudding with ice cream.
ReplyDeleteJayne, it's 9.20 and the black clouds outside my window tell me I'm getting a taxi to the Home this morning. The Sherpa's load I'll be carrying consists of big Avon boxes for one of the carers, two videos, one nightdress, a giant bird bell and my usual junk in the bag. And "if I could manage" stop and buy a lemon tart, small, for afternoon tea.
Andrew, How about a twosome, your mother as well. I mean what could be better than one mother than two and such nice old dears.
Stacks, I'll have to look that up on Youtube, I don't remember it at all.
Old man O'Dyne, mad E and the strangler, now that would be a Christmas lunch to sit through and for an encore, stripper A divesting of clothes or her other trick, falling head first into lunch. I've seen her do that, gravy and all.
River, you forget the dreaded finger jabbing needle which haunts every mouthful of non prescribed 'good' food.
At the moment, a 'bad'very good mince pie is the only thing between me and complete breakdown.
Hi, I have a period house, furnished exactly to my taste.
ReplyDeleteMerry Christmas to me, and all my darlings.
Did you see the Queen's umbrella in Canada, (I think)?
ReplyDeleteClear plastic so that she could see where she was going, and it curved down sharply to right over her shoulders, (but it wasn't big and cumbersome. Just tulip shaped rather than mushroom shaped).
A normal umbrella usually only keeps your hair dry, so that you don't look like the monster from the deep, but Betty's brolly kept her hair, face, shoulders and more dry. In addition, its angle meant that it was unlikely to turn itself inside out via wind gusts, and its spokes wouldn't collect eyeballs.
I want one. But, they don't seem to be for sale.
Frances, we can buy them here but they cost. It was the Queen Mum who started the fashion, she liked to see where she was going at the races. It might have kept us dry at the top but the bottoms would still have copped it. The rain was just a solid sheet of water which we could have coped with if the wind hadn't been blowing it up under the brollies.
ReplyDeleteI love my house too, Robbert. It's just that the dust bunnies are evolving into dust dragons. A nice lady asked for some lemons last week and I gave her a bag and said to help herself. She was walking two silky terriers and all I could see of them were the tips of their ears in my long grass. I think the lawn mower man is long overdue.
You know - you could easily write book about your life and would make a good serial. As you write I see you falling over, dealing with things at the nursing home and a myriad of others - like my own life there is an element big time of the black comedy amongst the tragedy in your posts
ReplyDelete