A Walk In The Park

2012 was our annus horribilis. 

Both Fester and I had health scares.  His brother dropped dead.  The day before the funeral Thunder Thursday flooded Thunderthighs' school.  Over the next two months both my last remaining uncle and my first/late husband’s father died; they were in their nineties but it was still hard to handle.  Will Fixit converted the loft into a bedroom plus en-suite.  At the same time we were spending every other weekend in Sheffield clearing and dismantling Fester’s old family home.     It was easier to bring a lot of it back here to sort out (thank goodness for the Multipla’s boot) so the house was a cross between Steptoe’s yard and a building site.  Matilda cat got the feline equivalent of labrynthitis. 

By October I was on my knees and went to see my favourite GP.  She’s known me since 1990 through women's troubles, widowhood, a 'new' man and the births and subsequent issues of two children.

She listened to everything I had to say then said “You’re a strong person, but everybody has their breaking point.  I’m going to prescribe some counselling, because you need to talk through these things.  I could give you some pills to help you relax but …”

“A glass of sherry would do as well” I suggested.

“Yes” she said, knowing my aversion to unnecessary pharmaceuticals “But just the one. And, I want you, at least once a month, to do something that it entirely for you.  Not for the family, not for a good cause, something entirely frivolous, just for you.”

I laughingly reported this to friends. 

Surprisingly many nodded their heads seriously, and a few have taken it upon themselves to ensure it happens.

In particular Mrs Leftfoot who, for getting on for five years, has insisted we do something once a month.  I get regular Facebook, email or text messages along the lines of “Was that last one February or January and what about March?”  We’ve been to the cinema, theatre, quiz night, music events, May Day and Pride marches, An Interview With Anne Cleves and many other things I would never have done without a push or suitable companion.

The present unpleasantness has of course brought such activities to a halt.

But last week she suggested we ‘do something on Saturday’.

There is a nice coffee shop near her house which is now open for take-aways and a park nearby.

So, yesterday afternoon, after downloading my blog, I put on sensible shoes, hat and jacket and, carrying my umbrella, walked briskly, via the Waggonway, to near the end of her street (a little over a mile).  She had intended to meet me by the coffee shop but had paused to admire someone’s garden and ‘got chatting, like you do.’

We went to the coffee shop, got two coffees, and then to the park and sat on either end of a bench, by the lake, watching the ducklings, ducks, pigeons, the odd jackdaw and seagull, dogs and people.  I think we might have intended to walk a bit more but once we were sat down and talking there didn’t seem to be much point.  Particularly as half the people in her street, including our local WI Secretary, seemed to walk past at some point, pause and chat.

The conversations ranged widely over family, friends, the possibility of my getting a dog, the present unpleasantness, needlework, the world in general and some complete nonsense.  Imagine Last Of The Summer Wine meets Victoria Wood with a dash of Newsnight.

After a couple of hours of conviviality we walked home again.

Then I got a text.

“Was that July or February?”

"many other things I would never have done without a push or suitable companion"