From
Facebook yesterday, and following on…
26
August 2026 at 08.40
Today,
after I've taken Ferretfingers to the Day Centre, I shall pick up my new
glasses.
I've half
a mind to go through the top of my wardrobe and take out a few things I no
longer wear.
There is a bag and a half of stuff in the hall and I may as well
make two.
This is because last Friday the Marie Curie shop in the Forum
(Wallsend shopping centre) was having a moving premises sale and I came away
with four pairs of summer trousers, two tops and a clear plastic water jug (our
old one having cracked beyond use) for £13.50.
This means at least 6 things need to go in the
bag.
My old pair of cream coloured
summer trousers were entirely worn out so are in the rag bag, but I now have
another pair - albeit slightly short in the leg
HOWEVER
(written 26/8/26 at 14.19)
Having
visited the opticians, as I was on Chillingham Rd for the first time in ages, I
had a look around the Asian-selling-everything shop (because you never know
what useful thing you'll find in one), St Oswald's Hospice Shop (very different
to FourLaneEnds' one but still good) and the Salvation Army Shop.
Came home with loo blocks, eye-mask & ear
plugs, a mug from Blackfriars Day of Dance (an event Phil and I were at) in
1987, birthday and sympathy cards and a blue blouse; which means another garment
has to be found to go out.
Returning
I found the hall-airlock door open and wondered who had come in and left it
that way (I always shut it as our front door is glass and I don't like people being able to see in when we're out).
I hellooed
a couple of times.
No reply.
Then
I noticed Fester’s shopping bag at the foot of the stairs.
He
had left for the Mining Institute with a cheery “I’m off” at a quarter to nine so I wondered whether he’d left it behind or come home early.
Nobody
in the kitchen
Back door still locked.
More
unanswered “helloo”s.
“Where
is he?” I thought “Is he dead? Or merely
incapacitated? Will I have to call an
ambulance?”
Came
upstairs to find him doing his hot-house-plant act again.
Lying
fully dressed on the bed sighing and harrumphing and weakly claiming
“I’ve got
an infection … I’ve had loose bowels.”
Oh
joy oh flaming rapture oh thirty-three years of bliss!
So
I’ve removed his shoes and trousers, filled his water bottles, taken in the
bucket (don’t ask), opened the window and closed one of the curtains.
The bed
being occupied I have nowhere to sort things out of the wardrobe.
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