Monday
Mum would have been 86 years old today and I chose it as a day to intern her ashes. She has gone in the grave with her Mum and Dad and I am sure they can now continue their loving bickering after a thirty something year gap.
Of course, the day brought grief to the surface again but I have been much happier since, knowing she is now in a final resting place. I know I might be a bit strange but, every time I drive by the church yard, I shout hello to them all, perhaps enquire how they are all doing or if there has been some kind of reason to celebrate, did they have a good party? I have quite a few relatives and many family friends in the church yard and my weird mind sees them as a little community looking after each other.
At the church, as we were gathered together, it was also an opportunity to discuss the state of the grave. It needs work. It was only a small ‘committee’ which included one of my cousins and her husband, ‘Im Indoors, the funeral director (who lives next-door but one to the church) and Barbara, the person now pretty much in charge of the church, now we are vicar-less. A plan has been formed but costs have to be established before we can move on to the next step. Never a dull day in the Grave Yard.
Tuesday
After a nine month wait, I attended the assessment to see whether I am suitable to go on a Pain Management Course. I had been referred by my GP (I know, a bit of miracle), to the Pain Management Clinic. The Pain Management Specialist Nurse thought I would benefit from this course as she had recently observed it and thought it would be useful to me. The ‘system’ then lost me, told me I had took myself off the waiting list, blah, blah, blah. Anyway, I was eventually found a couple of months ago (thank goodness you all cry) and given an appointment for an assessment to see if this course would be useful.
Sooooo, I found myself being interviewed by a psychologist and a senior physiotherapist. Lovely fellas but did I really need this level of resource to see if a pain management course would be useful to me? Anyway, you will be delighted to know that I can attend the said course but the next one doesn’t start until late June, only 12 months since I was referred. No need to rush a good thing when you are in agony eh? Maybe I will also get the nerve block procedure for my back soon too but I am not getting my hopes up.
Wednesday
Pipsqueak (she has to use her Sunday name when at the vets) had her annual injections. She was not surprised to hear the vet say she was ‘perfect’. She, of course, tells us this all of the time. She is one of the annoying dogs that bounces into the surgery with glee. This time she shot straight through the door on on to the weighing scales and then straight off again. Bless her.
I swam this evening. No pool rage but perhaps a little sauna seething. I was in the Sauna of Misogynists. Some of the usual suspects were there but were fairly quiet. The seething comes from the facility being too small for the amount of members that wish to use it. All the seating is soon full and then people just stand about like kippers being smoked.
Thursday
Today was a Bookshop Bagging Day. I bagged four in Norwich. I limited myself to two books. I think that was remarkably restrained. It is increasingly difficult for me to move around even in a small city centre but a bit of bookshop hunting is always an incentive.
Friday
Headed all the way to Ashover (located in Pretty Derbyshire) today. It is only about 7 miles away from home but it is a fine line which separates the Ugly and Pretty – I suppose also, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. We had agreed to meet friends in a field in our ‘vans with the incentive that there are also some good pubs in the village…..well normally.
I won’t point the pub out directly ‘wot we went to eat in like’ but Dirty Cygnus might give you a hint. Apparently, according to the bar staff woman, the Chef (I use the term a little loosely) was having a mare. She wasn’t wrong. There was then the altercation between a bevvy of visiting women with long blond hair and a drunk local bloke who was ‘rejected’. Some interesting language was exchanged which I wouldn’t have expected in this particular hostelry.
Saturday
I came home, well nearly, to listen to a talk about Newton Old Hall at a meeting of Tibshelf Local History and Civic Society. Wow, that took some typing! It is a wonderful group which is conducted in a way that you would have seen depicted on the TV in something like Heartbeat or James Herriot. The hushed crowd of about 40 people all gathered and the talk began, delivered by Ivan who was a last minute substitute. He knew little about the Hall being a Tibshelf person and Sub, but bravely delivered a really amusing presentation, all with the new owners (although they had not disclosed themselves as such) sat right at the side of him. Go Ivan and well done.
Could there be a Mandrake Murder book based on the three graves inside the Hall’s gardens? You never know do you?
The evening, back in Ashover, was a bingo night in the Village Hall. Eeeee, I know how to live! It was bingo with a twist. This twist was that the prizes were all the most rubbish things people had in their caravans. This meant the aim was to not win all the detritus everyone else wanted rid of. Great fun – oh and I didn’t win.
As always during these stimulating caravan rally activities, we took time to discuss important issues of the day. Today is was what could we do to enable ‘Im Indoors to regain some focus now he is without his Paint Emporium. The collective decided that he should perhaps explore the opportunities of become Fat Dracula in a trip planned for Whitby in a couple of weeks. I cannot get the image of Fat Dracula out of my mind now – am I disturbed?
Sunday
We had the huge journey home to face but, as we chatted to one of our friends an idea began to formulate. Did we really need to go home? Well, no, not really. So we didn’t. We packed up Joe and headed all the way to Darley Dale. For those of you not familiar with Derbyshire, Darley Dale is really starting to get into the pretty bit and is, oooo about 11 miles away.
The wind we had been plagued with eased and we were soon set for a lovely evening on our field known to us as ‘The Field of Dreams’ but is actually called Four Lane Ends. And breathe.