Saturday, 25 March 2017

Friday, 17 March 2017

More Holes

It won't surprise you that I rather enjoyed thinking about what should fall through the hole in my final bucket.  So here goes with some more.

 14)  Cold food, eg salad, on a hot plate with hot food. 15) Ant and Dec. (For those of you spared the joys of UK entertainment these are two men of no obvious talent, all bow-ties and toothy grins for whom I discern no particular purpose but who were actually chosen to host a TV programme about our heir to the throne).  16) Donald Trump   17) Plastic packaging.  This morning it took me nine minutes to extract a new tooth brush head from its enclosure and two minutes to clean my teeth.  18) People who make assumprions about Psychotherapists, disparaging and far too generalised. For example, psychotherapists/analysts are all mad.  Well, that may be so but at least the madness is put to good use. 19) Donald Trump  20) Hair dyed to a colour that doesn't go with the skin nor the age of the dyer.  21)  Messages left on the telephone that are so garbled they require multiple hearings and still don't make sense.  And if they include a number to call back at least two digits will be so muffled as to make the process quite untenable.  22) Icing sugar sprinkled over a pudding that is already sweet. 23) Parking tickets  24) Neighbours slamming doors at 1am.  Indeed, currently, neighbours in any shape or form.  But that's another story.  24) Automatic cars that continue to move even though you havent got your foot on the throttle  25) Dripping taps   26) Jackets of mens' suits that don't go below the backside, in spite of the appeal of some of the backsides  27) Loss of trust, as in, for example, being made use of in some way without one's prior knowledge nor consent.  28) Steep staircases  29) Runny eggs.  30) Donald Trump.  Bore da

Friday, 10 March 2017

Bucket holes

It is quite normal, as I have been given to understand, to make a list of things to acomplish in the last paragraph of one's life. You will realise, of course, that this is the affectionately named "Bucket List".  I have been thinking about this and realised I have left it a bit late physically to do the things that might have gone in to my Bucket.  However, I have made the discovery that in this unique Bucket there is a hole.  A pile of things will, thus, unwanted, have disappeared in to the void.

Things- dropped- through-the-hole-in- my-Bucket list ( in no particular order):   1) Potatoes which are not fully cooked.  I have never understood why a raw carrot is delicious while a par-boiled potato is an abomination  2) The habit of television providers of minimising the cast list at the end of a play or film in order to 'trail' another forthcoming programme. You can hear my teeth grind all the way to the laptop to look up the cast list, full size, via a search engine. 3) the use of a plural where a singular is called for as in " one in four have...whatever. 4) Bayonet light bulbs that won't screw in to the fitting together with 'daylight' spiral bulbs which give a ghastly white light or light which is insufficient even to light my thoughts . 5)  The Wizard of Cyberspace: naturally.  6) The feeling of being left out/not wanted.  7)  Full price parking fines when I have never received the first notice which allows you to settle for half the price. 8) The strip at the bottom of my laptop which is the private province of the Wizard who regularly uses it to wipe out an entire, finished piece of work which can't be found anywhere on earth nor in cyberspace even though I have 'saved' religiously all the way along..I have resorted to placing a glass cube engraved with a small cat on the space in the hope it will train my wrists to keep the H..l off. (Note to self: if the cat were black would that make me the Witch of Cyberspace?)   9) Umbrellas which blow inside out in the wind.  How can we go to the moon but not keep shelter over our heads in a storm? 10) Over-ripe bananas  11) "I'll ring you tomorrow"  which turns out to be euphemistic for ' one of these days'.  12) A dish in a restaurant described in its full glory which has, however, neglected to advertise it contains chilli. That would make it its partial glory, of course. 13) A relay of music on the radio which neglects to tell you who the players were -  see 2) above.  The dropped out pile is beginning to look endless and may well keep me occupied in frivolous musing until the time comes when my foot will, perforce, encounter the rim of my holey bucket. Prynhawn da

Friday, 3 March 2017


It seems the unconscious pays little or no heed to the physical.  At least, mine doesn't and is busy with business as usual while the outside of me is getting used to the change/threat? to my life's circumstances .For instance, before I retired I was supervised by an analyst who had been a world-class cricketer.  I was telling a friend about a visit he made to see me and reported that I had been "bowled over" by his kindness in coming.

 In addition, I rather suspect The Wizard of Cyberspace of collusion with my inner world. I managed to send an email to one of the consultants engaged in my care to the wrong email address. The result of this mistake was that I missed an appointment with him.  Fortunately, the date has been reset and I have confided it to someone close to me as surety against messing up again. As it happens, I had cause to be grateful for my instincts, both as a hoarder and in avoiding interaction with the Wizard as much as I can. I was still in a stew about using the wrong address and had still to uncover the right one. I looked on the Specialist's web site and under several Search Engine headings all to no avail.  I then had the idea that I might find an old email from him and be able to use the 'reply to sender' option on it.  Dear Reader, five months back but I found it. Has any of you trawled through five months of emails, or even kept five months of emails for that matter? Anyway, it produced the required result but I was too afraid of Sir Wizard to 'select all' and press 'delete' to lighten the load of the rest of the hoard.  How could I know or risk where that would end? And, yes, I have noted the possibility of unconscious reluctance to attend this appointment being the force which caused the mess up in the first place.I find there are blurred and inconsistent lines between the business of the unconscious,  unintended consequences and the sometime lack of caution in what we say and do. I had a visit from the young-ish Grandson of someone close to me.  He is a delightful person but appears to have arrived in the world without benefit of  filter at all.  As he took his leave at the end of a somewhat challenging meeting all about geneology and Donald Trump, he said "I have read that pancreatic cancer is very quick, so I had better come back and see you quite soon".  Not all that quick, thank Goodness. Bore da

Sunday, 12 February 2017


As I was saying last time but one, life has had the rather cheeky effect of turning the rules of relating upside down. Yesterday, I found myself  being encouraged to eat rather more than I had capacity for.  The food was Chinese and quite delicious and the dishes were meant for sharing.  There were, however, several that I was not particularly partial to.  To my consternatiom, people kept popping morsels in to my bowl and I had no choice but to bite on the dumpling and do as I was told.  The crux of it being that I must eat to keep my strength up.  Which sounded to me rather like the " You won't grow up to be a big strong net-ball player unless you eat  up all your dinner".

As the evening drew on, concern was expressed about how tired I might be getting, as in "It's past your bedtime". At a table for five I was the only one drinking a fruit cocktail, plain and simple.  Everyone else had a fruit cocktail with a base of vodka or some other spirit forbidden to the over/under age.  My dilemma is whether to settle for the implicit caring or fidget at the infantilising. I am helped on with my coat and even with my cardie.  This, on one level, is welcome to my stiff shoulder.  On another it makes me want to stamp my feet and tell the helper to b....r off .  I can manage perfectly well, thank you.  But I can't. You know what, I never noticed I had access to naughty words when I was younger.  Or if I did, I didn't use them.  But I do find I have not only access but an impulse to speak them in old age.  It just goes to show how a well-behaved teenage can turn in to an unruly old age, But I do have the guardian inner voice that, while indulgent, does rather frown on the inelegance of swearing and the like. "Little girls mustn't use words like that". I am begining to suspect I am behaving more like 70 going on 14 in the last phase of my life.  The effect of terminal illness seems to be a relaxing of codes and a decision not to buy a box with three bath-size bars of soap in it.  Much of the over-turn in roles between me and the young, as I have acknowledged, has to be a form of caring. That doesn't stop me from the inner response of 'shan't, won't, can't make me'. Surprisingly, one of the odder phenomena  in this paradox is when one of them picks up the bill when we have eaten in a restaurant together,  It was always I who paid  This act reminds me of something else I have put to you in the course of recording chronology versus reality: the question of what constitutes a memorial.  Someone close to me, before the age of computers, would pick up a hand-written restaurant bill I was about to pay, run her eye up and down it in a nano second and hand it back saying "That's right, Dear".  She comes to mind every time I eat out.

Finally, i want to tell you about someone I have known for sixty five years,  During that time we have talked about everything on planet earth, from Moses to Trump, from raising children to Welsh Rugby.  The other day, on the telephone, he was telling me about his osteoporosis and I was bringing him up to date on my situation.  Suddenly, it came to me we were no longer two intelligent, educated, thoughtful debaters.  We were two old women discussing our ailments in Swamsea Market.  Bore da