FRIDAY REFLECTIONS

The air eventually cooled a little and finally we slept waking late but fresher.

I dreamed uncertain dreams where I was lost, dreams that I couldn’t escape from until eventually Tigr came and rescued me from, I know not what.

We went to the Botanic Gardens for the afternoon, there was a cooling breeze which felt almost like the wind off the sea;
it provoked memories of summer days in Duthie Park strolling with Skye while my daughters ran ahead to find McPuddock* in the Glasshouses.
Reaching the scented Garden in the Cambridge enclosure I reminded Tigr of the last time we had sat there in the spring of 2009 facing so many problems.

At the moment I seem to be at odds with everyone. I miss having Skye to talk things through with, someone I could always rely on for a straight and balanced perspective.
If I was in the wrong she would always tell me calmly and clearly why, without judgement and I appreciated her honesty and insight.
They do say that 100,000 lemmings can’t be wrong so it must be within me I guess.
I would say that I’m looking forward to my wee trip North but to be honest everyone there seems to be squaring up to tell me how wrong I’m getting everything as well.

I would just like to make the point that THIS is MY life, I am the person living it and that whilst you are perfectly entitled to your view of it perhaps everyone with something to say right now would like to take one step back – about five or six years back, reflect on the things they said/did back then and then place themselves in my position at that time consider realistically what I was trying to deal with; without any help or practical support at all before they open their mouths.

You can only help/interfere in someone else’s life so far and only IF they actually want you to. When you come home from a hard day with homework and housework to do and find Ebay has delivered the contents of a small charity shop to your living room…
Someone offers to  lay up the dinner table and sets a place for everyone but you…
Everyone ignores every word you say…
…even your chair and your side of the bed have boxes piled on them so that there is nowhere to sit or to sleep…
When you start to read…yes read… the set novel for the English Literature module to be told that you are being ‘lazy’ because you are reading…
When you are told to “Clear up this mess” “NO! don’t move anything!” “NO! Don’t touch anything” “For god’s sake clean it but do NOT MOVE OR TOUCH ANYTHING OF MINE!”…
Then perhaps, just possibly whatever the actual circumstances, that person does not actually believe that they need or want your help…or any help for that matter, they just want someone convenient to blame so that no-one will scrutinise them too closely…

We all have patterns of behaviour which we repeat times infinity.
You cannot make choices for others.
Tonight there are things which in my heart I would have otherwise but I tried once before to influence someone I loved for their own sake. I lost that battle and I lost their love, it’s not a pattern I intend to repeat but either way in the end I lose.

What would I give tonight to be sitting outside the Washington cafe with a latte and a dish of lemon meringue ice cream listening to Skye’s thoughts, perhaps with Ealasaid and Tonius sharing the moment too. And maybe the insight wouldn’t be as palatable as the ice cream but it wouldn’t condemn me and I would know then what to do next.

*McPuddock the mechanical frog:  http://www.whatsoninaberdeen.com/venue-15

THUD

This evening I am tired, after two broken nights; and in this heat anticipating a third.

Tigr was unwell yesterday, I thought it was perhaps the heat but he was ill through the night and this morning he asked that I cancel his appointment at the clinic.
I did…the transport came anyway.
I went a few messages, grabbing a shower on my return and we entered a delightful evening with visitors but I’m unsettled.

I have tried to write, even this isn’t coming out they way it should be.
Though I enjoyed the company and I should be laid back I feel drained of everything.
I am reaching ‘switch off point’ it’s a state of self preservation but I’m never sure whether this is a good thing or not.

The question is how far one can or should interfere in the life of another.
I hate to make Tigr unhappy but if he can’t stay off the cigarettes a bad situation will become far far worse. I lived through this twice before, once with someone who didn’t stop and once with someone who did. The eventual outcome was the same but one path was far less uncomfortable and I don’t know if I can bear to witness the alternative path a second time – but how far is it right to try and influence him against his will?

All of my children seem to be up against it in some way at the moment, are all coming up with arguments that seem irrational to me. Only one now is under the age of eighteen but how much responsibility do I have to take if it all goes wrong?

It spills over I try hard to ignore the group of girls on the London train making loud comments about the men they are going to meet; their apparent ignorance about what it would actually mean to have to live under a fundamentalist regime. I wonder if their parents have a clue, whether they even care – old habits die hard but I have no real vested interest in this community, I turn off my hearing aid, shut out the souk music of their mobile notifications and their ignorant comments which do neither side any favours.

The girl on the bus explaining to someone who appears to have been complete stranger from the course of the conversation, the times when she is working alone late at night in a somewhat isolated location. Perhaps appearances are deceptive and they are actually better acquainted than it appears I wish they would talk across someone else but this time turning off my hearing aid does nothing because they are both loud and have voices within my register. I try to repeat the words of a song to shut them out.

Tonight in conversation it also seems that the latest community initiative is in the hands of the elite. I had considered putting forward a proposal along the lines of the old ‘Mock Turtle’ it would have attracted a larger proportion of the community and would have fitted in comfortably with the provision made by the other local businesses. Apparently the committee want something more ‘up-market’ already it becomes a plaything for the few excluding the people who really need it and the role it could and should be playing in the community. I do care but tonight I am too tired to contemplate any more battles.

In a very few days I’m going back home for a few days to attend Middle Daughter’s graduation. I can’t wait to see my children and hopefully I’ll return refreshed but for now I seem to be all out of fight, all out of focus and all out of inspiration.

 

NOT ENOUGH HOURS

After seven more incredibly hectic days I thought we might get a wee lay abed this morning. Actually Tigr managed a fairly good one but if you repeat a pattern of behaviour for more than three days on the trot wee Sammy tends to assume it’s a complete lifestyle change and was anxiously nudging and nipping at 5.30am. I convinced him to settle back down and he went almost spare when the alarm in my mobile went off a couple of hours later having been left on in the living room. He has continued his somewhat zappy anxiety attack throughout the day, I’m not sure whether it is just down to us changing routine or whether something else has gone awry that I’ve missed in passing.

Most of the week has vanished in waiting room hours. Tuesday dished out a bit of a shock, when having been assured by all and sundry that this appointment would simply be a pre-procedural assessment the consulting orthodontist took one look and decided to proceed right then and there! Dental treatment isn’t covered by hospital transport and we’d had to make a two-bus trek across to the far side of Cambridge. The inclement weather decided to up the game as we left afterwards with a spectacular flash of lightning and a prolonged hailstorm which left me with a tangled sheet of congealed hair and ice crystals which weighed a ton and melted unpleasantly gradually.

Wednesday saw me back at the GP and an extended course of antibiotics as I still wasn’t completely healed up. Then I concentrated on trying to get the house house-shaped again.

Thursday we had a lovely day out with Middle Daughter. She had been to interview for a University, her transfer on the return brought her within a reasonable reach and so Tigr and I went to meet her, we actually connected at an earlier interchange point in both our journies  which meant we had an hour longer at the start than we anticipated but I misread the return timetable and we left half an hour earlier than I had anticipated on the return. In the interim period we escaped the station and found an oriental buffet to lunch at. I wanted to try and buy some decent shoes and being in a big city should have presented plenty of choice but I was stunned to find even Clarkes offering a very limited range of styles, most ranges only went up to a ladies size 7 and nearly all of them had some kind of thick wedge with soles you could skate on; all totally unsuited to anchoring a wheelchair on a sloping wet pavement. Tigr was totally exhausted by his outing, especially as we don’t really have the luxury of passenger assistance on short notice trips involving travel on ‘local’ services, that said the staff we did encounter were all incredibly helpful.
It was too good a chance ot see my daughter to pass up on but very tiring.

Friday found us back at Papworth. The tests showed a degree of deterioration.
Unfortunately because Tigr had given in to his cravings for cigarettes and smoked one about five minutes before the tests commenced it was impossible to say with any certainty whether the smoking was the only cause or whether there was something more going on and so what should have been a definitive consultation establishing a course of treatment became a grey area and now we have another three month wait before this can be decided. He has stopped smoking once again though in an effort to find clarification.

Saturday saw the Cubs visiting, albeit only too briefly where one was concerned, whilst I had an afternoon at the Cave.
One delightful young visitor, an extremely energetic four year old made my afternoon when he decided that St Katherine was the ‘baddie’ Narnia’s White Witch!
Afterwards I finally made it to the supermarket for a proper shop as the cupboards were running low. Grabbing a kebab from the van in the village car park I crawled home in time to see Tigr’s brood briefly before they departed.

The week ahead is a quiet one with only a couple of appointments.
I have spent the afternoon wading through Emails and shuffling schedules. I am going to Glasgow shortly for Middle Daughter’s graduation and I’ve extended my visit as Full Pint’s own exam schedule sidestepped and would have given me no time with her otherwise.
Grandma is off to the On The Edge Festival in July and I’m hoping to have some proper catch up time on that trip with LJ too as the last couple of trips we seem to have only just caught each other in passing and I miss her company very much.

Also, lurking in a muddled heap on the dining table are notes. Several collections of them, one is a series of conversations with inanimate objects about which I have mixed feelings. Another lot are the notes for the redraft of the Cave book. One pile of scribbles has me musing; they are diary notes of a series of actual events. It may be that they are not connected in any way whatsoever. Even if they aren’t when you join the dots they make a very good story; and if they are – then it explains an awful lot, including some of the wilder stories about what I was supposed to be doing/have done in Scotland on certain dates between 1999 and 2008 when I was actually in England which have never been satisfactorily explained. They bring me back though to my comment in a previous blog about pin-pointing exactly where things begin. For the purposes of a story any one of these events would reasonably suffice. For my own peace of mind though there are questions I would like to have answers to and each time that I think I’ve found the initial instance of inception (hows that for alliteration?) something else emerges which reinforces the impression of connection but also adds to the confusion. It would be quite nice if there was some way to incorporate that sensation into a story…and that of course leads to another pile of notes!

Ah well roll on Monday.

DIARY OF AN AMAZING FORTNIGHT

Beginnings aren’t always in the place we expect them to be. Over the washing up I have taken out and enjoyed again, the gift of a story given me by a waitress at the Hunt and Darton Cafe last Thursday. You can find this magical Cafe at 100 Regent Street in Cambridge until the end of May, where for a couple of quid you can enjoy a personalised performance over a cafetiere of very nice coffee. They are open between 10 – 6pm and there are cakes, sandwiches (including the roast dinner special) and also breakfast cereals, so no excuse for skipping the rice crispies!

Not without consideration I asked that the children should not come this weekend. The last fortnight has been the most fantastic whirlwind of events which I suppose started with Writers being given the opportunity to provide the catering at the Village College for a Green Energy Day. It ended up with only two of us there but during the four hours we raised a satisfying amount to put towards our eventual goal of publishing a book of our work.

The week following should have been a period of quiet preparation for a long weekend break in Wales to visit with friends commencing on the following Thursday instead it turned into something of a nightmare of appointments when a relative’s surgery was brought forward just as the GP realised one of Tigr’s test results had gone missing, though it is unclear quite where in the proceedings this had happened. I gracelessly accepted the blame and split my time between accompanying the respective patients. We had stripped the house down, washed the laundry, packed the cat off to the kennels when the relative called to ask if we’d like a house-sitter since we are in a bungalow and they were finding their stairs, post operatively, inconvenient. Thus began a frantic last minute dash to refill the emptied fridge and freezer and transfer bedding from drying frame to tumble dryer to remake the beds I had just stripped.

We left comparatively early on the Thursday morning. Passenger Assistance was stunningly effective and we made an easy and uneventful journey to Cardiff. By half past four we had checked into our hotel and were enjoying tea and welsh cakes in a cafe in one of the arcades at our first meeting with two long-time online friends.They had planned a full itinerary and we had a fun packed weekend, although ‘Dead-end day’ might be an apt description for Friday.

They decided we should travel by car and we all decided to meet at the pick up point in the station car park adjoining our hotel. It was an overcast morning but dry and quite warm so after a lovely breakfast in the nearby Weatherspoons we made our way over and waited.
“What car are we looking for?” asked Tigr, I texted to ask and got a reply and was advised that they were caught in traffic and would be with us in about five minutes. Five minutes later a pale green fiat duly turned into the car park and I reacted with much waving and star jumps! The car pulled up beside us and the two strange women got put shooting me some very strange sideways looks as they went onto the station concourse, I checked the text again to discover that I should have been looking for a fiesta not a fiat and Tigr discovered he needed the gents. I rushed into the station and asked for help, they were very accommodating but the loos were on the platform side of the barriers and we hadn’t got a ticket. The staff passed us in but when we came out there was no-one in sight and so we stood waiting until finally enveloped by a hen party whose tickets the barriers refused to accept ( perhaps repelled by their loudness?) meanwhile the “where are you” texts from our hostesses were becoming insistent.

Escaping from that situation we loaded into the car and headed to the bay, via the housing estate where one friend had been born; getting in was a breeze. Getting out was a challenge. in the time elapsing since our friend’s advent most of the side roads leading into the main road had been enclosed or bollarded and in one place the main road had been entirely rerouted and wasn’t even there!

Finally we got on to the correct road and arrived at our destination, proceeding to walk round the docks, visiting the art gallery in the Norwegian Church where Roald Dhal was christened  (transported whole to the Cardiff dockland), enjoying a boat ride in The Daffodil a curious but pleasant little craft with a helmsman who had terrific local knowledge and a very humorous delivery. Disembarking that we made our way to the all you can eat Chinese buffet in the Red Dragon Centre. Over a delicious lunch our hostesses decided we should head to Castell Coch for the remainder of the afternoon. The signposting was not brilliant and we spent quite a considerable time visiting dead ends and locked company compound gates in a large industrial estate before finally reaching our destination.

Castell Coch has the steepest accessible drawbridges I have ever encountered, although we

made our way fairly successfully up it with (literally) all hands to the wheel. Inside it proved fairly inaccessible too although staff waived admission on account of it and there was a very thorough presentation video which we could get to easily and a nice tea room where we had another welsh cake before heading back into the devious industrial estate and then enjoying a short scenic trip to see the rest of the Rhondda Valley which is really quite spectacular. After delivering Tigr safely to the bottom of the drawbridge again I ran back up to take a couple of quick photos in the Castle courtyard, taking a somewhat impressive tumble off the drawbridge on the way back down I was unhurt if a little shaken.

It should be perhaps be noted that the curious hamlet of Upper Boat has a habit of suddenly appearing when you least expect it to and also more frequently than one would anticipate.

On Saturday it was sunny but with a cold wind. We explored Cardiff’s many quaint arcades and then sat outside a street cafe, indulging in a second coffee and a serious bout of people watching as the Cinquo-de-Mayo protesters wended noisily past handing out flyers. A street musician set up their wake and I left the others to explore the Church of St John the Baptist one of the oldest and sporting a reredos designed by Sir William Goscomb John for whose statue The Elf (Now in Glasgow Botanic Gardens) my great grandmother modelled.

We moved on and took the red bus tour, intending initially to do the whole tour in one sitting we helped Tigr up to the top deck, perhaps not our brightest or wisest choice. The dockside was too tempting and the bitter wind and a desire for lunch led us to disembark and have a tasty Cajun prawn or two at Harry Ramsden’s walk through. Outside the Millennium Centre a male voice choir and traditional dancers were performing. Boarding the last tour back to Cardiff Castle the majority of us opted to forgo the view from the upper deck and parted tired but content.

Sunday we were collected again by car without benefit of star jumping or platform detours. Sunny but windy again, we were treated to a spectacular visit to Llandaff Cathedral and Esptein’s Majestas topical since on our return the Writers were holding a workshop on the subject of Henri Gaudier Brzeska at Kettle’s Yard. Sadly we were too late for the Cathedral service but a member of staff kindly showed us around. Amazingly lifelike sarcophagi and the awesome Majestas, the military colours and stained glass but I never found Gibon’s mouse. We had coffee in a quaint tea room just off the green, where they filmed Dr Who and were served with exquisite cakes boasting delicious buttercream icing and sparkly blue crowns for the Jubilee. From here we traveled to Roath (not sure if I spelled that right) Park and fed ducks and watched model boats from the tea rooms by the Scott Memorial Lighthouse, finally ending the day being treated to a delicious dinner at the home of one of our hostesses. We were really sad to say goodbye, not just because it had been a great holiday but also because we had really got on well and I could seriously wish we lived nearer to each other.

  Traveling back on the Monday in a howling gale we were happy but almost totally exhausted. Our house-sitters stayed on after our return because of the issue of stairs and I appreciated this greatly as although it did mean a little extra work I was more relaxed about going all the way to Cambridge for the Gaudier workshop. This was a really incredible experience especially as that gallery is now closed for the foreseeable future while building work takes place and it will be a considerable time before those exhibits are once again available to the public. I chose as my muse The Madonna Of The Miracle his only commissioned piece and my original draft took the form of a conversation between myself and the statue. Working over it later however it has become an epic poem of some three pages; currently awaiting feedback I may post it here when I am finally satisfied with it.

As well as the usual plethora of appointments awaiting our return I had received a request whilst we were in Cardiff to read at a poetry night in Nomads last night; this in memory of the late Clare Holtham to raise funds for a bursary she wished to create. I had accepted whilst in Cardiff, unaware at that point that my own health was about to take a dive and had wisely asked for copies of the poems I was to read in advance. I really can recommend her book The Road From Herat ( all proceeds above the publishing costs go to the bursary for students of Newnham College Cambridge) and there is also a CD both available from Nomads of Cambridge or contact me for more details.

Two Thursday’s on from the one which began this blog I decided I had to address two problems of my own. One was my sight, the GP recommending an eye test as the first to following up on my headaches which had been re-scheduled twice to allow me to accompany other folk to more pressing appointments. And a lump in my groin which had appeared initially some weeks ago, appeared to change its mind for a few days and then returned with a vengeance. I found myself atThe Hunt And Darton Cafe in the hiatus between these two appointments. The optician found I do have a blind spot in my right eye but it seems it isn’t optical i.e. the optic muscle, nerve and cataracts are not accountable for it; the surgery on my sinus two years back or a stroke may be to blame. The GP couldn’t immediately identify the lump but gave me antibiotics and advised me to return immediately if there was any change. Mid-morning Friday it burst spectacularly messily but the unhelpful surgery receptionist declared that the duty doctor was unlikely to want to bother with it though she’d mention it. Trusting to the anti-B’s and somewhat inadequate dressings I got through last night’s reading and I’m really glad I did it.

For the present both I and Tigr are resting and recovering and evaluating the experiences of these last few days.

One thing on my deliberately sparse agenda however is to find out more about The Jogi
to whom I was introduced last night.

THE BALL HAS BEEN CANCELLED

WE REGRET TO ANNOUNCE
That due to the necessary austerity measures currently in place The Ball has been cancelled and a special commons working committee has been convened to report on the practical long term prospects of Happy Ever After. Any forthcoming offers will be given proper consideration but continuance in its present form is deemed unlikely. The committee has already declared its current policies to be ‘out of touch’ and ‘unrealistic’ the Chairman of the group declared its aims and objectives to be ‘A total work of fiction!’ In the event of a continuation experts predict a return to pre-disneyfication. The federation of Fairy Godmothers The Fairy Union or FU is meeting later today to discuss the Government’s rejection of an early retirement package. The Chancellor has announced that the retirement age for this sector of the workforce is anticipated to be raised from 250 to 300 in the foreseeable future but that the banks have been asked to provide favourable terms for any fairy Godmother with over 180 years service wishing to access a small business start up loan and that a small package of concessionary wishes may be granted to those finding themselves in conditions of extreme hardship.
At present the only princess with any guarantee of job security is Cinderella and the DWP are calling for an immediate investigation into the circumstances surrounding the cases of Sleeping Beauty and Rapunzel. The RSPCA is currently exploring the prospects of re-homing several guard dragons but caution that although they may look charming they do not make good house pets as their diet of freshly killed knights can be very hard to provide in the UK although the Government has provided them with a free copy of the draft proposal for the New Years Honours list for 2013 and are currently reviewing a few possible additions including members of the Murdoch family.

RANDOM CLUSTERING

We talk about the Random Clustering of numbers but when you think about it its things which actually cluster and not numbers; our habit of qualifying things by counting them leads us to say that numbers cluster when in fact, except in the sense of characters on paper numbers themselves don’t exist in anything but a conceptual sense.
Buses cluster, bicycles cluster, the little chocolate fishes in this particular tub of Ben and Jerry’s Phishfood would appear to be clustering. That leads me to wonder whether the clustering might actually have more to do with the place where these things are at the time, rather than what they are or how many of them happen to be present ( after all you won’t find the chocolate fishes clustering at a no.2 bus-stop for example).

Since I’ve been living here I’ve found that Cambridge is most definitely a place where arrogant bullies seem to cluster.
Over the last few years I’ve witnessed some disgusting behaviour, occasionally in shops, once in a multi story car park, but mostly at the bus station. And it doesn’t usually come from the section of society which you might imagine it would.

A few weeks back I was returning from a hospital appointment, this time it was mine and I was alone. I sat down on a bench, an older woman sat beside me and then proceeded to beckon her friends pushing me hard against the wall as they, in turn sat beside her. I said ‘excuse me’ loudly, she ignored me and continued to push so I gave in and moved. Her satisfied smile as I did so proved it was not accidental. She and her party were all immaculately and expensively dressed and clearly used to getting their own way. I was a bit cross with myself in some ways for not having given her a damn good push back but comforted myself with the thought that at least I had behaved gracefully.

Some days later I was waiting again for the bus when a smart woman with bespoke suit and high coiffed hair wearing way too much Estee Lauder charged the length of the concourse shoving people out of the way left, right and centre with her armfuls of labelled carrier bags. Her stilettoed heel brought down a young student who fell across her eliciting a stream of loud abuse from her perfectly made up mouth. I went and picked the student up, she was visibly upset as well as hurt and I was not alone in re-assuring her – LOUDLY- that she was not the one in the wrong. And the woman who had barged everyone? well she sniffed turned her back and then joined a queue…
… where she proceeded to wait almost fifteen minutes for her bus – an hourly service so quite clearly her headlong charge had not only been offensive but also entirely unnecessary!

For me though, today’s contender took the biscuit.
Once again, well heeled, tailored with an expensive mac, this time an older man.
We were waiting in the bus queue, my son, Tigr and me. This chap arrived and hovered behind me, then beside me and then he tried to step smartly in front of the wheelchair. I moved forward, he looked irritated and fell back in beside me. The bus arrived and as the queue moved forward he kept pace. The driver lowered the bus for us and again he went to try and push past me but three lads from the next bus queue had rushed in to help me with the wheelchair and edged him back out. He then proceeded to hector me again; nudging and trying impossibly to step over me while I was trying to position the wheelchair in the ‘safe’ position against the dedicated backrest. His performance hadn’t gone unnoticed however and when we came to disembark from the bus several other passengers blocked him in the aisle and kept him there despite his obvious impatience whilst inviting us to exit the bus first, something I don’t normally do though this time I gracefully accepted.

Life isn’t fair and think most of us anticipate that it won’t be, but as my Grandfather always used to say ’tis manners, not attire which maketh the man.

From now on I am going to observe with interest, whether the buses not only all come at once, but whether they all come at once at the same points in the journey. I shall have to buy another tub or two of Ben and Jerry’s Phishfood, purely in the interests of science, you undertsand, just to see if the choclate fishes have indeed clustered uniformly. If they have then maybe the clustering isn’t random after all and maybe there are pockets of time in particular places to which the clustering of buses and fishes are unavoidably and electro magnetically drawn by the planet’s rotation. Naturally should this appear to be the case we shall have to embark on a larger study to find out what else clusters and where.

THREE KINGS…

One of these days I shall take a holiday.
A real one.

Apart from the whole passport business I’m not one for traveling overseas but:

Somewhere warm where I shall laze by a blue blue pool overlooking a tranquil sea, maybe there will be palm trees? Yes! I quite fancy a few palm trees and maybe a few waiters dotted about here and there.
I shall wear a white swimsuit and a white sun hat with a wide brim and lay on a sun lounger with a red towel.
I shall read a book and calmly, peacefully my heart will stop.
Somewhere calm and peaceful where people aren’t afraid to talk about death, where it is accepted as a natural part of life and where I won’t ruin anyone’s day.

At 8am this morning I was sitting in my PJs playing solitaire on my phone.I’m aware that I should have been getting dressed; courtesy of snippy comments from the spiteful receptionist to the secretary whilst I was rescheduling appointments yesterday, only too well aware. Apparently She’s of the opinion that I’m “…a lazy lay-a-bed” I wish!
At the same time there’s really not much point just yet. Tigr is sleeping. It’s been one of those bad, restless nights. I daren’t go back to sleep because a repair person is due later on but there isn’t much I can do meantime as Tigr is sleeping on the sofa and he needs his sleep, so I’m sitting in my bed, in my PJs, playing solitaire.

From time to time we have a few nights like this, when Tigr can sleep on the sofa, during the day, close by while I research and write, watching over him, ensuring all his needs are met; but nights are a surge of tossing and turning, when cuddles fail to comfort and pillows feel like bricks. We get up again for a while and perhaps, like now as the grey edge of dawn creeps he will finally fall asleep. I may be able to grab an hour or two if it’s early enough, this morning I did. But often it isn’t enough, two hours later the alarm is warning me I must think about making a move…except…move where?
I make a quiet coffee and watch him sleep, wanting it to last as long as it can; fearing he’ll have a hypo because he hasn’t eaten. Balance is a fine line and Tigr’s not the first one to draw it in my life.
Why does it happen? Physical discomfort? an accumulation of unspoken fears perhaps.
Maybe it’s the well meaning relative who believed that their confidence was re-assuring, when as children we asked “what is death?” and they replied without due care and consideration “why it’s just like going to sleep” whose misguided certainties lead to these sleepless nights. Perhaps the house was stuffy or I didn’t keep him active or out in the air long enough yesterday. Who knows? My own thoughts are chasing themselves at the moment too.

Normally when he’s sleeping I can work on something but this morning I’ve actually hit the buffers. Normally I scratch notes, planning what Grandma will do next, or researching and writing up my book. Today though is dry and still.
Last weekend I took Grandma to Leeds. It is possible that as a result I may be taking her back to Leeds in July but until I know a little more about what form that’s going to take there’s little point in polishing or adapting that and rallying relatives.

I also had a visit to the Cave on Sunday.
Quietly scrutinising St Laurence a moment of sudden recognition; it hi-jacks my timeline but it also makes sense and I made dinner with a pen in one hand, notebook resting on the counter as I peeled the potatoes.

I also had a moment of mortality.

By last night everything was way too close again and so this morning I am playing solitaire, trying to still my thoughts. I’m tired. Way too tired to the point where I am half imagining voices. Yesterday I thought Tigr was speaking to me, when he actually did I realised the timbre was too heavy for him and the words I’d just heard had been in Latin, possibly a recall of something I heard in the dim and distant past.

The cards flipped leaving me with three kings for one space and the wrong colour on top to progress the one queen in the layout. My thoughts strayed to a man named Henry and wondered unbidden whatever he had said that sent four dandy French lords galloping frantically for Canterbury to murder a priest.
Contrary to common belief the Templar Knights did not murder Becket. These four cowardly bullies were sent to the Crusades as a punishment for their crime. It’s probable the Templars were the only order so dedicated that they would accept them – such men would only be a liability in battle.
Three kings – England, Jerusalem & Heaven. I am supposed to be clearing my mind, disassociating it from the medieval and yet I can’t help wondering just what anyone today could believe in so strongly that they would lay down life with such courage and faith as Becket did?