Journal Entries
Absence
Posted Jun 12, 2008
I've been a bit on the busy side these last couple of weeks; it's all been good.....
apart from an occasional traffic jam; and the need to buy a clutch slave cylinder and break pads for the car. Oh yes. And a new wheel,and god alone knows how much petrol.
I've been driving a fair bit. Up and down the A2like a demented thing. Doreen's youngest daughter has given birth to a new baby girl, so I was invited up for a viewing;
I've never been particualy excited about babies; talkative toddlers, yes. Junior school age children,certainly; teenagers for absolute certain.I really like teenagers - they're so full of anger and idealism.
But babies?
I've never been one of those women who go all misty eyed and gooey over small humans who are usually bald, always toothless and who invariably bear an uncanny resemblence to the late Winston Churchill, with added incontinence and lots of squalling. I've had 2 myself, and I found the"baby" bit of their lives the least enjoyable.
Oh... there's all the wonder of how tiny and perfect they are,with their tiny feet and little starfish handies. But there's an awful lot of shovelling food in one end and cleaning up the other and very little conversation!
However, I'll make an exception for young Masie; she is absolutely gorgeous. I spent the best part of an afternoon cuddling, gooing and cooing at this tiny little scrap of humanity and being thoroughly soppy.
I suspect I'm in love.
I've started back at the pool, and I'm loving it; I'm still well out of condition, but it's gradually coming back to me, the stamina is increasing, and I'm proud to report I've lost half a stone nearly, and gone down half a dress size and(thank gawd) 2cup sizes in the bra department. This is a terrific ego boost, and I've celebrated by going ballistic in the local lingerie department.
When I hit my desired size there'll be a party to remember.
I visited my friends Jane and Phil in Ashford and spent a day with them lazing in their garden and learning clay craft with Jane; she's as much into clay as I am with my jewellery making,and i enjoyed her enthusiasm. She's damned good at what she does, too. I also renewed my acquaintence with their daughter - last time I saw her she was 19! Now, at 29 she's the proud mam of a lovely little girl of just turned 4, and her brother of 7 months, a wonderfully cheerful little lad if ever I met one!
Overheard conversation:
Phil: And what are you going to be when you grow up Eve?
Eve (rolling eyes and sighing heavily) An adult ,grandad
Kids. Don't you just love'em?
I also visited The Mother and managed to spend nearly 3 days with her before the desire to commit murder got too strong. This in itself is pretty good; I have mentioned in passing I've been taking some pretty heavy councelling over the last 3 months; well, that's reached an incrediably sucessful conclusion,and I can honestly say I have never felt more positive, more cheerful and above all so happy as I feel *now* Every dayis a new adventure and I'm enthusiastic without havingto *work at being positive. Consequently I feel healthier,am doing far more than I usually seem to be able to do and although I do still get terribly weary due to The Back,it's a different sort of weariness. Once I've had a rest I'm refreshed and ready to get on with things instead of fighting exhaustion a lot of the time.
All the councelling in the world isn't going to cure arthritus, but it's gone an enormous way towards losing the world weariness I've felt for years. My life hasn't changed externally, an awful lot - I still have to swallow pain killers, and I still have to pace myself which I do find frustrating. I'm still not exactly rich fiscally and unemployable...BUT...
it's not an issue any more. It's just something I still hope to work around.
A blip, if you like, rather than something insurmountable.
Anyway, as I said, I visited The Mother. She hasn't changed;she's still paranoid, rude,stubborn, a creature of entrenched habits; most of them ghastly. She's still...well.. unbelievably awful. As my eldest lad says, a sort of hybrid between Dot Cotton of Eastenders and the old man in Steptoe and Son.
It's a very accurate description!
But it doesn't bother me much now. It doesn't hurt or bother me that she considers me to be a waste of space and a spiteful bitch. I think it's quite amusing when she tells me, as I sort out her larder and refill her fridge, and chauffeur her around to whichever set of shops she wants to visit, that I'm a dreadful daughter who doesn't give a damn about her and is only after her money. It doesn't worry me I can't convince her that this really is not the case.
She'll believe what she wants to believe about me, and that's fine, because I know different. I visit the silly old besom because she's old, and frail and lonely. I do what I can for her *because she's old and frail, etc. and it's not such a hardship for me to give up 2or 3 days a month to drive the 70 odd miles to her house and give it a bit of a clean and tidy.I choose to do it. I don't enjoy it much, but honestly, what's 48 hours 'ear'ole out of 30 days? It's not a lot to give up and it's no skin off my nose.
I've just come back from a 3day stay up at Big Jans'. As usual, it was fun, relaxing and enjoyable; we visited a couple of good food markets and I've come laden home with a box of cherries, with which I intend to make jam and pies and crumbles bucket loads of fresh runner beans that I'll prep and freeze, and some wonderful sausages made by a private enterprise called Giggly Pigs. The lads and I tucked into some with lime and chillis this evening, and jolly nice they were, too.
So all in all, I've been busy,content and getting on with Life The Universe and Everything quite happilly. Which has, of course,meant that I'm not logging into H2 as often now.
Those last two sentences are,of course, mutually exclusive
It's nothing personal, honestly; but Real Life seems so much more appealing lately that I've found I'm partaking in it far more, leaving me much less time to sit behind a keyboard just writing about it.
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Latest reply: Jun 12, 2008
Knickerless in Birchington
Posted May 12, 2008
It was a lovely day,today. The sun was shining, the sky was blue,the pigeons had their usual early morning cough,and I was set to visit my friend June the school marm; the Plan was that I would take her out for a decent lunch, as a "thank you" for all her care and help from a couple of weeks back.
So I put on a particually nice dress for the outing; - one I'd bought in Cyprus, last year, which is very long and pleasingly voluminous and baggy from under the bust downwards. Think cheesecloth Empire Line and that's about right.
Once I'd arrived at June's, we agreed over coffee, that I'd be chauffeur for the day,so we firstly set off to the Quex Secret Garden, which is a rather nice garden centre situated just outside Birchington. June is an avid gardener, so whilst she went ballistic with the plants, and loaded the trolley down with various clematus,(es) honeysuckles, little bushy bedding plants of various hues of pink and white, I meandered around, getting gloriously sunburnt - gone are the days when I can mooch around in the sun and not go red on the shoulders and neckline any more;
whether I can blame Global Warming is a moot point; personally I think it's probably my age or something.
June suggested we go to a restraunt on the "Other side"of Birchington, at Minnis Bay that some friends of hers had recommended to her, but was insistent that we went halves onthe meal as"Apparently it's quite expensive"
And once June has an idea like that in her head, there's no shifting her, so I agreed - and then quickly and quietly bought her a grapevine she'd had her eye on, but had decided that if she bought it this week would completely banjax her budget. So instead of a meal, which is transient, she's got a grapevine,which hopefully will produce grapes, which in turn, may possibly go towards making some wine eventually.
Or possibly not. But it will look pretty, anyway.
Over to Minnis Bay for lunch; and the less said about that, the better. The service was non existent, the staff were surly, and the menu boring and unimaginative. However, what there was, was well cooked, at least.
But we won't be going *there* again
Back to Birchington, for a wee bit of Retail Therapy around the many many charity shops within the village; I found a jade green silk dressing gown, and June found - get this! - *5* circular tablecloths
We were both happy bunnies, but after a while, I found my back was really giving me gyp, so we agreed I went back to the car for a sit down, whilst June continued meandering for a little while longer.
Now; for the last half hour of the shopping expedition, I was becoming increasingly aware that the waist band of my undergarments were... well..slipping a little. Nothing to worry me, nothing that a quick, discreet hoik couldn't fix, but it seemed to me, that the more I tugged the damned things *up, the quicker they kept slipping back to just below the buttocks.
So I decided, since I walk with a stick anyway, and had to cross the main road I had enough to concentrate on as it was, without another quick hoik - after all, these were Marks and Spencers Drawers, not ratchetty old Primarks - and more to the point, they only got as far as the top of my legs and hadn't fallen down any further, and I only had another 20 yds to go before I got to the car.
I crossed the road; I could feel the waist band slipping, but unfortunately, I have only one walking speed - steady to slow.
I had a stick in one hand, and a carrier bag of jade green dressing gown in the other the carkeys dangling from the "stick" hand.
I tried taking smaller steps,and managed to halt the waist band mid way down my thighs.
Unfortunately, this made my pace even slower, and caused a bit of vexation to various motorists.
around 7 yards till I got to the car. It was like trying to walk thru treacle. My drawers got as far as my knees, so I did the last 5 yards knock kneed, as well as still continuing to take pigeon steps.
Trying to appear serene, unconcerned and in perfect control of life in general.
It was the longest 5 yards I've ever attempted walking
Finally got to the car - opened the passenger(pavement)side, and decanted the carrier bag onto the backseat -just in time to feel my knickers drape gently around my ankles, and come to rest on my feet.
I am utterly stuffed now. There is no way I am able to walk, I am wearing Croc'sClogs, which are not the most dainty of foot wear and my flexibility is pretty poor
And I have a pair of Marks and Sparks drawers around my ankles, as opposed to where they ought to be fitting.
What to do?
On the plus side, my dress is long enough to conceal my dilemma, so I took a deep breathe and pulled one be-Croc'ed foot up out of the leg hole. Thank gawd for that,I can now at least move. Now for the other foot. I wiggle, I waggle, to no avail. In the end I simply shook my foot over the gutter, dislodging the offending articals with a certain amount of swearing.
Now I have 2 choices. I can, if I felt it was OK to be anti social, quietly toe the abandoned knickers underneath the car, and leave them behind as a mystery for the good denizens of Birchington
OR... I can, at great discomfort to myself,try and crouch down, and pretend to pick up my car keys and stuff my knickers in my handbag as quickly as I can.
I went for the second option, did Operation Transfer quite niftilly. Hauled myself back up using the top of the still open back passenger door... which in it's turn dislodged my stick, which fell, with a clatter into the gutter
Fortunately, akind passerby bent and picked it up for me.
I am sooo glad that she wasn't passing by 2 minutes prior to that; and that I chose the tidy option!
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Latest reply: May 12, 2008
The Anethetist
Posted May 7, 2008
I've been threatening to tell you lot about the anethetist who attended me for last week's little op.
For sure, the guy was, as far as I was concerned well worth a second look(tall, dark, hawk featured and utterly charming as well as having an absolutely wicked sense of humour)
BUT....
he was clever and compassionate, as well.
I may joke about having these damned operations in the nether regions
(I mean, what else can you do?)
but in truth, the aftermath is usually excruciatingly painful - there's a surprisingly large amount of pain in such a relatively small area... eating is a nightmare...I'm usually starving after an op, ( I have to fast,preferably for 24 hours, but in this case, 18, because I got a"cancellation") but I'm almost scared to eat, because eating eventually means evacuation, and it doesn't matter if I eat more fibre filled food than an average monkey house, it still damned well hurts the healing cuts - which in turn, causes me to feel utterly wretched.
After all, it really is an area that very few people would willingly want to kiss or rub better, as it were.
So it's a catch 22, usually.
This time was different.
The bloke actually listened. He took on board that I take MST morphine for "everyday" pain relief.
He realised that pain relief was going to be a bit complicated; one cannot be prescribed stronger pain relief than morphine as far as I know.
And so, after he'd administered the usual GA, he injected, somewhere around the fleshy part of my hips an anesthetic "block", which m eant, once I was in recovery,I really couldn't feel*any* pain at all. From waist to top of legs was completely pain free.
Not numb.
Just pain free.
My first thought, once I'd come round, was "No pain; hell's teeth - I'm awake and they haven't started yet"
I was wrong,of course; they'd had all manner of periscopes and what have yous into me, a good rummage around,and removed a mighty great cyst. Took the best part of an hour, and I'm glad I was out for the count!
Back to the ward; after an hour a certain amount of discomfort made itself felt, so I was given paracetamol intravenously.
Now, as a rule, paracetamol is about as much use to me as an udder on a bull
20 minutes later I honestly felt I could scale Everest. I felt an absolute fraud taking up valuable hospital space.
It strikes me as ironic; obviously this "block" injection is a fairly routine sort of a procedure. I don't know exactly what sort of drug it actually was (although I will find out) and maybe, for some people, it could give all sorts of unwanted side effects, but for me, it was fine.
I felt more than fit enough to leave hospital after 6 hours, and perfectly alert enough to function pretty well. Not 100%, obviously, but pretty well
Why oh *why*could this procedure not have been done for the last 10 or so operations I've had in this area? Recovery time was minimal, (thus freeing up valuable hospital beds)I was almost pain free for the first 96 hours after the operation, so therefore, my spirits were good, which I'm certain made my recovery so much easier.
Eating and basic elimination weren't an issue or an ordeal as they usually are, and once the "block" injection had gradually worn off, I found that the usual every day pain relief was more than enough to make life manageable.
The really *plus* bit was the side effect of having minimal discomfort in the lumber regions for 4 days! It wasn't just my backside that benefitted I can't remember the last time I didn't have pain anywhere in my back, so 4 days pain free was one heck of a novelty!
And I'm not sure if, in a fit of utter terror,just before the op, when asked by Mr Anesthetic could I see him, without my specs, I replied (rather fervently) "No... but I do wish I could" made any difference to the quality of the pain relief or not, either.
But pander to my ego a little, perhaps?
I've never consciously flirted with anyone I don't know well before - not for the simple reasen of stating that I like what I see; I'm really boring that way, as a rule.
But conscioulsy flirt I did, and my last memory before my op was one of the nurses saying "Evadne, you've said exactly the right thing to make his ego unbearable for the next*week*"
I reckon that a week's worth of inflated Male Ego was well worth 96 hours of pain free Cake, meself.
And I'm wondering if it's at all possible, I could have this sort of block administered regularly
- as long as it's not dangerous,obviously -
so that I could be pain free enough to be able to get a job and actually earn money on a regular basis? Without having to pop morphine, so I could actually *think*straight without quite so much effort?
Next time I have a "clear thinking" day, I must ask my GP about that.
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Latest reply: May 7, 2008
London Meet April 08
Posted May 1, 2008
Well, the London Meet has been and gone, and I'm probably one of the last to do a journal entry.
This is not because it took a while to sober up, (honestly), more to do with the fact that I was called into hospital to have a bit of an operation around the nether regions less than 48 hours after returning home to Thanet There was a cancellation,I was offered it, and like an optimistic fool, I ...
...grabbed the opportunity.
Just as well; I had a growth removed that apparently was the size of a thumb removed from a rather private place, (read THAT and weep, young 2 Legs!) and although I feel incrediably weary, and still a little disorientated I am actually almost pain free for the first time in.. what? 4 or five years? around the lower back regions.
This in itself is pretty wonderful. Life is good.
Once they've done a biopsy and confirmed that the growth, indeed, *is benign, and the MRI scan confirms that there's only a couple more operative jobs to do (routine, boring and just plain undignified) I shall feel even more cheerful. I shall lie on the floor and kick if I hear differently
And deal with it if needs be. As and when. When the time is in it
HOWEVER
This is a journal about the London Meet.
It was great!
I drove up to ReddyFreddy's home and arrived about 10.00am. Met his Lady, stowed my luggage in RF's spare room, and set off to The London Eye via the LDR *and a boa tride up the Thames. Both were novelties I enjoyed
I may have been born and bred within 200 yds of the South East London postal area, but oh boy, I'm a country girl/mouse at heart,and The London Eye is the epitomy of Tourist Attractions!
It was grand!
A clear day,sunny, stunning and bright - the views were amazing. I am still trying to un- jam my camera to get the pictures up loaded - if needs be I'll nab my son's camera and put the memory chip card thing and do it that way. I've loads of photoes of the Eye and The Meet I've yet to access. Give me time, eh? I'm still a tad convallesscent. However it's spelled.
After the dizzying heights of the London Eye, we adjourned to a pub that actually sold "proper" beer, as opposed to bottled stuff and nasty Lager and, incidentally, had decent pub grub.
Back to RF's for awhile, a siesta later, on to Holborn, for the Pub Meet.
There was a lot of Beer!
It was great to meet up with the familiar faces and to meet the new ones (to me) So many of them,too! I think there must have been at least 20 of us,some established friends, some new faces,but all with H2in common;which means, generally speaking,Nice People. Friendly and caring and decent.
It felt particually good to meet up with my co-author Alex Ashman who helped me thru *that entry... according to B'el I was actually on the Front Page with it, too. As may have been noticed, I had had a bit of a tantrum(well justified, IMO) and have been off site for a while,so Iwasn't actually aware I'd been spotted.
What a way to make an entrance, eh?
Ah well.
I'll get around, one day, to being a bit more specific as to the Op I've had, and, if, bob, forbid, it's more serious than I reckon it might be; put it like this,no nurses came near me afterwards for Deep Meaningful Conversations, so I'm assuming I'm going to be OK. I didn't get a Pep Talk or a seriously sober looking consultant arriving at my bedside shortly afterwards telling me "Everything will be fine,really it will",so it all looks quite good.
Consultants only arrive at one's bedside (in my experience)and tell you how wonderful life will be,when they know damned well, the op. has been an absolute hames and they need to cover their own.. backsides
OK, so I'm a tad cynical.
No News is Good News as far as I'm concerned!
The MRI scan is scheduled at the end of May so I'll let you know then if needs be.
What a mishmash this entry is;
operations, The London Eye, The Meet I know what I want to say,but alas, pain killers and general weariness is getting in the way of general co herance. That, and a really mardy new keyboard that won't respond to the S pace Key as well as I'd like it to.
......
I enjoyed it.
The Meet, that is. I really ought to write a proper "thank you" note to RF for his unfailing hospitality and kindness,and the company of his Good Lady and himself.
And I will get around to it. Honest.
At the moment, I just want to sleep and sleep and sleep
But thanks to every one who made The London Meet such an enjoyable time. Twas really fun.
And thanks also to my friend June the School Marm (off site) who helped make the last 48 hour s of my convalesessance so very easy.
I'll tell y'all about the hunky anesthetist 
who made the operation so easy,and the pain relief so amazing another day.
All I can safely say at the moment is... flirting definately works
Discuss this Journal entry [20]
Latest reply: May 1, 2008
What I did at my Mothers...
Posted Feb 9, 2008
As you may be aware, The Mother was due to have the cataract in her "other eye" operated on this Thursday, so like a dutiful daughter I drove up to the arse end of Kent on the Wednesday, in order to be able to drive her to and from the hospital outpatients the following day, and do the aftercare.
Mistake!!!
The first bit of a glitche was that outside her house, and all along the hill where she lives, there was work on the pavements - they were being dug up and replaced, so I couldn't park outside the familly home as I do normally. A bit of a nuisence, but there ya go. Nothing insurmountable, I just had to park about 150 yds from the "normal" spot.
I got in, armed with a bunch of flowers and a bottle of anesthetic to be greeted by a tirade that claimed it was all my fault "they were diggin' up the bleedin' pavement, and no wonder you haven't got any soddin' money, wasting it all on bloody flowers and booze"
"A cup of tea would be nice, thanks mum. Bit nervious about the operation,tomorrow, are we?"
Wrong! Of course she wasn't (so and so ing) nervious, what did I think *she was - some form of wimp?
"Not atall, so if you'll just put the kettle on, I'll get a vase and put the flowers in water, as they're for you"
And so it went on. She goes into viper mode every so often, so I just put the metaphysical earplugs in, nodded and made non commital noises until we got to the words "And you never come to see me, anyone would think I was dead the way you carry on"
I couldn't help it - the logic just tickled my sense of the ridiculous and I started to laugh quietly to myself. "So who exactly are you talking to mum? Am I here? Why, I do believe I am! Have I come to see you? Yes, I have"
"That it, have a nag and a pop and go on at me like you usually do"
Oh dear. The Mother's not a happy bunny atall, but I bite my lip and make the right sort of soothing noises, knowing - or rather hoping she'd do her usual thing of ranting, and getting whatever it is that's upsetting her out of her system. She usually calms down a bit eventually. Trouble is, you're never quite sure what it is that upsets her in the first place.
But she didn't this week. Not a bit of it. Even after the op she was back in the saddle of vitriol within an hour or two.
ANYWAY, we got up at some appaullingly ungodly hour Thursday to get her into the local hospital by 7.00am, and she moans like the clappers that she had to walk to the car - why couldn't I park outside like I usually did. Look, I could park next to the barriers. I'm just being awkward
(I might add, the barriers were situated along the whole half of the left hand side, blocking access "up" the hill off. There are traffic controls for the up going and down coming traffic in one lane of the road for at least a hundred yeards in either direction)
If I *had have parked "outside the house, I'd have completely blocked the road and caused mayhem - which obviously I wasn't prepared to do.
I explained this, and got her into the car, drove her the 10 or so miles to the hospital, took her directions to the (apparently) appropriate department, only to find that it was *not the appropriate department, this was another half mile around the hospital grounds!
But of course, I should have known all this, and naturally enough, it was all my fault. After all, I *had been to this hospital hadn't I?
(yes, about 10 years ago, and oddly enough, there's been a lot of reoragnisation and reloaction in the intervening 10 years)
Yeah, right
Soothing noises made, etc etc. Lip is bitten, the usual mantra of "She's old, nervious and crotchty, be patient" is mentally uttered.
Eventually, I found the right place, took her in, made sure all the official bits and pieces were done alright, wished her luck, etc etc, and returned back to the familly house, to await the phone call, telling me she was ready to be collected.
5 hours later I went back and collected her, listened to the saga of the operation and made her a light lunch. Soup and sarnies.
Apparently, I make lousy sandwitches. I don't cut the bread right - sandwitches ought to be square, not bleedin' fancy triangle rubbish. They don't taste the same.
By this time, I am torn between irritation, with a strong desire to give the miserable old besom a good ding around the ear'ole, a mild fit of smirking in self defense, and a fairly justifiable concern that The Mother is seriously going doolally tap, because it is blatently obvious she is being serious. She doesn't do irony, sarcasm or satire because she hasn't got the wit to do so. She never has done. Infact, I honestly and privately think that she doesn't actually understand the concept of humour - unless it involves comments around the level of the average Carry On Film and includes a reference to farting. That's always amused her. The sexual references always went over her head, I might add.
And the blokes outside diggin' up the pavement are doing it purposely because they *knew she was going into hospital for a serious operation.
And so it went on. I'm a rottern cook, a rottern nurse, I don't talk properly to her,I don't care about her, I'm a lousy daughter, a failiure as a human being, I'm a lousy mother, and my kids are rubbish.
I've heard this all before in one tirade or another so I just nodded and said "Yep - you've told me that before" and just carried on with the cooking, the nursing, the caring, and so on, and bit my lip raw at the criticism of the lads.
She's probably right about the cooking, mind - but then, (a) I was never actually taught at home - I learned the hard way once I left at 17, and (b) I've never claimed to *be a good cook. Mildly competent is about the best I particually want to be. Its not a passion. I seldom use ready made sauces or prepacked stuff, and I haven't died of salmonella or botchulisim or the Dreaded Lurgy. Yet.
I think the straw that broke the camel's back was when she was hovering over me yesterday, criticising the way I was putting the laundry into the washing machine, and stating catagorically, that I'd never get the clothes clean because I hadn't put the detergent *tablets* into the net provided -"You've got to put them into the net because it holds them in and concentrates the detergent properly"
I just roared with laughter - the sheer lack of logic absolutely slayed me; it was worthy of a stand up comedian! Billy Connolly, Russell Grant, Eddie Izzard, if you want material come and have a cuppa at The Mother's House Listen, learn and weeps lads.
And yes, I do have a sense of the bizaare. So sue me!
I got us both that British panacea for all ills, a nice cuppa, sat her down and said "What on earth is upsetting you?"
There was a silence, then another totally irrelevent tirade assaassiniating my charactor (yet again) a load of truely complete and utter nonsense, with no rhyme nor reasen behind it atall that I could follow, and, of course, the ususal denial. But I kept asking her the same question;what is upsetting you?
Evenutally we got to the Complaint that I was "Always Ill"
I explained (for the zillionith time) the nature of the ailments I had, to put it in perspective, yet again, for her.
We got the Complaint that I no longer lived near her.
I reiterated the reasens as to exactly *why* we had both agreed that we live a certain distance away from each other.
We got the Complaint I was a spotty teenager - and a stroppy one.
(Guilty on both counts, m'lud But being spotty wasn't a crime, last time I checked, so that's OK. And most teenagers strop. It's part of growing up and away from the parental control.
We then got the Complaint I was a strange child.
I am beginning to get seriously concerned now. I was a very quiet, frightened child, but I'm not aware I had taken to wearing my knickers as a hat so early on in life.
"Ok, I said, I've listened to you, but I still don't understand what it is in particular that's upsetting you. Tell me"
Apparently it is all my fault I wasn't born a boy so when the adoption society called her she could have had a boy. She never wanted a girl.
This I have suspected for a long while, so it didn't come as much of a surprise; in a strange sort of way it was helpful to me to have what I had suspected confirmed. It's nice to know you're right, even if there's sweet FA you can do to change the apparent problem.
And besides, I've always quite liked being of the pink bootee persuasion.
"Fair enough" I said "But... you had the opportunity to say no. You were under no obligation to accept me. You could have waited until there was a boy who needed a set of parents. I'm sure there were plenty of other couples who wanted a girl"
"Well... I didn't like to" she said. "AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!!!!"
Well, it's all out in the open now, and she was quite calm after she'd said all that. She still couldn't see how illogical her comments were; it's me who's mad, not her. I was very thoughtless not to apologise for not being a son. Apparently.
(Take a hundred lines and stand in the corner Ev
)
After that, she turned the TV on and spoke to me quite friendly and civilised for the rest of the visit. I came home this afternoon - she was obviously physically well enough not to need supervision, and I was more than ready come home
I wonder.
Do I call for the men in white coats now, or do I just feel sorry for an angry, bitter woman who's never had the courage or ability to be in charge of her own life, and keep a filial eye on her until she becomes a danger to herself or possibly the neighbourhood?
Or becomes in danger *from the neighbourhood? It's not a very nice part of Kent she lives in, and it appears that she's got a very obvious sign of "Vulnerable and easilly conned" on her forehead. She's been conned quite a lot over the last few years, now I come to think about it. (I don't get to hear about it until long after I can do anything practical to resolve the situation)
She won't say "Boo!" to anyone except for the lads and I (- and dad, and her mother, when they were alive) Which is why the lads seldom go near her. I don't blame them a bit, frankly, she's hard work. *I* wouldn't go near her if I knew there was anyone else to attend to her that she felt reasenably secure with.
I'm not particually upset by the revelations although her ranting and rudeness do severely chafe the nipples I admit; I'm not overly concerned she doesn't have much time for me, and I don't want or need her approval any more, but she's a human (or human in shape, anyway ) and as such, needs a bit of help, support and general TLC *because she's a human.
Btw, any sympathy, hugs or "there there there" will, I'm afraid, get very short shrift. I don't feel hard done by, and I don't want, need, or expect comfort or reassurance. My feelings of self esteem, and awareness of self worth etc arn't destroyed or in need of rebuilidng, I can do that fine for myself, by myself, most of the time, thanks all the same. I know when, and who I can ask, for reassurance as and when I find I need it.
I need to let off a bit of steam, occaisionally, I guess.
On the other hand.....
Any practical suggestions of how I persuade the daft old besom to seek medical help for what I suspect is possibly the continuation of some form of mental disorder, (though I haven't much of an idea which it is, if any) would be greatly appreciated. 
I am pretty concerned for her state of mental well being - she's always been pretty illogical and has never really had the abiltiy to accept things "as are", but she is definately getting decidedly more strange. Especially in the last three years or so.
What, if anything atall, can I do to ensure she lives out the last few years of her very unhappy life in a way that is the most beneficial to her?
FTR I'm the only child, and she has no friends or confidents as such; never has had, either. She keeps everyone very firmly at arm's length. The neighbours are very good to her and keep an eye on her for me, and a couple of the people she goes dog walking with her drive her to the supermarket occasionally and do household chores etc etc.
She's been 77 on and off for as long as I've been aware of her - and I'm 50, so work it out for yourselves. She's always behaved "old" even in her late 20s, early 30s, if you know what I mean.
Life can be a right bugger, sometimes, can't it?
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