Post 357: An early call settles nerves but ends in tears, happy tears.
A Saturday morning and I’ve just had my 8am pills. Usually it would be time for some rewind TV before settling down until I’m ready to fill Mr Vicious’ blue plastic bowl of plenty — well after 9am.
Then a proper look outside, where the wind was the most prominent feature… but today was slightly different.
The phone went off and on the screen was an unrecognisable number starting with 0800 — very interesting. So I picked up the call and turned down the BBC programme replaying the much-relieved splashdown of Artemis in the Pacific, right on cue.
A quiet female voice with a lovely Welsh lilt asked if it was I (Mr U) speaking.
“Yes, it’s me,” I said.
It then transpired this was a very civil call to inform me of the outcome of yesterday’s query about holiday pay while receiving ESA.
She asked all the usual security questions and then simply said there was no issue regarding holiday pay in relation to the benefit limits.
I was just thanking her as she continued with other details about avoiding problems in the future — while I sat there, quietly spewing tears and snot as the tension of the last week drained away.
She knew I was emotional but carried on. I squeaked a “thanks” and “goodbye” and ended the call.
What a fantastic start to the day.
I told everyone who knew about the situation and I was buzzing. Inside, I felt great. The background worry — how much I might owe, whether I’d lose the benefit — gone in an instant.
A celebratory breakfast of full-fat milk on a bowl of pasty white granola.
I know how to live. Ha ha.
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With a swagger in my step I headed downstairs without aids, because the stair-chair was already down there. Hurrah for my strong legs pulling me all the way upstairs last night. It’s brilliant — another positive to keep in the front of my mind.
I do have to be careful not to rush or trip on the way down, mind you.
But the cat knew I was coming. By the time I was pulling the dark green vertical blinds aside, the patio door was plastered with cat.
Meow, meow — and those “please feed me” eyes were enough for anyone to cope with. So I filled the blue bowl of plenty, topped up the water bowls, and the day was mine.
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While I slurped my granola with a shiny cold dessert spoon, I wondered what to do today, now that my Darling was at work and couldn’t see what mischief I might get up to.
Big Sis had already texted to say the wind was fierce and I should stay indoors. Sensible advice… which I fully intended to ignore later with a quick ten-minute weeding session before 2:30pm deadline, when the boss returns.
But first, I had a date with the big TV and my comfy chair — the final episode of a brilliant K-drama, Blues.
Set around a harbour, with fishing and diving for shellfish, all wrapped up in the messy lives of the people there. It finished on a high, and the love-hate I had with the characters was softened by the funny outtakes in the last few minutes. Even the “villains” laughing and messing about — proper camaraderie.
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I stretched my legs and looked outside — still blowing a bit of a gale — so I made myself a Stilton and pickled onion sandwich on seeded bread to waylay the weeding.
The seed crunching sounds were… unsettling. At my age you start thinking about dentists. The last thing I need is a white-masked man telling me in a cheerful voice,
“You’re needing a filling or two, Mr U,” followed by a villainous pantomime laugh.
Ah… morphine daydreams again. It’s not that I don’t trust my dentist — I just don’t trust my teeth on this bread.
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Later, I grabbed kneepads and gloves and got stuck into the weeds. Five minutes later — honestly five — I was knackered, just as I heard the dulcet tones of my lady behind me, calling time on my efforts.
I managed to get stood up cleanly, which pleased me no end, and headed in for a cuppa and another rest.
Yes — a rest after five minutes.
Oh dear. How am I going to cope at work?
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My Darling came down after a shower, noticed the stair-chair downstairs, and commended my leg strength and staircase abilities. That felt good.
We watched some TV together until it was time for me to head out — my first night out in over a year — meeting an old school pal to see a guitar band at the local club.
I was chuffed to be going. My Darling was understandably a bit apprehensive, but I took her advice and drove into town in her car, just to make the return easier.
In the end, we had one drink and a lot of chat. The rest of the evening was singing along and tapping our feet to music from our era.
Great times.
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I got home early — the seats weren’t the comfiest at the club— but it didn’t matter. It had been a proper night out.
A cup of tea, a bit of chocolate, and then… I walked up to bed again.
Partly not to wake my Darling, partly to prove to myself I still can.
So I took some Oramorph for good luck… and slept like a baby.
Good night
