Post 431: Thunderstorms and a Personalised Plate for My Darling.
05:00am and the air is muggy and the bedroom breathless, in a non-medical way.
Crash, bang, wallop!
Oh my, what a storm rolling overhead, so I jump out of bed and close all the wrong windows on the south side of the house, only to realise it’s the north side that needs protection.
But after a few minutes the clouds have emptied and most of the garden is draining after days of hot sun.
Only a sustained light downpour would help out my poor weeds.
But that’s my benefit. Those weeds have had it too good for too long.
The rain and stormy weather are not a problem except for the car. We could do with a dry sunny day for my Darling’s car valet today. Only we could choose the wettest day in June, ha ha.
But it’s warming up later and the cleaning will be fine.
It’s day four of the magical steroids and I guess I’m getting a little bothered by that.
These pills have changed my life in such a short time that I’m scared to go back to the pain and suffering from before.
What is it about the feeling of pain, more than the pain itself, that hurts me so much?
I close my eyes and think about what it was like just a week ago. Unable to walk properly and not able to easily walk out the door without an aid or two.
The sticks upstairs and down are just standing there knowing that their time will come, but just now they can rest up too.
I get up early to feed Mr Vicious, who is not at all bothered by the storm. In fact, I don’t remember my Darling being so relaxed about the noise and thundering rain before. So there’s been no extra cuddling last night — more’s the pity.
I open the garage door and see my little Minis lined up and I smile.
I feed the cat by the offside front wheel of the Cooper as usual and, as usual, he dives into the bowl like he’s never been fed before.
I choose to get my Darling’s car into the middle of the drive for the valet guy to get around later, if the weather’s okay, and I remove the old plates on the car, which are barely three months old.
I’ll just do a last fitting on the new ones and leave it at that.
My Darling and my mates think I take too much time striving for perfection and not enough time sitting down and just enjoying the ride — but that’s me.
I de-burr the holes front and back and strip the protective layers off the plates, showing off a gleaming set of numbers and letters.
I’m as proud as Punch about the plates and they will look a treat on her car.
It’s going to be a real name tag for sure.
I’m still eating very little but I know there’s a roast dinner coming tonight. Yes, on the hottest day, but who cares? We love roasts.
My half-pie dinner will be fantastic. It’s my favourite Higgidy pie and this thought should fill me with hunger, but it doesn’t.
Perhaps I’ll be more hungry when I smell the veg and roast potatoes simmering in their pots.
The valet man says he’ll be here at 10am so the car’s going to look so pretty after he’s done.
Ex-cite-ing!
I’m more excited than my Darling, I’m sure, but I go back inside and she hollers at me from above and I go up to assist her with the online paperwork necessary for the change of plates.
When that was done entirely by herself, she said she was still in the midst of a headache and was going back to bed.
“No problem,” I said, and we parted company.
I suppose I did a bit more de-scaling on the Mini for a while till Steve the cleaner arrived, when I left him to his own devices and gave up tinkering under the bonnet of number two mini.
I went back in to cuddle the cat (when accepted by him), the grumpy hot cat.
The clean-up from a year standing under a cover has left all the aluminium covers and metalware and tubes with a white oxidation on them, so there’s lots to clean away, but not today.
I’m reminded of several things that still bother me as I sit in front of a TV in hibernation.
The horrible gut feeling about selling a treasured car (Olive the Volvo) is gnawing at me and won’t go away.
So too is the blessed pension drawdown I wish I had never taken at all now.
Oh my, the things we learn in retrospect.
I wish I could choose not to have taken it down, but it’s done.
Why can’t I move on?
Why can’t I get this feeling in the pit of my stomach to ease?
Only time will help me.
But it’s my mistake and the taxman has cleaned up.
Get a bloody grip, Mr U.
Anyway, it’s the big wedding of the year this Saturday.
Four sleeps to go.
It’s going to be fun and frightening in equal measure.
It’s a wedding and everyone will be there; good and bad, friendly and not.
Am I reading too much into this as well?
Yes, Mr U, you are, as per usual.
Our eldest and his wife will be delighting us with their presence this weekend and, with the little room they are in because I’m in the big room, they will be sweating their little butts off in there if I can’t get some kind of cooling system.
But with the rush on fans of all descriptions it’s a bit late to be getting a deal, or even a fan locally due to many weeks of hot weather (as it should be around the middle of the year).
But we have a friend on Prime who is so helpful it’s untrue and she might help us with a quick delivery before our guests arrive.
I do hope so.
This weather is okay for a guy like me who’s only working two hours a day, but for real workers it’s a real hot one today.
By the evening we’ve sorted the problem and have a set of three tall slim pedestal fans en route.
Fab.
The warm air can be pushed around at the very least.
I am now overthinking another of today’s events.
Work.
Well, there is the chance that a case worker from the Adult Social Care Team might be popping in today, but my Darling says that’s tomorrow and I’ve got the date wrong.
Anyway, I wait till it’s wakey-up time for the lads on the night shift and I can call an old colleague for a lift into work - if he’s on parade today.
After an unanswered text I call him on his landline, the first time ever.
He sounded as surprised and anxious as me but quickly agreed to pick me up on his way into work.
Happy days.
Then a call for me.
“Hey Dave, I’m in hospital with a stroke,” said in his mildly West Country accent I love so much.
It reminds me of Auntie Jean and although she’s not dead, she has dementia and I haven’t heard her voice for ages.
Crikey mate, I’m sorry to hear that.
“Don’t panic,” I say, which is the last thing he’s thinking of doing.
He’s about to get a cannula so I wish him the best and I’ll catch up with him in the morning.
You just don’t know what’s coming up next, do you?
Thank the Lord, or the trees, or the Green Man of the land, for small mercies.
I am put into a more realistic mood after a life-affecting moment concerning a lovely guy from Gloucestershire.
Good luck, Rob.
And with that I head to work with my mate.
God, it was nice to see him for the short journey into work.
So too, My Darling’s shiny car was a treat to see after two short hours of work and the roast, though lovely, was too much for me.
But I ate the essentials.
Oooo-nice.
The end of the day was brightened by my little Bro popping in for a chat.
We will be seeing him on wedding day and we were going over the news, the gossip (though there was very little of that), and enjoying laughter and ice creams all round.
That wrapped up a grand day and no mistake.
I hope yours was too.
Good night.
Take care, in hospital or not.
