Yesterday was a normal enough day.
I pottered around the house doing various jobs wot have to be did, like feeding the washing machine which runs for about 16 hours a day and washing up and shit like that. Of course every time I found a few minutes to sit down, Herself would call me for something urgent [usually picking her cigarette lighter off the floor].
She seems to think I am overworked [fuck! I’ve been overworked for the last fifty years] and started talking about getting some home help. I pointed out that in theory that was fine but what were the odds on having someone arrive at the precise moment she dropped her lighter on the floor. I’m not going to pay someone to just sit there waiting for an hour just in case Herself drops something. And anyways we have been managing without help so why change things?
I don’t know if I mentioned it before but Herself has a nasty looking injury to her heel caused by some bit of equipment in the hospital. I’m in two minds about suing but there is the worry that a few million might change me.
Anyhows this injury requires constant attention, with special ointment [horrible sticky oily stuff] and special spongy plasters to be changed. I had run out of the latter and yesterday I called down to the chemist who had ordered them in specially. Sixty fucking yoyos for five spongy plasters!
So this morning dawned.
I did the usual chores like feeding the animals [including Herself] when the phone rang. A very cheery woman on the other end announced she was from the health board or somewhere and she announced that we have been allocated a home help for an hour seven days a week. Or I think that’s what she said. Anyways, someone is calling tomorrow to discuss things with me.
I had just managed to sit down for my first mug of tea when the dog got all excited. I stepped out into the garden to see what the fuss was about and there was a fine young thing being slobbered over by Penny. She [apparently] is our new allocated nurse and was calling in to say hello and to check Herself’s battle scars. She also offered me a chunk of those spongy plaster things which annoyed me – if she had come a day earlier she would have saved me sixty yoyos.
With all these gorgeous young women calling, Herself tells me I should tidy myself up a bit.
I think she’s trying to get rid of me.