Sunday Night

Cousin is watching a programme called Suits where the most commonly used line by any character is I don’t give a shit about…. If there were a swear box it would be getting quite full. As dialogue goes, I feel it lacks a certain je ne sais quoi. Do the script writers have these words on a clipboard and paste them in every few lines or so? I think I’ll stick with Shakespeare.

Night is falling and I plan to head off to bed soon. Tonight we have not been to the hospital so we are at home and the prospect of getting to sleep before midnight is deeply attractive. Westie Boy and I had another walk.

We have a deal: he can stick his head into rabbit holes so long as I can take photos. These are my favourite gate posts along the road. I must have photo graphed them dozens of times.

Quite a few of the pictures of hedgerow flowers I have tried to take have suffered from a sudden impatient tug by Westie Boy at the other end of the lead. Really he is not keeping to his part if the deal very well, maybe he resents the fact that I refuse to let him roll in the cow manure that patterns much of the road.

Advertisement

Blog Longevity

When I started blogging it was about getting back into writing. I had just acquired das Boot, and fondly imagined my blog would be a mainly nautical one. But of course there was Cat, and there was Mother, both of whom had contributed to my decision to buy a boat in the first place. Fairly quickly they became my main subjects, and I slowly realised that I was writing a diary. That the blog had become a thinking place, a place where I tried to make sense of things that were going on, and to rant and rage about the things that frustrated and incensed me. There were laughs too. But with Mother, what I have now is a record of her decline, of Aunt’s and my attempts to support her, of our head banging against the brick walls of hospital administration, ignorance about dementia, understaffed schemes, lazy attitudes.