Being of an OCD nature, with more than a hint of Virgo, I apparently seek perfection in all things, and I am not comfortable with things being incomplete or broken.
I plead guilty to most of that to be honest.
So, already feeling that the Gods are toying with me at present, seeing what new wretchedness they can bestow upon me for their own pleasure, I have developed a theory, based solely upon our dining room light fitting.
It is relatively important to me that things function correctly, and are as they should be, so I am a slave to B&Q each time a bulb goes out around the house. So this here dining room light fitting is currently funding the fat cat bonus of Messrs B & Q. Every sodding time I replace one bulb, within twenty-four hours, the one next to it (it’s always the one next to it) goes out.
So I now have two choices. I can either throw another three quid down the swanny, (as they do not sell bulbs in single packs) whilst octogenarian shop assistants chuckle under their breath at the B&Q warehouse, or I can simply never again look upwards in our dining room. Thinking about it, I bought the bloody light fitting from B&Q too, so have they devised an ingenious money-making scam, where the sale of a fitting continues to generate revenue for them on a weekly basis? I both hate and envy them in equal measure.
For now, let’s see who blinks first in this stand-off where I am refusing to buy another bloody bulb any time soon.
It has been a relatively uneventful and unjoyful week, as most of it was spent in work, uncovering fresh misery upon misery each and every day. To add to this nonsense and the light bulb persecution, our potentially restful Sunday was hijacked at around lunchtime. I was due to pick my Dad up from his golf club after his annual “whiskey do”.
This whiskey do involves a round of golf where the winners of each hole take a shot of whiskey. Then back in the clubhouse the whiskey continues to flow, guaranteeing that those participating will be in no fit state to drive home. As the weather has been shocking, I decided to call my Mum at lunchtime to see if the golf had been cancelled, meaning I wouldn’t need to make the trip and scrape my Dad off the nineteenth tee.
It turned out that she was having a recurrence of her troubles from last week, and requested that someone took her to the hospital. So Louise did that, whilst I waited for Dad to phone after his golf to be collected. Upon collecting him it soon became apparent that he’d had a successful round of golf, and taken on board a fair amount of whiskey. I informed him that his planned afternoon of sleep and hangover cultivation was cancelled and we were headed for the A&E.
We met up with Louise and Mum there, and did us some waiting. My Dad, having had fifteen whiskies was probably in the right place, because had I consumed that, I would need to go to A&E too. He was definitely worse for wear, and I’m not convinced he really knew what was going on. After some doctorage, we left them at the hospital for tests etc and went home. Within half an hour of being home (it takes half an hour to drive to or from the hospital), Dad called saying that he didn’t feel great, and could we go and get him!!! We did, with me dropping him at home, and Louise waiting with Mum. Are you keeping up so far?
Eventually, some hours later, Louise has arrived home, leaving Mum for more testage and treatment. She’ll need picking up later, but fear not, I have asked my brother if he’ll step up for that one, as frankly neither of us want to do that journey again today.
So, no-one knows what’s up with Mum right now, and I think that is the worst thing for her, as that causes more worry. Hopefully they’ll get somewhere near to the bottom of it for the sake of her peace of mind.
I suspect come tomorrow morning, whatever the outcome at the hospital, my Dad will feel the worst of the two. If the hangover doesn’t get him then my Mum will!!
I’m hopeful for a more positive and rewarding week to come, and surely on the law of averages, that has to happen sometime soon.
Till the next time…..
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