Himself was a bit badly yesterday...I put it down to eating pork pies actually, but he said the pork pies were grand and I said they'd taste alright, but who knows what is lurking inside a Tesco's Premium Tasty Pie...squashed up donkey for all he knows.
So he took himself off to bed with a handy bucket in case he threw up 'cos I don't do vomit...can do blood...don't mind blood in the slightest, but don't do vomiting. And he lay there looking pale and wan...I kept offering glasses of water but the stubborn old so and so won't drink when he's poorly and I tell him he'll be carted off in the meat wagon if he doesn't drink...so he takes a tiny weeny little sip just to shut me up...
My ambulant oxygen was still in the car and I can't open it...the car...not the oxygen...don't know why I can't unlock the stupid thing but the key sort of whizzes round and the doors stay firmly closed...so I was doing quite a bit of huffing actually trying to rely on the concentrator with its short piping 'cos I still haven't got around to asking for longer tubing that'd reach the loo if nothing else.
It was peaceful with him dozing in the next room...didn't mind actually 'cos it meant I could listen to a whole story using my headphones and I did loads of rows of the new blanket I'm crocheting...
And I finished the book I was reading on the Kindle...it was excellent but the ending had me pole-axed...never saw it coming for even the briefest second...it left me fretting over the outcome for the people involved, which is the sign of a decent novel I always think...when the characters seem to be real.
He's better today...up early to take the dogs for their walk...there was a very sharp frost...and he's eaten breakfast and lunch without a mishap.
Himself has a new Gt granddaughter...her name is Harper Amelia...thank heavens for FaceAche, otherwise we'd probably not know she'd been born until she was leaving school...! I should think her parents took the name from Posh and Beck's child rather than from Harper Lee the author of To Kill A Mockingbird...
And the local florist, whose name is Ita, called this afternoon with a pretty woven bucket filled with flowers for Mothers Day ...they came from my stepdaughter Teresa, who never ever forgets.
The frog-spawn is sitting quietly in a plastic bucket...the black dots, which will become the tadpoles, are grower bigger...magical when you think they'll turn into frogs...
So all is well in our little cottage...Himself is better...I have pretty flowers to look at...and the sun has been shining all the day long...
Bit Of A Drama...
