Phew! That Was Hard But I Did It!

OK Steve, you’ve asked for it!  he who suggests that I couldn’t actually have written yesterday’s post in Spanish – here it is!  Jo, jo, jo!…*

Estaba pensando en hacer el edicion de hoy en espanol.  Que os pensais?  No?  Bueno, vale.  En ingles entonces…

Bueno, es tiempo de confesar: como cuidadera seria fatal.  No tengo paciencia.  Todo el dia esta ocupada en dar medicinas, aspirinas, comida, bebidas y visitas al servicios, y ademas las demandas sin fin de mi hijo por agua, mas agua, hielo, fruta, agua con gas y ibuprofen.  He montado la escalera cincuenta veces hoy, y ahora estoy hecha polvo.  El hijito se pone mejor, pero no es muy bien enfermo: cuanto mas exigente, cuanto mas nos damos cuenta que mejora.  Hoy, por ejemplo, queria un sanwich de manzana y manteca de cacahuete con pan blanco sin margarina y una tostada con mantequilla (pero no demasiado) y un vaso de agua, pero no cualquier agua, sino agua mineral del frigorifico, no agua mineral con gas aunque Mark ha comprado agua con gas… ya os dais cuenta!

Me siento mal quejarme, pero no es la enfermedad, sino las obsessiones.  Pero eso es buen senal, porque cuando estaba reelmente enfermo se acostaba y gemia.  Era horible, sobre todo la noche a las tres.

No he hecho mucho trabajo; sin embargo he escrito un poema sobre una arana.  Me sentia algo orgollosa porque lo termine (en boceto) en un dia, empezando a las seis de la manana.  Me acosto anoche a la hora ridiculo de las ocho y media a pesar de ver una pelicula interesante sobre el ferrocarril indio, y me desperte a las cinco esta manana: por unos minutos no recordaba nada de mi vida, cosa que no occurre desde hace un tiempo.

He tambien redacto los capitulos iniciales de mi memorio, que tiene que ser preparado (al menos los primeros 10,000 palabras) en septiembre.

No malo, dada las circunstancios!

Hasta luego!

Kirk out

*’jo! jo! jo!’ is what Father Christmas says in Spain

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Ouf! Que Estoy Cansada!

I was thinking about doing today’s post in Spanish.  What do you think?  No?  Oh all right then.  English it is…

OK it’s time to admit it: I would make a terrible carer.  I just don’t have the patience.  My whole day is being sucked up by schedules for taking medicine, painkillers, food, drink and toilet visits, not to mention the endless small requirements my son has for water, more water, ice, fruit, water, fizzy water and ibuprofen.  I have been up and down the stairs about fifty times today and I am now exhausted.  The son is getting better, bless him, but he is not the best of patients.  We know he’s getting better, ironically, the worse he is at being a patient: the more demanding and exacting he becomes, the more we realise he’s recovering.  So: today, for example, he wanted a peanut butter and apple sandwich on white bread without margarine and a slice of toast with butter (but not too much butter) and a glass of water, but not just any old water; still mineral water from the fridge, not fizzy mineral water even though we have plenty of fizzy mineral water because Mark went out to buy fizzy mineral water… oh, you get the picture!  I feel bad moaning about him because he can’t help being ill but it’s not so much the illness as the obsessions.  But being obsessed is a good sign because when he was really ill he just lay there and moaned.  It was horrid, especially at three a m.

I haven’t been getting much work done; I have, however, written a poem about a spider.  I was quite proud of this as I completed it (insofar as it is complete, that is to say it is a first draft) in one day, having started it at six a m.  I went to bed at the ridiculously early time of half-past eight last night; in spite of watching an interesting film about the Indian Hill-station railway, I couldn’t keep my eyes open; with the result that I woke up at five this morning: for a while I couldn’t remember anything about my life, something which used to happen a lot but hasn’t for a while.

I have also revised the first few chapters of my memoir, which needs to be ready (or at least the first 10,000 words do) in September.

Not bad going really, considering the circs!

Hasta luego!

Kirk out


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What Day is it Again?

I’m all out of kilter.  I was up at five with Daniel who was going ‘Ow!  Ow!  Ow!’ at regular intervals because his neck was hurting.  I was quite chuffed because I managed to do some relaxation and visualisation with him as well as getting him to ‘breathe out the pain’ – he has always steadfastly refused to do yoga before.  He was able to relax for about an hour and I hoped he would go back to sleep but he was still awake when it was time for him to take his pain-killers, and after that I thought I might as well declare daytime and have a cup of tea.  With the result that I fell asleep over the Archers omnibus at around ten-thirty.

Our days are a hectic round of carefully timed feeding and giving of medicine: Daniel has to eat before taking antibiotics and also before having ibuprofen, so these have to be co-ordinated.  We therefore have to ask him what he would like to eat at least half an hour before the allotted time, so that it can go down a bit: strictly speaking he is supposed to eat two hours before taking the antibiotics, but when you consider that he needs four doses per day and that at some point he needs to sleep, it becomes impossible.  This is not to mention the number of times I’ve been up and down stairs fetching water, fruit, more water, ice, hot water bottles, ice, fruit and water: I fully expect to have lost half a stone by the time he gets better.

So once he went off to sleep fully medicated and pain-killed I consoled myself by watching ‘Withnail and I’.  Some films – most films, no matter how good they might be – can only be watched a certain number of times before you get tired of them: W & I, on the other hand, gets better the more you watch it.  It’s the sort of film you have to get into; though the acting is excellent (Richard E Grant and Paul McGann as out of work actors and Richard Griffiths, hilarious as an effete homosexual uncle) it’s not immediately a film that grabs you.  The plot is loose and not much happens, but it has a charm and the kind of humour that gets funnier with time.

Lines like ‘we’ve come on holiday by mistake’ have become legendary, as has the huge joint known as the Camberwell Carrot.  So if you haven’t seen it, do so immediately.

Oh, and check out this lovely photo of Mark and me, exhausted after caring for our son:

Kirk out




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Is This a Piece of Your Brain?

It’s been like Fawlty Towers here today, what with sick sons, dramatic partners and various storms in teacups.  It’s too hot to be rushing around but I’ve been up and downstairs a million times seeing to Daniel’s needs, and then there was a total bloody panic mid-afternoon when his stiff neck got much worse and everyone (but me) thought it was the aspartame.  I blamed Mark for being a drama queen, he blamed me for not asking for medicine sans aspartame and everyone blamed the medicine manufacturers for putting such a noxious ingredient in their medicine.  So back to the doc’s we all went, looking like some kind of slow-motion dance as we held a hand apiece and manoeuvred Daniel across the road (thank god the doctor’s isn’t further away, we’d have had to get a taxi).  The doctor was quite baffled by Mark’s assertion that he thought the aspartame to blame and she then got an earful from him (and a subsequent apology) about the dangers of that bloody sweetener.  So Mark (bless him) is now en route to the chemist to try to get another antibiotic that doesn’t have you-know-what in it.

I’m being a bit harsh on people here; it’s just that I think a little common sense goes a long way…

Guess who doesn’t believe in common sense?

Anyway, now I’ve got that off my chest it’s time to go and make the dinner since Mark isn’t here to make it.

A toute a l’heure!

Kirk out














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Racked on a Bed of Pain

I am sitting in Daniel’s room at his request, watching him while he sleeps.  The poor lad is not at all well, having had one course of antibiotics which failed to kill his ear infection. His tonsils are inflamed, his glands are up and he has a temperature. So back to the doctor’s we went yesterday, to be given another lot of stronger antibiotics.  And guess what?  This lot have aspartame in.
Now, I am no fan of these unnatural sweeteners, and I always avoid them but it never occurred to me that they would be in medicine!  And Daniel once had a bad reaction to the stuff, so we have steered clear of it ever since.  However I was not convinced that a reaction he had as a five-year-old would be repeated twelve years later, but once he found out about the aspartame he became agitated and there was no way I could get it down him.  So back to the doctor’s I went at the crack of eight o’clock, and I am now waiting for the doc to call me back.  In the meantime Daniel has bitten the bullet and taken the medicine, which was very brave of him as he was terrified of an adverse reaction.
I am going to use the time to go back to reading Proust. A toute a l’heure, mes petits!
Kirk out

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Don’t Drink That – It’s Had a Troll Washed In It

Once Holly as an exercise in writing decided to write down bits of conversation we were having in the household.  I probably still have them somewhere, but I have now accumulated so many notebooks that I can’t begin to contemplate trying to find it: however, I do remember that one thing she wrote down was ‘Don’t drink that, it’s had a troll washed in it.’  The children used to have these little plastic things with long combable hair which I used to call Gonks but they knew as trolls.


There was a glass of water hanging about, and at some point somebody said the immortal words: ‘Don’t drink that; it’s had a troll washed in it.’

I guess every family has its sayings, the mere repetition of which is enough to provoke laughter in the family and bemusement in everyone else.  Ours are, apart from the troll thing, ‘I can’t face it!’ (a joke about when Mark had a hissy fit), ‘it doesn’t come free, you know,’ (Mark’s perennial joke about charging people for comfrey cream) and – oh, I’m sure there are lots of others but I can’t think what they are now.

Do your family have sayings which make you laugh and baffle strangers?  Let me know what they are.

Kirk out



Filed under friends and family, The madness of Mark


Sometimes I wish this blog was like Facebook: that I could interact more directly with readers; that they could comment more easily and we could have a chat without the endless posting and clicking of buttons and signing in and having wordpress insist that I am Mark etc.  Whereas what usually happens is that I catch up with comments the day after I post, and then having made it through the incomprehensibly tortuous screening process needed in order to comment on my own blog!!! I respond to the comment, we’ve all forgotten what the post was about in the first place.

Of course, people do comment on Facebook, but then you can’t see the comments unless you’re a friend of mine on there.

I hope my latest follower comments from time to time: Sandy Ludinski is a caravanner in Australia

and I have always longed to have a caravan.  Actually not a caravan as such: I’d really like a camper van (a VW one if possible) which you can just get into and drive and then climb in the back of and cook and then sleep.  Lovely.  I’ve decided since last summer’s fiasco in Derbyshire:

- that my camping days are over, but a camper van is very appealing.  Perhaps you can hire one for a few days?  Er – yes, you can, but it’s not cheap:

Anyone out there got a camper van they want to loan us for the weekend?

While we wait for offers to flood in, I will just note that the Synod has approved the appointment of women bishops.  Yay!

Kirk out



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