Blood on the Carpet

Fortunately I'm not particularly squeamish. 

Last week I was just about to get dressed and start the day, when a blood vessel in an artery in my right leg burst. Heaven knows why because the leg and artery have been part of me for over 80 years without any problems until then.

With my left hand clasped around a folded handkerchief stemming the flow I hobbled round the bed to the telephone.  The line was dead. The phone was out of order. Fortunately my cellphone was nearby and I used that to ring the emergency services. Within no time at all an ambulance arrived and, using the keycode, accessed the front door key and came in. It was a blues and twos call so everyone in the area knew that something was amiss.

After an emergency bandage had been applied they took me to the hospital and after more examinations and another dressing I was free to go home. Fortunately friends from nearby were in town and took me home.  A few days later a district nurse came to review the situation and give me advice on bandaging etc. 

I thought that I was looking at a new carpet and an insurance claim but we have a maker of magic who has a carpet cleaning business on the Island and after some hours of work he had the carpet looking almost as good as new. Certainly liveable with without the hassle of a new carpet and an insurance claim.  Amazing!

Missed!

I missed the month of October.  Not really, of course, in that I was here in the Land of The Living. Just not in Blogland. The first time, I think, I've miossed a whole month since June 2007.  When I woke this morning and realised that that it was suddenly November I also realised just how fast my life is flying by now I'm in my eighties.  

 

I'm no longer making promises to myself because I'm realising that I'm not keeping them and I always  used to pride myself that if I made a promise then I kept it, come Hell or high water.

 

What made me realise how out of touch I was getting was an email conversation with a Blogland pal from the early blogging days. It made me realise, too, just how many of my Blogland pals are no more. 

 

The irony is tht in my 80s I am now fortunate enough to be busier than ever. Or am I? Perhaps the reality is that I am no busier than I ever was but  everything takes so much longer and much more effort. 

 

A friend has just bought a house in Sicily and is moving there. She offered me a ride there. Given that she owns a Bently that was very tempting. The reality is that I will never travel abroad again because, after my history of bouts of sepsis which have appeared so often and suddenly in the middle of the night, I have lost my confidence. 

 

I am fortunate to have lived what, in my terms, has been a very interesting life here and in New Zealand. So despite what would be an absolutely wonderful opportunity to re-visit Italy, a country I love so much, I am staying put in my Island home. I might, of course, pop down to Glasgow occasionally! Fortunately I am reasonably fluent in Weegie. Probably because of my knowledge of Scouse. 

 

 

In My Case It's Duvet Covers

What is the worst household chore if you live alone?

For me it's changing the duvet cover. 

When I was newly married (in 1970) we started married life with the new-fangled idea imported from The Continent - the duvet. 

My wife was brought up in a mansion. Well a very large house in several acres of garden on the very top of a small hill visible from miles around. It was, like many such houses, Baltic everywhere except in the kitchen and living room. The dining and drawing room fires might be lit in the evening in the winter and when visitors were being entertained.  So she had been brought up with duvets.

Eiderdowns (as we called them - the best ones were originally made from the down of eider ducks because it was the warmest) were commonplace on top of one's blankets in winter for those who didn't aspire to duvets.

The duvet was basically a much improved version of the eiderdown and used on top of a single sheet or, indeed, without a sheet but in its own cover.

Since May 1970 I have never slept (in my own house) under anything other than a duvet.

I love them. HOWEVER, once every week, I always used to hate them at the same time. Because that was how often we used to change our duvet cover.  

To be fair if there were two people doing the job it wasn't too bad but on one's own it was a nightmare. 

Over the years, however, I have perfected the art by using pegs on the corners and it's less of a chore. However it is still one of my least favourite household tasks.

Your least favourite household chore is....?

Oh Dear

I think that I'm depressed. 

Not in the true meaning of clinical depression but just generally peed off with life, the universe and everything (thank you, Douglas Adams). 

With apologies to any supporters of Donald Trump who might stumble across this blog, I think that he is one of the main causes. 

I've managed into my ninth decade and am very grateful for the fact that I still have (to some degree or another) all my faculties. That despite, at the age of 15, having a disease that people still die of today. The remedy was to remove a lobe of a lung and, to this day, I'm grateful for the hospital team involved in what, 64 years ago, was quite major surgery. It was after that that I had a very brief bout of post-operative clinical depression. I used to go walking for hours and hours on end alone with my thoughts. It was very short-lived. That was 64 years ago and I've never had a hint since. I count myself exceptionally fortunate. 

The other thing is that I never was an ideas person. However, I'm very good at executing practical ideas provided they are within my capabilities.

I'm very grateful for the readers of the blog who have asked if I'm okay. Thank you. I apologise (again) for the fact that I've been neglecting my blogging duties.

Have any of my other readers who may be, shall we say, not as young as they once were, found that life takes a bit longer in just about every way?

Short of something really drastic happening there will be another post this coming weekend.