I feel such a mess. I missed having a haircut last month - I'd had my hair cut shorter than usual at the end of December because I knew I'd have to miss a cut, but then I forgot all about it and it only just occurred to me what a scruff I am. Well, I always know it, but worse than usual. Anyway, I went in to book an appointment and - oh joy - there had been a cancellation so I can go next Wednesday. Thank goodness I don't have roots to have grown out. One good thing about being shortsighted and unobservant is that I don't notice grey hairs so don't think I have to do anything about them.
Anyway, I'd meant to make cakes for Sunday this afternoon, but Weeza and Zerlina came over, and so did Pugsley, so that was far better. There is always time for catching up with things, but not always with people. Although, frankly it will just mean that the cakes I do make will be more thrown together than lovingly hand-crafted. They will be delicious, though, right?
Ahem.
Right?
Anyway, a seven-week update, and there's not much more to say. I ventured to lie on my left side for a while in the night, with a cushion between my legs so that my right hip couldn't drop. I can put tights on and sometimes socks - that is, I can put on my left sock but I managed a looseish right sock a couple of days ago, by getting it close to my foot and poking - without using my sock-aid. And I cut my toenails last night in the bath (very careful not to lose bits because that would be horrid*) and sat on the floor, as is my usual habit, to dry off afterwards. So all is going very well. I'm still cautious and only do what I'm very comfortable with. I've got an appointment with my consultant on Tuesday, after which I'm rather relying on being able to drive, by the Friday at any rate, as I have a meeting in Bury St Edmunds to which I've promised a lift to a friend, who had her new hip less than a fortnight ago. She has been able to nobble a disabled space at the Cathedral, which is jolly good, as otherwise I'd have to drop her off, go and park and come back - it'd add another 15 minutes but at least would be physically unremarkable. At the last meeting, in December, we limped back to the car park together. So things are much better.
I found myself a bit late again this morning. The Sage was prancing around early, as he heard talking outside but it was the milkman who'd brought a friend (we had the window open so could hear their voices) and then he came back to bed and we entwined our legs somewhat and went back to sleep, so when I woke around 7 o'clock, I couldn't move without disturbing him. So I stayed put. I finally had to get up, waking him, when there was only half an hour to go before I was due to leave the house.
* I trust you all notice that I use horrid and horrible with correct differentiation between them.
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But it must be damn cold on the floor. Drying. *shudders dithering*
Oh no, I have a warm bathrobe on and sit on the bathmat with another towel for my feet. If I stand or sit on a chair, my feet get cold. I sit and read while I steam away gently until I'm dry.
There are floorboards in the bathroom, not tiles, by the way. This is an old house and the floors and walls are too uneven to tile. Besides, I like old wood better. And it's warmer, of course.
* umm...please educate us, z. I know what I *think* the difference is, but I don't think I'm right.
*determines never to mention the toenail he found in a cake*
Horribilis means dreadful or frightful and horridus means bristling or rough (which, by extension, can be unpleasant). So if Dave ever refers to the horrid jelly I serve him, it will be his subtle indication that he has found another toenail. But if I say he has a horrid beard, it may just mean that he has given me a particularly bristly kiss.
Neither is (are?*) likely.
*As you know, I no longer care about grammar.
Is.
Are you sure it wasn't the quill of a chicken feather in the cake, Dave? It seems rather more likely than a bit of toe. I'm normally quite careful about that sort of thing.
You can see, I've been dwelling on this rather.
a. I'm determined never to mention it.
b. I didn't say it was one of your cakes, did I?
Oh Dave, you had me going there!
I have, unwittingly served a sliver of fingernail...horridible.
I was driving my friend Margaret soon after her hip replacement and a jutting wall hit my car with an unholy bang. Margaret was fine but I was in bits thinking I'd damaged her hip. She was fine but I almost had a nervous break down.
My mother only has her head left to replace. Bloody bionic she is...;-)
I hope you ate your own fingernail, at any rate.
I remember your accident, Pat, it put you off driving for a while, didn't it? Your lovely husband sorted out the car and you took some lessons to restore your confidence. (I do take notice, you see!) You do feel awfully responsible for other people - I'm feeling a bit nervous about Friday now!
Starting with the head can be a good idea, actually, 4D.
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