Tag Archives: fallibility of memory

I Remembered!

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Julia takes Christmas more seriously than I do

I remembered what I couldn’t remember yesterday. I had a text in the morning telling me that they surgery had cancelled my blood test at short notice. This was annoying fo  number of reasons, including that I am already a week late after working Wednesday last week. My appointment had been for 8.20 (which wouldn’t have been my first choice to be honest) and they had no more appointments that day. So, feeling pessimistic, I rang the surgery to reschedule. I was number four in the queue, then three then two, then one . . .

Whoever was in front of me took ages. They must have been asking something very complicated. I stayed at Number One in the queue . . .

. . . and waited . . .

. . . and tried to keep cheerful whilst waiting, and as the tinny music played . . .

. . . and got through.

I was cheerful and polite and came away with an appointment for 11.40 this morning. It seemed they did have another appointment today after all, and at a much more convenient time.

Christmas in a Tin? See above.

As a result, I was able to stay in bed until 9.00 (clutching the new tartan duvet around my ears) and have bacon sandwich before pottering off, yielding blood at the second attempt and returning home.

I hve thoroughly enjoyed my day so far. It’s  little cold, and the screen was still iced up at 11.20 but  apart from that all is good.

I’ve also found my methotrexate tablets. I’ve missed a week and that really makes a difference in winter, but I found some when looking through my bag. At first I thought they were the ones I knew I had lost, but they aren’t, because the box is different. These are not the ones I know I have lost, these must be the ones that puzzled me a few months ago when I ran out unexpectedly. I must have taken them away with me when we went to Norfolk.

A Quercus Christmas

I am going to have to introduce a memory support system where I  use one big box for tablets, keep a diary and, as Derrick suggested, photograph stuff to remind me.

This, in answer to a question I asked earlier in the week, is when I admit I am getting old.

Imperfection is the essence of a handmade Christmas. I refer, of course, to the wreath rather than Julia, who.like Mary Poppins, is practically perfect in every way. I pointed out that she looks very young in this photo. She pointed out that since this picture was taken she has had to put up with me for another eight years.

I Spoke Too Soon

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Do you remember yesterday and me saying “Meanwhile, I have a sore spot on the arm which had the flu vaccine and no reaction on the shingles arm. Sometimes I really am disappointed in the lack of drama that attends all this vaccination.” ?

Well you can cancel that. About two hours after I wrote it the shingles arm started to ache. It still does. So does my shoulder. It’s rather annoying, particularly as I thought I’d got away with it. Such, as they say, is life. And in two months I can do it all again.

By then I will have forgotten all about the reaction. I’ve just been reding random posts that WP keeps suggesting for me, and I find that I did have a rection to one of my Covid boosters. I’d forgotten all about it and honestly didn’t think I’d had a reaction anyone.

Julia has gone to Norwich for a few days to see Number One Son. She has primed me for all eventualities and seems to have forgotten that I lived on my own for 12 years before I got married. I married her because I fell in love at first sight, not because I needed someone to organise my life.

In fact there is a distressing tendency for my life to become less organised when she gets involved. I’m a dull plodder who believes in minimal effort and the benefits of repetition. Take tonight, I’m going to have fish fingers, potato wedges and mushy peas.

Tomorrow, as I will still have half a pack of fish fingers left, I will be having fish fingers, potato wedges and mushy peas. It’s simple, it’s delicious and it’s cheap. And it allows me to cut and paste. However, Julia would never allow me to eat the same thing twice. She wants different food each day. I’ve never understood why.

I will end this by saying that although I am missing her, I’m also looking forwards to a couple of nights of running my life like I want – repetitive nursey food, reduced personal hygiene (I really don’t see why I need a clean shirt every day, for instance), and watching Decline and Fall (she wasn’t keen).

L-R: No 2 Son, Julia, Number 1 Son. You could probably have worked that out if I’d just have pointed out Number 2 Son. By deduction the other one must be Number 1 and the midget in the middle must be Julia.