The Holidays are Over

The holidays end today. Back to the grindstone tomorrow. Reality.

Tomorrow.

7.30am. I will rise and maybe shine ..... do a fair imitation of Macbeths witches over the porridge pot ... make lunches ... find school ties, socks, shin guards, mobile phones and possibly the Holy Grail ... all before 8.15. Then THEY will leave for their respective destinations and I will pop on the headless chicken hat and proceed to get me organised.

8.45am. I will arrive at my in-laws house. I will breeze in, all sweetness and light, to the sepulchral like edifice and brace myself for what lies ahead. Sometimes I know as soon as I cross the threshold what awaits me. Sometimes it comes as a complete surprise.

GB's parents are 79 and 83 respectively and I love them dearly.

Kettle on, breakfst prepared, tray ready ... up the stairs and hey presto disaster has been averted, once again, by the timely arrival of the "cup of tea". She will most certainly be civilised when she descends the stairs before 9.45. After the inane, trivial, superficial, necessary chatter I will descend to perform the true function of my visit.

Kettle boiled again, basin to the ready, wheelchair in position ... armed and dangerous, I venture forth to Larry's room. In the last 10 years this precious man has had 3 strokes .... minor ones they tell us ... but nevertheless, he has been robbed of his independence. He is now unable to walk without assistance, incontinent and sometimes very depressed. He will undergo, with great fortitude, as usual, the monty pythonesque performance that is me getting him ready for the day. I am really quite efficient at this task but I do tend to babble on in a vain effort to distract him from the dismal reality of the situation ..... Washed, dressed and in the chair ... off to the bathroom ... followed by more circus like antics, I will leave him to do what he has to do ... or not.

More Macbeth-like carry on over another porridge pot. Kettle on again, tea made, pills organised, requisite slice of lemon in the cup. Back to bathroom, business finished, face washed, teeth in, hair brushed. New man.

The Phoenix will rise from the boudoir .... descend slowly and will be extremely civil to us all. And all will be well with the world.

I will beat a hasty retreat and go like a bat out of hell 10 miles out the road to a pool full of eager water babies ... well not so much babies as middle aged wogglers. Wogglers are ladies who use woggles as part of their aquarobics class. They can also wiggle with their woggles. The possibilities are endless.

Noon. Home again. Mad scatter around the house trying to make it resemble anything but the bomb site it has been for the last 10 years. I tell a lie, 20 years.

3pm. Active retired group - average age 80 - exercise to music class. Great fun.... Hard work.

4.30. Call with groceries to in-laws. Another visit to bathroom.

5pm. Home again, home again jiggetty jig. Slight panic. What gastronomic delights shall I prepare for tonights evening repast?? Ever the good little boy scout "Heres one I made earlier" I love it when I'm organised.

6.30. More aquarobics classes - this time for students and real people in local university. 2 classes back to back. I'm getting too old for this.

10pm. Home again. Catatonic on the couch.

11pm. Load dishwasher, organise laundry, rescue faithful hound from marauding neighbourhood bully cat, try not to panic at the thought of the list of "to do" things that didn't even get a passing glance.........

Midnight. Bed. Snoring, farting, snorting, twisting and turning. Not me. I'm a light sleeper... I can hear the grass grow. To sleep perchance to dream.

And tomorrow?? More of the same. No wonder I like holidays.