Me and the Posh Lollipop Lady

Last night I went to the read- through of the late Julia Darling's The Taxi Driver's Daughter at the Live Theatre In Newcastle with my friend Liz (already introduced on this blog as the paper making friend) . However she is a woman of many talents and besides that of getting me out last night , she introduced me to an Icelandic friend Hermina and together the latter and I pieced together what was going on onstage , easy enough for me but slightly more tricky for Hermina who although fluent in four or five languages found the Geordie accent a bit hard to decipher as the evening wore on , and struggled at times to work out who was who as mother- in- prison transformed into maternal grandma and then into taxi receptionist ( with attendant cough) stopping off in the park as a school bully for a few minutes . And without the benefit of costume changes ..... and with Liz jet lagged following a gruelling work trip to New Zealand and Fiji and dozing off as the non existent curtain rose , it was down to me to help her make sense of it all .
I loved the play and will now need to get hold of the book .
Those of you who are interested enough to read the link will note that there is mention of Ellen PhetheanCatCalls: The Complex Passport Adventure and will recall that recently my sister and I stumbled upon her son's passport on the beach .... it is a small world . Julia Darling: The Taxi Driver's Daughter

After the play Hermina headed for home and Liz and I repaired to a local restaurant , where we sprawled on sofas and looked at photos of her trip in the viewfinder of her digital camera . As well as New Zealand she travelled to Tahiti and Fiji where her baby Ben was buried soon after his birth and I was able to see pictures of his grave and headstone , now somewhat weathered almost sixteen years on . I look back down a long dark tunnel to the middle of the night phone call when she rang to tell me her baby had died inside her and now had to be delivered . I do not presume to know how , or whether she coped , but she has always been a truly amazing friend .
As we stand up to leave , she puts on her various fleeces and her fluorescent cycling jacket over her clothes as her bike is tethered around a dark corner somewhere . A young couple who had joined us on the sofas perk up and the woman quips cheerily , " hey are you a lollipop lady , no you can't be you're way too posh " and on that happy note we leave .
Another weekend .

"Scruffy Tynemouth "

Scruffy Dog walks on Scruffy Beach !

The Times set me straight this week when in an article in the property pages denounced us as scruffy with the words "even scruffy Tynemouth is worth a look if you are thinking of decamping to the seaside and are in search of a bargain " , going on to describe properties available for £160,000 for a townhouse or suchlike . I confess I haven't yet come across them in my weekly scan of the market and suspect they are mixing Tynemouth with our neighbouring North Shields ( "A common mistake ", I think sniffily to myself as I push the Times away and wish yet again that we could afford a less Tory paper ( but for reasons I don't fully understand we are able to get it for free , something to do with vouchers and the like ... and with the gas bill at £550 a quarter a more or less free daily quality paper is not to be sneezed at ( except by me , loudly , when they castigate us as above ).

This morning I return from my 8am swim ( I may be boasting here but after a week doing nothing much apart from moaning about my head I am entitled to enjoy my new found burst of energy and parade it for all ) to find D tasked with assisting our neighbour in the transport of a large pot containing a tree from our house on the edge of the village to its new location in the heart of the village . As our neighbour is in her seventies and the pot although by now located on a trolley and thus , theoretically , mobile , this is no mean feat , and the two of them set off . I would have offered assistance but for the fact that I was waiting in for the plumber , coming to take out the loft room shower , newly fitted last week but found to be faulty . As they departed I felt I should have offered a packed breakfast and those fluorescent armbands we used to wear on the school walking bus . But that's another story .
D returns after an age with tales of Bett's heroism , her stopping the traffic in Front Street and the shouted comments from drivers ( all friendly ) as they waited for the pot to be pulled by the pair across the cobbles . I wish I had a photo for you all .
Later , after the plumber has departed and the shower is allegedly fixed , D and I take the dog to the beach . As we pass a magnificent double fronted mansion(ette) on Front Street D tells me of Bett's tale of her early morning walk earlier this week when she witnessed a police Dawn Raid . At 6am , as she passed by , a band of policemen flew at the door with battering rams and all manner of things and barged into the house . Tempted to stay and see how things developed she decided to keep walking in case of gunshots ( after all this is Scruffy Tynemouth ) and later heard on the news of a drugs and money laundering operation in the heart of the village . Well !

Meanwhile my burts of energy continues unabated and I wash curtains stained by the kittens of yesteryear .
If Laura is reading she will tell me I am Spring Cleaning .
Long Overdue .

And this week ....

.. things which have kept me going through it all , my lovely old fashioned coffee grinder . Even on the days when the head is particularly bad the thought of coming down to grind beans and set the machine off will get me out of bed , though the worse the head is the earlier I will rise . Poor D has become accustomed to waking to me crashing back to the bedroom with the tray loaded with his croissant and coffee ( weaker than he would make it ) and my cereal bar , at 5 45 am which is the earliest I believe I can get away with , though even if it were four I doubt that he would complain so mild mannered is he ( though I did hear a mini tantrum the other morning as the dog pushed him out of bed allegedly for the fourth time . I heard a thump as he landed and stamped off to the bathroom muttering to himself . The dog snores happily on as is her wont . Her position now as Top Dog largely unchallenged except occasionally by me she is very happy and regards life as just how she likes it .

On some days just the getting up and making breakfast and sitting up to read will lessen the pain in my head , sometimes even drive it away . On others it is not so simple .

But its always worth a try and the coffee grinder will remain a symbol of hope .

The room change has been startling . From Pink with spots to tasteful creams , all in the space of a day . The clutter clearing of a teenager's room that went before took two weekends and was a task and a half , all done now . The pictures show the room at its best , empty , though I notice a large skinny greyhound has made her way onto the bed for the tasteful shot . Wouldn't you know it ?

Early this morning two of my High Tension dreams . These have switched recently from the old "I have two exams in the morning and my lever arch files of papers ( history ) sit unopened" , and I am trying to dial a number, to call for help , on an old fashioned phone and I can't complete the dialling without my finger slipping off the dial .

The latest stress dreams seem to involve driving a car with my sister in the passenger seat and we are taking switchback bends on a scenic mountain road far too fast . I usually shout to tell her we are about to crash just as the car starts to spin and I wake .

The more scary one relating way back to my past involves a little black cocker spaniel . I am out walking , sometimes with Alice ( who is always very well behaved and could happily walk off the lead ) , and a little spaniel joins us . She is smaller than the spaniel I had in real life when I was eighteen ( until her death when I was around thirty one ) , but just as jolly . Suddenly she takes off as spaniels are prone to do , and runs out in front of a car . I watch , frozen , as she is in front of the wheels and they appear to engage with her . I stand still . Nothing I can do . The car stops and the dog runs out and on . She is alive and unharmed. The car reverses and I try to hand Alice on her lead to my sister who seems to be with me . I want to chase the spaniel and catch her and keep her safe . My sister refuses to take the lead from me and I wake . Maybe she knows something I don't , having not ten minutes earlier been almost decimated in a car crash by my good self .

Dreams ? Wierd eh ?

Morphine and Me

The respite alluded to in the last post wasn't long ( enough ), and by Sunday my head was neither slimy nor green any more . Migraine was fiery and red and throbbing and I had begun to give up all hope of managing the Day Job on Monday which was what had kept me largely away from the pain killers apart from a handful of what was rattling around in my bedside drawers and which had kept me sane since Thursday morning and indeed allowed me my weekly foray work wise into the children's secure unit and haircut/ head massage ( which may have exacerbated matters ) , and a lovely dog walk on Friday or was it Saturday .... But by Sunday enough was enough and I was at that stage of wanting to bash my head off a wall . Time to dig out the emergency doctor number or think about driving up to the hospital when I remembered a box of something morphine based I had left over from last September and my last stint in hospital .... I offer my usual warning to everyone in ear shot that I am now officially out of action for the duration mentally if not physically and try to avoid the looks which could mean anything from " You ? Youve been mentally out of action since 2006 when this all started for real " to .... well .... fill in the missing statements really . I'm not such a hot mind reader when under the influence of morphine .

I read the attendant leaflet like a good patient in case of any obvious contraindications . Somewhat sketchily really as I am seeing in duplicate and by this stage just want the stuff down my neck . Lurching back to bed I settle with a book pretending to myself I will read until the effects kick in . Its almost half a day before the head stops thumping , though the bang is less insistent and somehow more musical and altogether pleasanter and more manageable . Everything is more tolerable . In fact everything is rather lovely , as I drift off into a wonderful day trip on a pony and trap with the greyhound coming along for the ride . We are in heaven ....

Lawsy has a Slimy Greenhead ...

and mine has been green without the slime ...... I think ....

I still love reading the graffiti that people write on signposts and one of my favourites as a kid was ( as we passed through a little village / town in Northumberland called Greenhead ) "Lawsy has a slimy ( added to the top of the signpost ) Greenhead " . Another enduring favourite was a single cross bar added to the l in Shilbottle . I'll leave that one to your imagination .

But as I picture my migraines in colours , I can tell you that the reason for my lack of postings in these last few days has been due to my own green head . Yes , my head has been completely green for days , with the occasional red fire taking over .
Today was no exception , waking as I did at four am , but I seem to have a respite spell now .
Long may it last .
Something needss to change , though as yet I havent quite worked out what .
Answers on a postcard much appreciated .

CoffinCar: Yoko Ono

We go out in Coffin Car .

The hearse drives you round the city . Salutary experience as you wait to be collected . We wait on a marble seat inside the Baltic art space as our driver is delayed and at this point realise we have given no thought to how this will feel . Too late to turn back . I acknowledge that it is the three year's anniversary of Mandy's death and that when we booked our outing in Coffin Car the dates had not connected for me .

As the car pulls up slowly I flashback to earlier in the morning on the dogwalk when four hearses waited outside the roman catholic curch in the village . The doors of the hearse were still open , and the coffin was gone . The pall bearers wait at the curb side and presumably the service is going on inside the church . As I walk past with the dog the four men and one women , all dressed in black frock coats , laugh at some private joke , surprising me at the time . I expect sobriety in public , but there is no one to see except me , in my puffa jacket , and my greyhound looking curiously at them , tall thin birds , thinner than her . We pass on , to the sea , and on our return they are still there , chilled no doubt in their thin attire , without the running we have done . A long catholic Mass I think to myself . They are not laughing now . But happy enough , in their work, or so it seems .

As Deb and I climb aboard it occurs to me that I had envisaged myself seated in the back of the car , perhaps waving regally from behind a little curtain . Where exactly ? With the coffin ? I had not anticipated the coffin space , rather the funeral car I have travelled in at the funerals of my grandparents , the long car with three or four rows of seats , the lump in my throat and stomach , the shock and horror in every bit of me .

Here there are curtains screening the coffin space and we are in the front next to the driver whom in my head I name Derek though I have no idea who he is .

We have instructions not to distract him . I try not to , though squashed up so tightly next to him in his bulk it is hard not to ask a few questions . He responds that the car is a Daimler and that yes intially there were quite a lot of takers but the exhibition is almost at an end now , not so many now .

We fall silent . Deb offers mints . We pull away . The city stares at us . We stare back .

And later , Nat and I go out , into the city , for a memorial dinner , for Mandy .

Senior Moments ?

D is offering to get up first to put the coffee on but I am keen to do it myself having bought beans yesterday . I love the ritual of the grinding with the lovely old grinder acquired many years ago from a coffee emporium in Kendal and want to try to get the strength just right as yesterday's offering was way too weak .
He on the other hand wants to cook the dog's mince to perfection , thus we are both in the kitchen at 6 45 am rather than one of us snoring on whilst the other brings breakfast up .
As I fiddle about happily with the grinder and run the slightly oily beans through my fingers , he unloads the dishwasher and opens the cupboard where the cups and jugs and glasses reside , then nudges me quizzically . "What ? " I say irritably having already been disturbed by the shrieking of the guinea pigs annoyed that they are not first on the list " Can't you do it ? Ive already had to leave this to feed the pigsters ? "
" No" he says and nudges me again pointing into the cupboard . And there , nestling hard against the cups , in the tight corner near the art deco mugs reserved for Auntie Laura's plain white cup ( the one she likes her tea from ) , stands the half used litre pack of semi skimmed milk . Someone has mistaken the cupboard for the fridge .

" Well fancy that " I say , a tad shaken . " I wonder who put that there , and then , recovering fast ..... " If that were me who had done that , I'd be kind of starting to worry about myself D, why not pop yourself along to see the doctor about pre senile dementia next time you're passing ? " .
" Hmph " he said .

Later I dress in a hurry and call on two sets of cats en route for a swim .
At the second CatCall I notice an odd lump at the back of my knee , about the size of a squashy ping pong ball , but am too busy dealing with bird feeders and such like to worry about it . I itch the lump and wonder fleetingly what it is . The cats are all friendly and chatty and don't seem bothered by it , so I assume its not malignant .

Half an hour later as I try to wriggle out of my tight skinny jeans at the pool ( too tight , under the circumstances ) I wonder if I have under estimated my size when I bought them a couple of weeks ago . They seem especially narrow on the legs . It is at this point I recall the lump behind the knee , and discover , to my horror , that yesterday's underwear are still situated down the leg .. argh ... it is Joanna Lumley all over again in Absolutely Fabulous but of course without the amazing cheekbones or the voice ... or well , without any of her attributes really .
I glance round wondering whether anyone has noticed but the gym- types are all far too busy looking in the mirror , applying make up , or spraying on their lycra to notice my whacking great faux pas and I wonder , is this what is meant by a Senior Moment ? Because obviously its my first and it will probably be ages before I have another ( yeah right . )
Though come to think of it , what did I do with those extra knickers ? Now there's a question ?