Oh! Hello! I notice it is Friday. The end of the week for most people, save for shift workers, retirees, the jobless and those whose attention wavers from the calendar. It is also April Fools Day. The Day of Fools. Not many societies, I suspect, can claim a day (well, actually only half a day cos it all ends at midday) set aside in the calendar just for Fools. I missed the possible joke on the Today programme this morning but truth be known, I have managed to spot the joke for several years, so I guess I didn't miss it that much. I also missed the spoofs in the newspapers on account of the fact that I only ever buy a newspaper now once in a blue moon and usually use it to light the fire rather than read it. Whilst I remain politically active, committed and impassioned, I am so fed up with the spin doctoring of the presentation of news. One misplaced , misjudged word can throw the entire 'story' out of kilter.
It's been a sort of frustrating day really. I wanted to 'get on' and 'do stuff'. No! Honestly, really I did. I had intended to do a little of this, a bit of that, some of the other and a lot of the thingie. The Rat-in-Me-Back; the telephone and the distraction of the bag-o'-words in me head saw a different outcome. I did so the fire thing; the collecting of the wood thing and the chopping of the sticks thing. The Rat-in-Me-Back appears to have smuggled in a cousin of his into his lair cos each time I have tried to pick something up, or move something, or, indeed make my way through the throng of animals, the Spiteful Cousin stuck a red hot knitting needle deep into my bone causing me to yell out. First layer of frustration.
A little light distraction with the computer games temporarily puts the pain on the back boiler. Doesn't make it go away of course otherwise I wouldn't need the meds, but concentrating on something else takes the focus away from those nasty little teeth as they chew through my nerves. I haul the weary carcass to the village and had intended to let MaddyMoo loose at Howden's Pullover for a bit. I even packed a fresh new tennis ball, such was the sincerity of my intent. But. Got as far as the store. Now, I am currently greatly in need of meat and I toyed with the idea of getting some bacon so that I could do baked potato dressed with bacon bits, beans and grated cheese. Before I went to the butcher I just checked again the dwindling stock of coinage in my wallet. After the third moth flew out I realised that purchasing bacon would mean the non purchasing of another essential item. Turning away from the butchers me and Percy, my walking stick, hobbled into the store to ponder.
Once upon a time I rampaged through the world at 90 miles an hour, carried a tonne of produce and groceries, knitting my own yogurt as I planned the next exciting adventure for my family and friends or worried about the next project at work. These days, I lopsidedly shuffle from aisle to aisle trying to remember what it was I HAD decided I might buy. Choice at my local village store is limited. Time spent preparing and producing food is also limited. Sometimes I have to eat and I have to eat NOW! There was nothing that leapt out and said 'eat me eat me!' So I settled for a tin of mushroom soup and some high fibre wholemeal bread. Second layer of frustration settled down without my noticing.
As I fired up Florence the Rat-in-Me-Back and his Spiteful Cousin danced around the already overheated damaged area of my back and I realised that, uh oh! yet again, I was out of time with the meds. 'So sorry MaddyMoo' I said 'I need to go straight home, eat and then take the meds.' 'Minnits' I said unconvincingly, our word for maybe, soon ...
I used to be scared of microwaves. Way too scary for me. All that talk of danger and leaking and radiation and rock hard stuff you had to eat with a pick axe and hammer made me very nervous. I managed to keep my first microwave with a power factor of about 250 watts for about 12 years. It's longevity probably explained by the fact that I barely knew how to do anything with it other than make things hot so it was unlikely to get worn out. My current version is a little more powerful, all shiny stainless steel, and, I'm told, quite capable of splitting the atom or at least cooking a joint. I have mastered about one third of the controls and knobs and functions ... It is of course ideal for heating soups, re-heating cold cups of tea or coffee or heating frozen foods what I have saved from a previous cooking session. Mmmmm mushroom soup I thought.
Once upon a time if you needed to open a tin of food, you had to use a rather peculiar shaped instrument that looked a little like a fat fork with two prongs. One prong was actually a cutting blade sharpened into a point and the other prong had a nick cut into it where you placed the rim of the tin, once, that is, you had stabbed the tin with the pointy bit to make a hole in the lid. The technique required that you carefully and slowly manipulated the cutting blade around the whole of the lid until you were able to, everso carefully prise the cut tin lid away from the body of the can and access the food therein. The secret was to make sure you had just enough of the lid to manipulate; not only to expose the food but also to ensure you did not slice the top of your fingers off. The experienced pracitioner learnt, after several cans of food were spoiled with blood, to use the two-pronged can opener to remove or bend the lid backwards rather than your naked fingers. Armed with appropriate microwaveable container I picked up the tin of mushroom soup with its new fangled ring pull lid. Turn ring, straighten ring, insert finger and pull backwards towards you. No more ripped digits with this new invention. Ah! The ring on the tin was broked. Three failed attempts later, four expletives deleted plus sore forefinger, I reached for the swanky tin opener. Three failed attempts later I realised that the siting of the easy new ring pull lids were actually a tad deeper than the depth of the cutting wheel on my fancy can opener. Third layer of frustration solidified into temper tantrum.
At the end of the 15 minute process of trying to prepare a light, but warming, lunch in order to line my stomach prior to the injestion of the overdue meds, there was: a sore forefinger; a half opened can of mushroom soup, a draining board decorated in mushroom soup artfully arranged in the style of Jackson Pollock and a blue tinge to the air in the kitchen as various filthy Anglo Saxon words looked for somewhere to hide. Nice.
And so, once more I have procrastinated, put off dealing with the troublesome stuff, the stuff that's too big for me to deal with but I have enjoyed a wonderfuly long telephone conversation with Beloved Son and Heir and my lovely Daughter-in-Law; my Best Friend, chatted with my chums, and heard that the final stages of the end of the Second Age are approaching the final straight where freedom beckons. Now all I need is for someone to ...............
Love and Peace
THE Purple Fairy xxx
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