I hesitated to post this, concerned at what all my lovely twitter friends might think: “He’s there on his own, grieving for his dad, and now he’s self harming! We have to save him!” I love you guys, but it wasn’t like that; it really wasn’t. I’m doing OK; not avoiding the waves of emotion… Read More »
Content warning: grief, sadness (no rugby in this one) I’m the older brother of three. It shouldn’t make a difference, not after all these years, but it does. I am the executor of my father’s will and so it’s me that is dealing with the solicitor, the bank accounts and the house. It will be… Read More »
I wasn’t really feeling it this week, for reasons which will be obvious if you’ve been following recent events in the world of Bibulous. But 500 Sinful Sundays is some landmark! Not one you’d want to miss.
I stay in Mum’s room when I go to spend time with my Dad. It’s a small room in a small house, a new build retirement place. Like the rest of the house, it’s cluttered in that way that down-sized old peoples houses are often cluttered. a crowded jumble of miss-matched furniture, pictures and nic-naks.
I knew I had to write that last post immediately. My newly discovered sense of compassion for myself was a fish that had often been glimpsed in the water, but had never previously been landed, and then suddenly, last Friday, there it was, flapping about in the bottom of the boat, sure to jump over… Read More »
No, not me! Well; in truth, I am a bit grumpy just now, but this post isn’t about me, its about my father. He’s definitely grumpy; sometimes very grumpy, even downright miserable. Of course, he has every reason to be: a hip operation causing mobility problems, shortness of breath, a malfunctioning heart, problems with his… Read More »
I saw my mum today. First time in the two months since Dad broke his hip. First time since she went into the nursing home. It’s only a few hundreds yards from their house, but Dad hasn’t been able to get there to see her yet. That saddens me because I think he’s putting it off.
I wasn’t going to do.a sinful Sunday this week; somehow it seemed the wrong thing to be thinking about while I’m down here looking after my poor old mum.
I was imagining the next stage of the post-lockdown easing of Covid-19 restrictions. There is definitely a stage coming where we’ll be allowed to meet other people again, but only if we wear Personal Protective Equipment.
Like many folk all over the country, all over the world, I am having having to get used to my own company. Sometimes, I can be relaxed about this; at others, I’m climbing the walls.
Why do all my selfies have to be “big man doing the chores”? After all that baking, grass cutting and ironing, a guy deserves a break, right?
“You want a hand?”I said, hearing that painting was going to be happening while I was her side of London. “Sure” she said, “we could do a Sinful Sunday!” Cue major eye roll from me.