Gillian (san_valentine) wrote,

Home, comfortable home.

Today I got back from a short visit to Mum in Norfolk. I haven't seen her since Dad's funeral, last November. I would have gone early in the New Year, but she fell over on Xmas eve and broke her hip, so was in hospital for a month or so. I did book train tickets to go down early in April, but I'd had another relapse and just wasn't feeling well enough, so I had to cancel and give myself enough time to recover properly.

She's muddling along OK., although I think she's lost some weight, I keep reminding her to eat at least one proper meal a day which she does, although not very large portions. Not that she needs much, as she spends most of her time in her chair watching telly, reading the morning paper and doing her puzzle books. My two brothers both visit: one lives a few streets away and the other is a couple of hours away, but has just retired and comes down about once a fortnight. She has a couple of friends who take her out for a cuppa now and again and she shuffles to her hairdressers once a week for a shampoo and set. Luckily there's a large Morrison's nearby, where my brother's wife and son both work. Mum lost her licence due to eye problems this year so sister in law has use of her car now.

The house was too hot as usual, even after I turned the central heating off. Also, the only remotely comfortable chair is Dad's old recliner and I don't like to stay in that for much longer than it takes to watch an ordinary movie. Most of the time I'm moving from one kind of discomfort to another and it's too hot to be capable of anything much other than reading, browsing the internet or watching tv, and the only tv now is Mum's, so it's up too loud (she's mostly deaf) and has subtitles. And for some reason she likes the colour set to bright, so everyone has lurid complexions. Maybe it's because she doesn't bother wearing her glasses often and can see things better with lurid colours. She doesn't see dirt and crumbs very well, so I always do some cleaning when I visit. She doesn't seem to notice that either, but I feel better, knowing things are cleaner and that random mouldy things in the fridge have been thrown out. (Mum says she's sure it was salad in that plastic container, but I swear they used to be figs. It was hard to tell.)

She kept saying how much she liked having company in the house, even though we spent move ot the time in separate rooms. Her big telly has USB ports, so I plugged in the flash drive I'd brought, and we viewed the rather random collection of photos on it. I also had a chat with my brother, Geoff when he phoned, carefully timing his call so it didn't clash with Coronation Street. I must email him and ask him to check the fridge for dubious substances when he calls.

Catching the train home got more exciting than usual this morning. As Mum can't fetch me from the station now, I called Station Taxis as I was approaching Wymondham on Monday afternoon,. The local taxi firms tend to be small scale and they couldn't send anyone for till nearly an hour after I reached the station. A second firm said much the same, so it was third time lucky. With this in mind, I called another firm last night to prebook a taxi for this morning at 11:30. I wasn't worried when they were a couple of minutes late, but did worry when it got to five minutes late. The train was a 11:52. I called them: the husband had written the address wrong (something that sounded similar). Wife had gone to pick up, no one waiting, couldn't call me back as didn't have a number until I called them. Wife showed up, apologized, and promised we'd make it.
   The station really isn't far away, but you still have to cross the bridge to reach the opposite platform for trains out of Norfolk. We made it to the station by about 11:47. I was told to set off while Mrs Taxi picked up my heavy rucksack and carried it over the bridge and down onto the platform for me. We got there with a couple of minutes to spare. My attempt to pay was waved off and she departed to get back to the taxi that was more or less abandoned in the car park, rather than actually parked. A close call, but all's well that ends well.
Tags: family, norfolk, parents

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