I feel like a pawn in someone else's game.
I'd like that game to be Twister, but I don't think my Mum's leg is up to it. The good news though is that she's out of hospital, and has managed to avoid catching MRSA. Sadly I failed to get to Chelmsford in time to set eyes on the B17 bomber ward, due to being held up at Brighton Jobcentre chatting to a woman with big earrings about the state of the British sandwich industry. As a result I didn't leave the south coast until midday, by which time a crack team of medical experts had given my Mum half a bowl of Rice Krispies and sent her home.
Fortunately however, I arrived just in time to take delivery of the get well chocolates from Big Sis, which, I'm pleased to say, were very nice. I'm now working my way through the basket of get well fruit. Frankly I feel better already.
As for my Mother, following three hours of complicated vein surgery, her leg is now bandaged to high heaven and she's got enough painkillers to take down an elephant. Oddly enough though, she hasn't felt a thing so far, and hasn't had to take any pills. Mind you, she's only got the surgeon's word for it that he actually did anything to her while she was unconcious. Personally I think he was out playing golf.
Anyhoo, the doctor's instructions are that she has to keep moving, and mustn't stand still. It's like the pensioner version of Speed. If she drops below 3mph her leg will explode. So I did my bit to aid her recovery by forcing her to walk to Sainsburys with me yesterday afternoon for some medicinal lasagne to go with my get well bananas. The surgeon didn't say she had to push the trolley and carry the shopping, but I thought it wouldn't hurt.
So satisfied that my Mum was on the mend, I decided to leave her doing circuits of the kitchen and go to Southend for the evening to visit my brother. Having convinced my 8-year-old niece that my moustache wasn't fake (that only took about half an hour), she declared that I looked like a Colonel, while my sister-in-law said I reminded her of Kevin Costner in Wyatt Earp. Thus proving she's a lot more polite than the rest of my family.
My niece is currently into the idea of unpowered flight, so we spent an enjoyable evening trying to parachute off the top of the stairs with an old bedsheet, and attempting to fly with a pair of cardboard wings. Interestingly, despite the fact that she'd made them, it was muggins here who had to take the inaugural flight each time, and I'm not sure the scatter cushions at the bottom of the stairs were really sufficient to pass health & safety guidelines.
But the good news is we survived, and having read her a chapter of the Narnia books, admired her new wardrobe (I'm not sure if the two are connected), and examined a photo of her with an owl (don't ask), there was just time for me to hear the story of the severed mouse head on the doorstep, and handle the green slug monster, before I was waved goodbye with the immortal words: "Make sure you shave before I next see you". I knew I should have stayed with my Mum.