This on breakfast TV this morning buoyed me up.
I was going to write about depression, you see, because I don't think I can carry on writing this stuff here without putting in a little bit about the disastrous life behind the disastrous writing non-career here. It's not me that's officially depressed, but, after another difficult weekend, I think I could be heading that way. Not that I'll give into it - a bit like writer's block and death I'm one of those deluded idiots who thinks if I don't let it in it'll never happen.
Part of the misery top-up this weekend was visiting my mother to celebrate her 95th birthday. This consisted of motorway for 2 hours in driving rain, wading through air thick with chemical air-freshener up 3 flights of stairs, punching codes into each door to gain access and so to mother's triple-locked ward at the top of the building. After I present and open the white towelling robe (What do you give a person who has no life? It was either that or a dancing penguin, I wish I'd bought that now) we sit and talk with my sister, every now and then trying to engage mother, who sits in her wheelchair, more frail than ever, looking downcast and miserable. She only perks up up when we're leaving. Which is the pattern. She used to growl 'go away' as a welcome but hasn't got the energy to do that any more. If you go to kiss her she'll lash out. We don't try any more. We weren't a kissing family anyhow and it's always felt a bit awkward, coming in, as it did, around the air-kissing phase of the 90s. Anyhow, that was that. There are good things about the place, namely the people who work there, who are great, but there's no access to the outside and they're not allowed to have flowers or plants in case they eat them. Now the scary aggression has gone, she could live with us, if we had anywhere to live that was - another major contribution to the glooms of the moment.
It's my father's birthday today, born in 1899, he would have been 108!!
Bye bye, thanks for visiting, come again soon.