Teeth!

Sunday was memorable for me biting into an apple and losing a chunk of filling from one of my molars. I have done this before and there is little of the tooth left but enough, I hope to hold another filling. I just can't bear the thought of having to actually lose any of my teeth. Since then, my tongue has become gradually more and more sore from the sharp bit of tooth which it catches on whenever I talk.
Luckily, I only had two clients today and none yesterday, of course, as it was a bank holiday but I did have a longish  lunch with a friend and that involved a fair amount of talking.
Tonight, the sore tongue means that I shall be talking as little as possible, which Keith might be quite pleased about (although he would know better than to admit it, of course!) and tomorrow, I am off to the dentist.
What joy!

Keys in another context

Something on television the other night turned our conversation to wife-swapping parties, the kind where everyone throws their car keys into a bowl and then takes pot luck.
 "I suppose you've been to lots of those parties?" I said (joking!)
He looked thoughtful.
"Yes, but the trouble was, I never managed to get a decent car."
So, how do we break it to him that that really isn't the point of the exercise?

A Mother's Story: In memory of Hugh

A Mother's Story: In memory of Hugh

Washing up - or not

Picture the scene: a bowl of washing up water still in the sink. You can tell it's washing up water by the bubbles floating on the top. On the draining board, four inches from the bowl, Keith has placed his dirty plate - not in the bowl, but  four inches away from it on the draining board.
WHY??? I ask.
He answers:
 "Well I wasn't sure it was washing up water, you might have been bleaching the sink" (Not sure how osmosis was supposed to occur between bowl and sink, but I let that pass.)
"Well, the water might have been there for you to wash your socks in."  (Wot???)
It is clearly a man-thing, so if any male reader can explain to me why men find it totally impossible to put dirty dishes in the right place, I would greatly appreciate it.
Mind you, at least he now leaves them on the right side of the kitchen  - progress of a kind.

Mobile Keith

One of the drawbacks of Keith having foot and leg problems is that he can't walk more than a few yards at a time so walks together are out. If we are on holiday, we get as close as possible to the local chateau or other attraction in the car and then I nip out and take myself of on a quick tour round it, while Keith waits in the car. However, before we took our caravan on its maiden tour at the weekend, he bought himself a folding bike.
(Here he is having a quick practice.)                                                                    

So, we packed our bags and set off on Friday for a very nice caravan park two miles outside Barmouth, in spite of the worrying weather forecast, which actually proved to be not nearly as bad as predicted. It is amazing how being only fifty odd miles away from home seems just as much of a break as being much further away and we had a lovely, peaceful weekend, not doing very much but enjoying not doing it - if you see what I mean. This caravan site was only a few minutes walk away from the sea and from the promenade, which goes all the way into Barmouth, which meant that Keith and I could walk Paddy together, me on Shank's

Pony and Keith on his bike. For the first time in four years, Keith is mobile!                                                 

He's not quite ready for backflips yet though!                                            

A Mother's Story: The anniversary

A Mother's Story: The anniversary

A Mother's Story: This is the week

A Mother's Story: This is the week