There are some days when I wake up and find my back hurts, I’m feeling tired and pretty fed up for no apparent reason. My back problems began years ago, aggravated by too much ten pin bowling and carrying heavy £100 bags of silver in each hand at work. I hadn’t been married very long when I was laid up for a fortnight with instructions to lie flat without pillows and had a fistful of painkillers for company. If I rolled over in my sleep, the resulting agony would wake me up and I had to ask The Ex to push me over. Getting up was a gruelling challenge, and we put a notice on the front door saying to give me plenty of time to answer the door bell.
Of course when I got back to work, I was the subject of lewd jokes, and I let them get on with it, as quite honestly, their reasons for my malady were much more inventive and interesting than the truth of leaning over the chair to turn off the stereo.
Various crunching sessions, manipulations and X-rays over a multitude of years have determined that I have arthritis in my lower back, and although it’s not usually a problem for me, there are days when I just hurt.
Like today. And yesterday actually.
I’m tired whenever it rains at night. Hubby loves the rain. It lulls him to sleep, even when camping, and he is soon snoring softly. Not so me. Having got more than slightly damp due to a hole in the groundsheet once (on my side of course before we got the proper camp beds) and having had a leaky roof and a window here (now both sorted) , every time there is a possibility of rain in our area, I’m checking the weather radar map for pink, red and white splodges that may be heading our way.
We discovered a few years ago that our soak-aways didn’t. The gutter downpipes may have disappeared into a hole, but when the resulting puddles didn’t drain away, we took a closer look. The ‘soak-away’ was a brick covered with a plastic bag and the water had nowhere to go. The downpipe at the back of the property was also always overflowing, not just because there was no soak-away there either but it was jammed solid with moss for about seven of its eight feet length. Property maintenance was obviously not one of the previous owner’s priorities (hence leaky roof stuffed with towel and missing brick behind fascia board) . Hubby came out and saw me looking at the guttering, roof, garage and downpipe. The garage roof was on a slant, so I asked if there was any reason we couldn’t divert the guttering to go across to the garage, run a length of waste pipe along the side of its roof following the downward angle, and put a downpipe at the end that would disperse the water out into the bushes. Doing that and digging in a french drain to take all of the other gutter water away from the property solved the problems. We were lucky and only had puddles to contend with, nothing like the recent floods elsewhere in the country, and I extend my sympathies to the current UK flood victims.
I’m fed up because that annoying pound I put on over Christmas has had twins. I’ve moved the scales all over the bathroom floor trying to find a friendly spot, switched the display from Kilos to Stones and Pounds and then to just Pounds but the readings are not in my favour. I also changed the batteries, which made it worse, so put the old ones back in. All of the Christmas goodies have been dispatched /disposed of/ eaten, the pud is still in the cupboard, and desserts are off the menu. I’m due to see the diabetes nurse in a fortnight, so although I know I’m marginally lighter than my last check up, no doubt her scales won’t reflect that, so I need to get back on track.
Tonight’s evening meal is the other half of a two-fer, being sweet and sour pineapple with rice and mixed peppers (yesterday we had the sauce with pork and rice) .
I’m mostly fed up though because my cup broke. The handle started singing in the washing up bowl and when I picked it up, fell off. Not that it was a special cup given to me as a gift, just a typical £1.99 mug from one of the discount stores in town which suited me to a T, as it had TEA written all over it in various graphics, styles and font sizes. I’ve always preferred tea to coffee, a bit of a standing joke as my first in-laws never drank the stuff and had to buy teabags and a pot just for me.
My cup was big, held almost a pint so I didn’t need a refill, and kept the contents hot so I could savour the contents without having to rush. I cannot abide milky or cool tea. Not like Hubby who’ll drink his even if it’s gone completely cold (shudder) . My morning cuppa out of My Cup would set me up for the day.
We have always had our own mugs. Even regular visitors had specific mugs in our previous houses. When we had our clear out, I kept the 6 matching mugs for guests, Hubby’s mug, Mum’s mug (a cute little green flowery thing with ‘Mum’ written across a daisy) and mine. The visitors mugs don’t hold much. Not that I’m mean or this is a ‘dry house’, it’s just that they came with the dinner service. So my only option was to use Mum’s mug until I can get a replacement. As mugs go, on a scale of one to ten I’d give it 6. That’s how many mouthfuls I get. I also have to drink it quick because having a top almost twice as wide as the bottom, the contents cool pretty sharpish. OK for elderly Mums of course.
Roll on Thursday. The car’s going in for a service and MOT, and we can do a detour on the way.