I'm going through my address book writing my Christmas cards. This year there has been a lot of crossings out on the pages. I'm thinking that perhaps I should get a smaller book.
There are friends who I have seen this year who I know are okay. Some are off to try new lives, one family I know off to live in a castle! Some are fighting illness and others are like the new acronym - JAM - Just About Managing.
The cards are chosen to suit my friends' personalies. Those that live by the sea get Lifeboat Charity Cards, those in the cities get glossy gold professional cards. My friend who is a Vicar is the only one who gets a Christmas card with the Nativity on it.
I'm wondering if I am writing to people who no longer exist, whose partners have gone for one reason or another.
I started writing this yesterday, Tuesday, and it was a bad day. I had to rush off mid Blog to take my cat to the vets as he was crying in pain. He went on Monday for a scan of his bladder, and the vet did an unauthorised procedure by putting a catheta into his uretha. Then she tells me that while he was sedated it seemed like a good idea to have a look inside.
Fine you might think.
No. She then told me this was a very dangerous procedure and he could die if he didn't urinate within 24 hours afterwards and to rush him back if he was in pain. She told me this AFTER she had done the op that she charged me £315 for.
So that's why I dropped everything and made a mad dash to the vet.
I was angry that she did not ask if she could do this. As it turned out there was nothing wrong with his bladder BEFORE they operated - he just had cystitus.
This is the same vet who performed an operation without anesthetic on my other cat
last year. Again I had to rush back with an emergency.
After the lovely vet Will gave Ted a painkiller and told me there was nothing wrong he was
just really sore, I needed to clear my head, so I went for a drive to the Garden Centre and
Henry the Butchers - his stuff is all free range and top notch. Guess what? In all the stress I'd forgotten he'd moved! His shop was empty.
He is now about 200 yards away from my house and I drove 10 miles to the Garden Centre!
As I drove back the anger in me was growing so I tried the old technique I was taught at the
Beeb to release pent up tension. Screaming in the car. Fine - had a good old scream and made my throat bleed. Lovely. (That's sarcasm by the way).
Then the car's clutch started to stick and I couldn't get a gear. I had to stop miles from no-where and try and get it into a gear, any gear, I eventually got it into 2nd and then third after that it wouldn't do gears thank you very much, I coasted to a stop outside my house.
I was lucky to get a space. The two bedroom bungalow across the road from us has 8 people and two children living in it, and there were eight cars blocking the road. They have no sense they have a drive that takes 3 cars and a big front garden which they don't use.
No-one here says anything to these people as Tim the gardener told us that they had to move quite a few times as he put it because"the wife was a bit stabby."
"Stabby?" I asked thinking it was Oxfordshire for something or other.
"Yes," he said, "she keeps stabbing people."
End to a perfect day.