Saturday started with physio. Then coffee with Laverne. We had a good chat. Her bunny boiler stalker was there and tried to butt in constantly. She’s now actually tried to ‘friend’ me on Facebook, so now as this a direct action I’m going to have a word with her and probably destroy her. Sarah and I then went to visit mother. Her leg is very inflamed, looks like it’s going to burst. I’m sure it’s just the healing process, but she needs to make the effort with the physio or she’ll never go anywhere. I know what she’s like and will moan forever more and just expect it to ‘work’. The four of us went to the pub last night and drank too much, it was a good night. We walked home and I went straight to bed.
I had breakfast at about half eight and was out with Sasha at nine. I really don’t do hangovers, I’m a professional alcoholic. Mother is apparently moaning that she’s been moved into a small room with no on-suite and no television. Now. You’re not going to like this. Call me a cunt if you wish. But out there somewhere, some poor man’s mother, grandmother or aunt has just had a really nasty fall and broken her hip. He probably won’t be cracking any jokes about sending her to a cemetery and will be really grateful that the ambulance people have taken her to A&E and they are looking after her really well. He’ll also be pleased that there is a space on orthopaedics and she’ll be operated on tomorrow. So here is my point. She was very well looked after and operated on immediately. She hasn’t recovered as quick as everyone would like. But I’m afraid she’s not in mega pain and on a shitload of morphine anymore. I don’t want to here all this ‘well what about if it was your mother’, it is my mother, she doesn’t have private medical insurance and she was treated bloody brilliantly. Selfish? No, not at all, I’m just thinking that someone else really requires that bed. No she isn’t in a state to come home, she may have to spend a week next to a filing cabinet without a toilet or TV. I’m sure she will still receive excellent care. But I’m sorry, I know what she’s like. She expects the bloody thing to heal itself and she’ll be tangoing in no time, but she just doesn’t put in the effort. Physio is fucking painful. My therapist usually has me crying in pain by the end of the session. She enjoys it. I don’t. But I’m still booked in next weekend.
So, to today. Well Shaun and I (that’s the B-I-L dear readers) started at B&Q buying plumbing shit. We then basically spent the best part of ten hours together in a small bathroom. Ripping out a bath, tiles and dodgy plaster. By the end of it we have the plasterboard all up and ready to tile. I’m sixty quid down, completely buggered my leg to the point I’ve now had to down co-dydramol and wine to take the pain away. But to be honest, with the state of the walls, we made a bloody good job of it. There’s a few bits of touching up to do, but by the time it’s tiled it’ll be fine. But I just know, we could present her with the ultimate shower room, all converted and ramps everywhere, and she’ll open her big fucking gob and say ‘you got cement on my carpet’ and I’ll want to kill the bitch. Sorry folks, but I’m ‘case hardened’, and I’m afraid there’s nothing in the world that will change my views.