Cordless phones and short fuses.

I am up early on Saturday and put out a line of washing before breakfast, which is just toast and honey this morning. Before leaving the house, I pack Felicity's new phone into a bag and find a telephone socket splitter, so that her cordless can sit alongside her existing corded phone, in case she can't actually use it. After breakfast I programmed in some numbers for her, those for her daughter, sister, some friends and Hanne and myself. Norman and I park in the Greyburn Lane car park, which is only minutes from Albert Terrace, and then make our way to Felicity's house. She is in good spirits when we arrive and actually manages to use the cordless phone, as soon as I am able to set it up. Which I am only able to do by unplugging a digital radio, which her son bought her and which she says she can't use. In a stroke of genius, I tell her to ignore all the program keys at the top of the phone and just use 0 to 9 to dial and the send button with its green telephone icon and the end button with it's red icon. She masters this quickly and phones a couple of friends, I then call her from my mobile, but she says it doesn't work, until I realise she is holding the send button down permanently, once this is resolved she can both send and receive calls on her cordless phone. I decide this is enough for now and we set off for the Poppy Seed, Felicity wants to walk, as it is another fine morning, this soon turns out to be a mistake, as she only gets fifty yards or so before she needs to rest. She has been in hospital for almost four weeks, apart from a couple of days in the care home, and hasn't walked more than this short distance in all that time, but by taking frequent rests, and sitting on a low garden wall, down Wood Lane, she gets there somehow. All the gang are waiting and delighted to see her, but after a few minutes she realises she can't find her shopping bag, which contains both her house keys and her purse. I leave Norman in Hanne's care and retrace our steps, finding the bag, untouched, by the wall Felicity sat on down Wood Lane. I return to the cafe and give her the bag and then settle down to drink tea, by now it half past eleven and Felicity realises that a carer from Independent Living is coming at midday, to give her lunch. She also needs to go to the Beverley Building Society in the Market Place, to withdraw cash. It does not compute, the car isn't allowed in the Market Place on Saturdays and she is both too weak and too slow to walk there and home in the time available. The problem is solved by me fetching the car for her and giving her £40, for which she writes a cheque. I deliver her back to her house and help her onto her bed, which is in the kitchen, she is absolutely shattered, the carer arrives and I leave her in charge, before walking back into town, having by pure luck been able to park outside Felicity's house. Norman and I potter around the market, where I fail to find an electrical adapter, the man on the hardware stall tells me he stopped selling them because Wilco's could do them much cheaper. Wilco's is on the end of Toll Gavel, so Norman and I walk there and I tuck him under my arm and enter the store, asking a woman assistant where the adapters are, she tells me they are upstairs, but also that dogs aren't allowed. The force can have a strange effect on the weak minded and I convince her that Normy is really a pyjama case. Either that or she decides it isn't worth the hassle arguing with an eccentric old git. The adaptor is really cheap, a four socket extension lead, with a metre long cable, for only four pounds. We make our way back to the Market Cross, where I have arranged to meet Hanne, we are going to discuss if there is some way of helping both Felicity and Melissa. We walk to Swaby's Yard and sit outside at Perk U Later, where Norman and I share a sausage sandwich and Hanne has a mineral water, as she is a FAST diet convert. Hanne has known Felicity for over thirty years and her view of the problem between mother and daughter, is the same as mine, Felicity won't/can't communicate with Melissa on an Adult to Adult basis and alternates between parental and childish modes, a la Eric Berne. The result is frequent fall outs, but getting in the middle of that is highly problematic, so we decide to see how things progress over the next few days. Melissa has to have a minor procedure on her foot next weekend and we can step in and help then, if required. Hanne goes home and we return to Albert Terrace and fit the extension lead, and then set up the digital radio. It really is difficult and has no preset buttons, a tiny dial and minuscule controls. I set it to radio four for her and leave it at that. I bought a Madeira cake on the market and suggest we sit out in Felicity's small patio garden, as the weather is so nice and eat tea and cake. The table and chairs haven't been wiped down since last autumn, but that doesn't take me too long and soon we are drinking tea and chatting, Felicity returning to the theme that Melissa won't tell her what she is doing. I suggests she asks Meliisa to sit down and then have an adult to adult chat about things. She agrees to do this, her daughter is due about three and she tells me the district nurse is also coming at three to inject insulin, which Felicity has previously done for herself, for at least the past two years. When I ask her why the nurse is doing this, she says it is because they are establishing a new regime. "Couldn't the nurse watch while you inject yourself a few times, until she is happy you can reassume responsibility for yourself?" I ask. The old girl gets up and storms back into the kitchen in a temper. Herein lies the problem, she wants the attention and some control, but not the responsibility, and I have called her on this. I let her stew for a few minutes and then take her tea and cake indoors and quietly tell her that tantrums won't work on me, as I am not family and therefore not manipulable. She is still sulking when the nurse arrives, which I take as a cue for Norman and I to leave. She will come round, but I doubt that this behaviour will ever change, at seventy six, it is extremely unlikely. In all other respects, she is a lovely, kind, creative person, but there again which of us is without fault. When we get in, I switch on the radio, the Tigers are playing Ipswich away, and we listen to this while I fry a rump steak, which we share with oven chips and a tossed salad, and eat in the garden accompanied by a glass of Shiraz. Hull City win 2:1 and Watford, who are in third place, lose away at Peterborough 3:2. With four games to go, we are six points clear. Surely the premier league beckons. Later in the evening, my cousin Irene's husband, David, phones to tell me that my remaining aunt, Dorothy, is in Saint James' hospital in Leeds and has had a kidney tumour removed on Friday. She had part of her bowel removed two years ago, due to cancer, and a secondary tumour removed from her lung six months ago. Clearly time is running out and so I arrange to drive to York after church, in order to meet up with Irene and David, before driving to Jimmy's for afternoon visiting. Aunty Dorothy is old school, sharp as a tack, and never, ever, lets anything get her down. She will be eighty three in August and is highly unlikely to see eighty four. One thing is certain, however many days she has left, she will make the best of them. To bed at eleven after reading for an hour.