It turned out my mother had bronchitis. The doctor was called on Monday morning and demanded she stayed in bed. She wasn't happy, but felt too ill to do anything but comply. I hesitated to leave her, but someone else was staying in the house, so I scooted off for my meeting up with someone I'd done the Clinical Psychology Doctorate with and who I haven't seen for 15 years.
We met at the National Gallery and were going to have a quick cuppa and then go to an exhibition they had on, but we had our drinks and then got lunch and then 4 hours later, she had to get back to Kent and I felt I needed to get back to check on my mother, so we left without ever going near a single painting! Neither of us could believe that the time had passed so quickly. It was really good to see her and we've determined to meet up again when I'm down in London and have some time.
I went back to my mother's but she didn't want anything but to go to sleep, so I caught up with some things I needed to do and then scooted off to meet one of my best friends for dinner. We were due to meet at 6. At 10.30 when they were closing the restaurant, we were still sitting chatting!
And so, I finally got back to my mother's house and went to bed, full of food, full of good thoughts and completely chatted out.
Tuesday morning I must've run a virtual marathon before I went to my meeting. My mother was feeling slightly better, which in essence meant her being super demanding and also super critical. I was pleased to get away and get to my meeting for a sit down and a bit of peace and quiet. The meeting went well and my brother invited me out to lunch, which was nice. From there I had a couple of hours to kill before my next meet-up, and by this time the rain had started so I went to Waterstones around the corner from where I was in Oxford Street and looked for a book to sit and read to kill a bit of time.
I came across this book called 'Spark Joy: an illustrated guide to the Japanese art of tidying' by Marie Kondo. I'm sure those that know me well will also know I'm not the tidiest of people, actually not even close to being so and the book kind of grabbed me. I flicked through it and then noticed that there was another book by the same author called, 'The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying', which was her first, so I picked up that one too and sat down with them both.
One of the folk that work in Waterstones was passing and he said that I really should read the first one first, as the second book was a follow-on from that. So there I was, sitting in a comfy chair in Waterstones, while the rain was causing all kinds of havoc outside and with my couple of hours to spare I read the book from cover to cover.
It was fascinating and I could really understand what the author was getting at - apart from one bit where she subscribes to tearing pages out of books, but I'm not even going there, so you can forget that one - and then I turned to the illustrated one. You might well ask, does one really need a book to illustrate how you fold clothes and things? And in honesty I would say, well I for one do and so I bought it.
After my reading marathon I headed off for a meet-up with an online chum from one of my Poetry School courses and we had a really fun afternoon talking about all kinds of things. By this time it was almost 5pm and so I scooted back to my mother's to run another marathon, cook her an omelette and settle her down for the night before... yes you guessed it... I went out to meet up with another friend for a drink.
Just before we met though, I very sensibly decided on a quick stop off for a plate of pasta and am I ever pleased I did! We met up at the American Bar in the Beaumont Hotel, a rather upmarket, swanky place near Oxford Street and after quite a few glasses of vino, I was still relatively sober, while I can't say the same for my friend, who hadn't had anything to eat at all, apart from the olives and nuts the bar so kindly put on our table. We left there at 11.30 pm and I was a touch worried as to whether they would get home ok. I, myself, got in just before midnight and crept to bed.
Yesterday morning I had a hilarious text from my friend, who'd managed just fine thank goodness, but both of us said that we were pleased neither of us had to drive that morning. And then all I had to do, after checking my mother was ok, was to get on my train home.
I arrived back to the sound of one of my smoke alarms alerting me, with a rather incessant beep every 30 seconds, that it needed a new battery. I flung my case down and got to it, but could I get the thing off the ceiling to change the battery? Hell I could. I managed to get it off the ceiling, as in I prised it off and, along with lots of dust, it hung there, but I just couldn't open it. So Steve the Handyman was called, but he wasn't in, so I went to buy some food and then tried again. He was really sweet and came rushing round. A true knight with a screwdriver and a bit more knowhow than me, and had whipped the cover off and replaced the battery in minutes. I was just relieved the beeping had stopped. He thought it was hysterical.
After all that, I unpacked and got out my book. It was amazing. I never knew how much space I had if only I'd folded right in the first place. The drawer where I keep my knickers is usually full to brimming, but with a quick fold, I couldn't believe how it looked.
|So much space!|