Itching Babies and Elderly confusion

I posted the novel off yesterday and as I left the corner post office my heart lurched with a mixture of panic and fear, as if I’d thrown my precious work as far as I could over the sea, and was watching it twisting and curling, hurtling further and further away from me. But we won’t go there – all I can do is wait now and get on with other writings.

On the subject of my other baby, we took Moll to the vet this morning after a largely sleepless night (me) as she was scratching and itching nearly all night. So I’m a bit grainy eyed and weary this morning. I’ve been taking her twice weekly to the vet to get her more used to it out of surgery hours, and she was a bit better but still got into a panic which upsets me no end. Which in turn won’t help her. Anyway, the vet thinks it might be fleas (though there’s no sign of fleas) or dermatitis, so she’s had her next lot of Stronghold.

For other pet owners, there’s a really bad infestation of fleas this year, so if your animals are itching, get some flea stuff and spray the whole house (I’ve just done that and am sitting with the windows open to try and ventilate the place).

But back to other matters. We took our elderly friend for coffee on Saturday again. Having had ten days in the new residential home, he looked surprisingly well; his eyes were clear and his face was more relaxed and he seemed in much better spirits than he has done for a long time. Though he doesn’t like the other people –says they’re not friendly. And the only other man is nearly blind and can’t speak. Not ideal for someone who likes a good natter.

While we were out, James said, ‘You know, I’m a founder member of –’ and then stopped as the necessary word had evidently flown the coop. ‘Founder member,’ he said, looking puzzled. Where had that word gone?

‘A club?’ I said.

‘Yes!’ he brightened. ‘You know – women – and racing.’

I looked at Himself. He looked at me. Women’s Formula One, I wondered? Women’s athletics?

‘You know,’ James said, evidently frustrated. And he mimed rowing.

‘Oh, gigs!’ we cried.

Yes – he was one of the former members of the Flushing/Mylor Gig Rowing Club. Phew.

As we left the building he took me to one side and pointed proudly to Himself. ‘I just want you to know that this man is a - a –’ and once again that sodding word would not come. ‘A success,’ he said, as if he knew it wasn't the right word but hoped it would do.

‘I know,’ I said. I got the gist, and was extremely proud to be married to – whatever he was.