Fraught Weekend and TV Fame

A busy weekend here at Flowerpot House. My 78 year old mother, who has recently recovered from major surgery, was staying but warned that she wouldn’t be able to do much.

‘That’s fine, Mum,’ I said, picturing a sedate wander through town and a cup of coffee.

Saturday afternoon saw us striding into town (she walks FAST), to the bookshop, stopping at various places along the way. She doesn’t wander when she shops, she streaks in and out like a collie rounding up sheep. We spent an hour in town before going off to take Moll for a Proper Walk. My blood sugar level was starting to tumble, and after walking for half an hour I suggested we start back (making it an hour long walk).

‘Oh,’ said Mum. ‘Why don’t we just go a bit further? Just to the end of that field.’

‘OK, Mum. Fine.’ I mean, I couldn’t be walked off my legs by my dear Mum. I’m fit, for God’s sake. Or thought I was…

That evening I was assembling a meal when I realised that whereas there had been three bits of salmon for our tea, there were now only two.

‘Oh,' said Himself. 'I thought it was empty so I threw the carton away.’

God – men! I delved into the bin and out came everything teabags, egg shells, potato peelings – everything except salmon.

As I was half way down the bin, I heard a squeak from the shower.

‘Hello!’ called Mum, her voice rising in panic. ‘I can’t turn the shower off! Help!’

Having turned Mum’s shower off, the phone rang. Thankfully Himself answered. It was James. He couldn’t work out how his new hole punch worked. Himself, who possesses infinitely more patience than me, spent the next half an hour explaining to James how to put a piece of paper in, and punch the holes.

Back in the kitchen I wondered about the salmon and turned to the animals. ‘Mollie! Buster!’ I shouted. ‘Have you been eating salmon?’

Both animals looked at me with that angelic, ‘Who, me Mum?’ expression, and I abandoned all hope of finding the salmon. It had gone, I think down Bussie’s gullet.

I retired to the front room with a Very Large glass of wine. My God it tasted good.

Tonight is the filming of the Westcountry Writers debate (for TV) featuring a panel of people including yours truly, though how they got these people or who the others are I have no idea. (Before you get excited, the end result will be edited down to 4 minutes.) I don’t know when it’s being shown – sometime next year I presume – but will find out and record it for posterity. Well, I would if the video was working but that’s another story.

I am now off to mug up on Mary Wesley, Betjeman, Hardy, Agatha Christie and Daphne du Maurier. Watch this space, now I’m a television luvvie, darlings.
Actually, I’m quite nervous.