Arrival

Recovery

By: Elaine Lutton

Recently, as many of my readers will realise, I have been having lots of visitors. My “berage” (bedroom/ garage) has been having a real workout and has proved itself to be a great addition to my home. There has been room for everyone and I have loved having all my family to stay. I would not wish one second of their time with me away and am only too aware of the compliment they have paid me by voluntarily electing to stay with their elderly relation. My son, his wife Leigh and three granddaughters were the first to visit and stayed ten days, being closely followed by my cousin's son Nikolai and his wife Helen, two and a half-year-old Penelope-jane and fivemonth-old James, who stayed for eight days. It was truly a delightful time with lots of meals out and trips in Nikolai's four-wheel-drive which I just about managed to mountaineer my way into and out of; no mean feat. All of my guests behaved perfectly and on leaving, tidied up and packed everything away. I could not ask for more. The interim period was perhaps a little less orderly than usual but I became quite adept at navigating the obstacle race that the floor sometimes presented. I was genuinely sad when it was time to say goodbye, as I hope they were to leave, BUT I must admit I did enjoy having my home to myself. My first joy was going to bed and sleeping in the changed bed that Helen had thoughtfully provided for me, and sleeping for a full fifteen hours apart from the few necessary trips that an older person, such as myself, find necessary. The simple privilege of going about these nocturnal perambulations without having to lock doors so as not to frighten the horses is always appreciated. The same applies to showers; I can take as long as I like, leave the doors wide open, walk about the house naked, and, if it does not appal my readers of the opposite sex, go bra-less until I am ready to venture into polite society. Cutlery, glasses, crockery and condiments have magically returned to their previous places and furthermore remained there. I know where everything is! (That is, with the exception of a certain blue purse which still remains Missing in Action.) Once the mammoth sheet and last towel wash had been done I could hear my washing-machine sighing with relief at the thought of her respite. I have assured her that it will not be long before I purchase a companion for her. A marriage of convenience in the form of a dishwasher will soon be arranged, perhaps of the drawer variety, so no headlong tumbles are possible. I eat when and what I desire, though I must curb my fondness for salt and vinegar crisps, a vice to which my visitors have re-introduced me, and drink when I am dry. I have decided that February must be a dry month so I can front up for a long-overdue blood test without finger-wagging from my lovely G.P. Any Ale I drink will be strictly of the Adam's variety. I have returned to my music and my books, both cultural and trashy. Television programming is almost back to normal. Already my favourite documentaries are beginning to make their appearance and once the dreaded sports season is over I will watch them and become the balanced and informed person that I like to think myself. Delightful as Bluey and his friends are, I cannot say that I will really miss him. There will be no-one to criticise my dancing nor my attempts at singing. Hours of sleep will be optional! Catching up on gossip with girlfriends as easy as picking up the telephone. Emailing friends abroad can be recommenced. Ferrari taken for regular rides; I fear he has felt a little neglected of late but now is the time to make amends. Having caught up on my sleep and general routine, I feel almost young again, ready to smile at the world. No longer do I have moments when I think that I have become old and crotchety, the sun is out, and though missing my visitors and appreciating that they still want to come and enjoy and share my company, I must admit that I will quite welcome my own for a little while.