Being old.

First reason for not liking being old.  I have to have a carer.

Today was my day for the carer to come and wash me head to toe, moisturise the old skin and dress me.  So in  came the personal carer.  One I have had a couple of times when my usual person is away.  She announced she was now to be my permanent carer.  So what do you do if you are not really happy with this person?

My other carers chat along.  No empty spaces.  If I share with them my worries they respond in a caring and empathetic way.  This one does not respond, does not chat.  And had to be reminded there are spaces between my toes I cannot reach which need an application of the flannel.

Then it was to the surgery.  I had been asked to present myself for further blood taking.  When I asked why - shock, horror that a patient should be asking such a question.  "Why am I being asked to give more blood?"  The eventual reply was totally inexplicable.  The results will be back on Friday - iron - if they are ok they will not tell me.  Excuse me?  

Confused = old age.

After lunch I was off to the Prom.

No mist today.  Some fishing boats and a yacht way out.

Quite a few people, with dogs.  So no sea birds on the shore.

I walked.  Lots of hanging over railings and deep breathing.  But I did it.

The painters still painting - and chatting.  They never manage to do the roof of these shelters.....

I had a chat with the woman who cleans the loos on the Prom.  Her conversation is limited and is frequently " Cold the day!"  She is full of vim and vigour but looks older than I .  But does not need a chariot....which I do.

But then I have red hair and wear purple.  So being old has some positives.

As does

Seeing ones painting framed.  'One Upmanship,'  ready for the exhibition in July.

I just sent out 52 emails with entry forms and rules of entry.  Had one reply telling me I had a typo error in that taking away all the exhibits was some random date in October.  Old age, time to pack it in.