In exactly two weeks time, I have an exciting theatre date.
Okay, shall we dissect that statement? It is certainly a date,
marked in bright red pen in my 2022 desk diary - though sadly it isn’t a date of the romantic variety. As for being exciting, well I’d probably prefer it not to be too exciting. I’d rather it were humdrum, run of the mill, over in little
or no time. As for the theatrical venue, it won’t be the heady atmosphere of the Old Vic I shall be experiencing but the distinctly disinfectant aroma of the operating theatre.
Yes, my Problem Knee is about to submit itself to the skill of the orthopaedic surgeon. As was the case for my Problem Shoulder and my Problem Hip - both of which are Problems No Longer - the auspices are good; in two weeks and one day’s time
it will all be over. My Little Sister’s fella, coincidentally, is having the exact same surgery ten days before me. We have established a Knees Up Club, formed exclusively of the two of us and have already enjoyed ourselves comparing notes on the thoroughness
of our pre-op assessments.
While I and my Problem Knee are inescapably absent from home, Mr B is being looked after by a Guardian Angel. Which is the name
of the care agency providing live-in care for my own Very Important Person - I must impress here that other care agencies are surely every bit as compassionate (though it has been quite a challenge finding one to provide short term live-in care.) I haven’t
met our own Guardian Angel as yet, so I can’t testify to the feathery quality of her wings or the shininess of her halo but I’m sure she will be appropriately angelic by nature. More to the point, she hasn’t yet met Mr B who isn’t convinced
that he needs a Guardian Angel at all. It will be interesting to check out how bedraggled her wings, how crooked her halo at the end of her two weeks looking after Mr B…
There is such a lot to think about when inviting someone into your home to live in while you are away. How to explain that in order to turn on the oven, it is necessary to hold down two buttons on the timer (which I have usefully marked with a red felt
tip pen) until the fan oven kicks in. Or that should you need to open the door of the tumble drier (kept in the garage) you will need to use the handle of a tea spoon to prise it free. I have helpfully left the tea spoon I use (slightly bent from its heroic
efforts) on top of the tumble drier where I hope our Guardian Angel will find it. I comfort myself with the thought that any care workers specialising in live-in care must be used to such domestic idiosyncrasies. Mustn’t they?
As always, I am concentrating on the future. I am endeavouring to fill my diary with really exciting dates so that I will have plenty to look forward to. An appointment with the hairdresser has never
been so keenly anticipated. A regular lunch out with two lovely friends - don’t worry if I’m still hobbling, they will collect me and take me home and ply me with wine in between times. Best of all, the Youngest of the Darling Daughters and I have
booked seats to see Charlie Stemp light-foot his way through the musical “Crazy for You.” If you’ve never seen Charlie Stemp - well, when it comes to a tap dancing knees up he is without an equal. Hopefully by the beginning of September,
I will be back dancing in the aisles.
Knees Up, Mother Brown (or, even Ball…)