I’ve landed on my feet – literally and metaphorically. You don’t need to go to the local Champneys Tring Spa establishment and fork out a lot of dosh for pampering – just follow my advice. You won’t be disappointed.
For the last week I have been enjoying a life of luxury, living like a decadent Roman Emperor surrounded by ‘Vestal Virgins’ who supplied my every need. They fed, washed, dressed, and did everything to make me comfortable and happy. I enjoyed all their ministrations. It was difficult at first but when you are treated with dignity, respect and compassion all inhibitions fade away – like when I was in the wet room, in my birthday suit, being hosed down by a kindly nurse. Oooo Matron.
The ‘Vestal Virgins’of course, are all those dedicated palliative care nurses at the local Hospice. Earlier I mentioned money, but there are no charges here. On that score the fee is whether you have a nasty disease or not. I reckon that I am definitely over qualified.
There are also three wise men working in this exceptional establishment and I met one of those doctors on my first day. During our discussion I happened to mention metal detecting. All talk about medical matters ceased from then on and I was bombarded with questions about the hobby.
James (not his real name) told me that detecting was something he’d always wanted to try. What followed was the usual ’newbie’ questions detectorists will find familiar. l think we have a new recruit. In addition to the verbal introduction I have promised to bring magazines and books the next time I attend the Day Hospice. “Have you emptied your bowels today?” he queried as he departed. Sounded like an afterthought –I just made that up.
Keep taking the Pill. Cut out the Wine!
At home Mrs John and I have excellent live-in carers. One of them is determined to do things by the book. For example, the instructions on my new medication advised the user not to drink alcohol, steer away from cars and don’t operate machinery. I did a little whining [not a lot] and binged for many weeks on the finest lemonade. I was literally Schwepped off my feet. I could be addicted and don’t know it!
You’ll be familiar with similar words on your own medication. I have it on good authority that similar instructions appear on/in most pill boxes. The manufacturers have to ’cover’ themselves for every eventuality. No kidding! One of the leaflets said, right at the end, ’In the event of death, please consult your GP’. Sick humour that made me laugh.
It would be wrong to infer, instead of medical matters, that James and I talked about metal detecting all the time. One of the good things that came out of the conversation was, after relating the story about lemonade instead of wine, he reviewed my medication and said there was no reason I shouldn’t have an aperitif with my evening meal – and signed to that effect. The carer was pleased and I was ecstatic. Status Quo, then.
At the Hospice hat evening I was surprised to find a small bottle of Pinot with my dinner . . . and subsequent evenings also. My hero even made a note of this on my discharge papers.
I went along with the carer’s decision . She was only doing what she thought was right. If anything had happened to me, alcohol could be blamed, there would be an investigation and she could be sacked.
On the other hand I am 81 and my days are much the same. Keeping a blog is just a displacement activity – I should really be sorting out my affairs. Bugger that! I don’t smoke, go out to the pub with the lads or have many visitors. Sex is just a distant memory. Give the old git an aperitif, man!