w.atching the w.orld unw.ind

Today's lyric:
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"Past the kids who gather there
Pain masked by narcotic stares
But no-one really cares."

Levellers: "Julie"
From the album: "One way of life"

"Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see.
And yet salt water blinds them not so much
But they can see a sort of traitors here
Nay, if I turn my eyes upon myself
I find myself a traitor with the rest."

Shakespeare: King Richard II

Friday night is always "chill out" night chez Mr.D.

This last Friday was also payday, so a delivered takeaway and a couple of bottles of red. Set right up for the weekend.

And then at 23:45, the 'phone call to say that father-in-law had been taken into hospital and was on full oxygen.

Unable to drive because we'd both been drinking, a taxi flew us the 60 miles to the hospital via a cashpoint and we spent the night in vigil with him. I have never seen such a haunted, hunted expression on a man. But by his own, earlier admission, he'd brought the lung cancer on himself and had no self-pity.

He hated the full facemask which was pumping clean gas into him, pushing out the carbon dioxide that bronchial pneumonia was causing to build up in the untumoured lung. But throughout the night, we made him wear it and watched the sats come back up to normal. Staring at the monitor, I nearly had a heart attack myself when the damn thing flatlined, but he'd just pulled off the finger stall connecting him to the box.

And so when, at 7:00 a.m. he was demanding tea (he must have been gagging after several hours of dry air) we decided that we'd been awake for 25 hours and needed to kip.

A lift home (I couldn't have driven six miles, let alone sixty) ensured we were back in time to have the Cooper's windscreen replaced in bright sunshine, so that the bonding would set reasonably quickly. And the prospect of a few hours sleep.

Except that another call told us that f.i.l had relapsed and could we get back quickly?

Gathering NOD and NOS to us, we hurtled back for the second time in a day, to get ten minutes away from the hospital but too late. 48 hours with virtually no sleep is not conducive to blogging, so sorry if you've been calling by for nowt.

The music for the funeral is likely to be Elgar's "Nimrod", Elaine Paige's "Memory" and Al Jolson's "My Mammy" (because he used to sing it for the kids). That'll raise a much-needed smile.

But the good news is that Ma's finally got a date for her brain scan for dementia.

Did I say good news?