Okay, things are sort of moving, if not exactly apace since my reluctance remains fairly high.

Anyroadup, have sorted out that I can commute at least for a while, via bus. There was a bit of a problem initially because the first bus from Ripon doesn't get to York until 9.30 - obviously a bit late for work. But I've spoken to the big boss and he's fine with me starting then and just working through my lunch, so that's okay. The last bus back to Ripon goes at 5.40 - 10 minutes after we finish for the day - so a certain amount of belting about will occur, at least Monday - Thursday. As I am also the current office cleaner (a bit of extra pocket money to help pay for the bus) I'll stay back and do that on Friday night, so the belting about won't be quite so extreme.

Have spoken to Richard who works here and he's willing to help me move the stuff for beer money. Have also spoken to Smelly Jeremy who also works here and he'll help as well, plus his mate Hippy Steve has a van so hopefully that'll work. I only have to pay them all beer money plus Hippy Steve's petrol, so jolly good there. Have spoken to my friend Sylvia who has in turn spoken to her friend Alan who has agreed to take a lot of stuff to the tip for me, so all the ducks are slowly lining up.

The idea is that I'll start looking for somewhere beginning of March with a view to actually moving in at the start of April. As ever, it'll be an overlap which means that I'll end up paying a month's extra rent, but there's nothing I can do about that. I'd rather do that anyway and have the comfort of a cushion, as it were.

I've told mum that I'm going to be very picky about what I end up with, and I refuse to be rushed into it. If I get this wrong and I end up with awful neighbours then we all know how that can send me squiffy, and she totally appreciates that. In an ideal world I'd like a little 1 bed cottage or a house, and for what I pay in York I can just about afford one in Ripon. It's just a question of waiting for the right thing to come up.

I've also been to the benefits office in Harrogate and spoken to a very nice chap and checked what's going to happen if, when I move to Ripon, I end up getting a part time job so that I can spend more time with mum, so I know where I am with that as well. After all, if the point of this is that she wants me more on hand, then me working full time in York doesn't really provide that, does it? On the other hand I'm not rushing into that either. We've just been given our first pay rise in 5 years, plus a bit of an end of year bonus, and as I say, I do the cleaning once a week here, all of which add up. Plus, without being TOO big headed, I'm bloody good at this job and I'm valued, which is a nice thing. So that's another thing that needs to be thought out. This is possibly the biggest move I've ever actually made, as this time I'm having to be aware that mum wants it and want me closer, but at the same time I need to be selfish and aware of what my head can do to me at a moment's notice.

But I'm still filled with reluctance to do it, that's the main problem. I love Ripon huge amounts, don't get me wrong, but I also love my flat, and for the first time in just about ever I'm actually settled and happy, so it's a big wrench. I suspect part of it is that's it's not my decision this time - I've been summoned and whether I want to or not, I have to go.

The angst, my dears, the ANGST!!!

A little tale for my dear friend D, so that she will perhaps see where I get it from – this urge I have to constantly test just how darn good gravity really is…

I got a call from my mother on Monday to say not to worry but she’d had a fall and because she’d hit her head the hospital said that somebody needed to be with her for at least 2 nights. So obviously I dropped everything and went over there, expecting something horrendous, and in fact I can’t begin to tell you how lucky she’s been and how lightly she got off, bearing in mind her age and all that she has wrong with her – she’s on a blood-thinning drug which could have led to brain bleeds, she’s borderline for osteoporosis and so could have broken everything and of course she’s 85 in a week’s time! In fact, she’s got a few bumps and bruises and a splint on one wrist where I dragged her off to the hospital because I thought she’d broken her wrist, but in fact has just banged it.

But that’s not the point. The reason for the story, and to show where I get it from is this: she didn’t have an old lady fall. As she marched along towards a specific shop she noticed two policemen talking to a couple of lads and being her she wanted to know what it was all about and so she was nosing at them, with the result that she didn’t look where she was going and fell over the kerb. To make things even more amusing, not only did the policemen come rushing over, but so did the lads they were talking to! (I hasten to add they were only community officers, not ‘proper’ policemen – to see two together is almost unheard of).

So, my dear girl, THAT’S where I get it from…

BTW, mum's not bad - more bruises are coming out and she's got quite a nasty gash on her nose from where her glasses cut her, but honestly, it could have been so much worse, that these things don't seem problematic. I stayed Monday & Tuesday and Sandra is going down tomorrow until Sunday, by which time mum will be screaming for us to leave her alone.

Australia's version of 'Masterchef' is way better than England's.

Just saying.

http://www.audible.co.uk/pd/ref=sr_1_1?asin=B00EUIAE40&qid=1380531738&sr=1-1


You may hate Bill Bryson with the passion of a thousand burning suns, but this is a good cause, and you don't have to actually listen to it! Be nice to do it though, don't you think?

So Sandra came for the weekend, it being that time of year again - can you believe that it's SEVEN years since Julie died? Really, where does the time go? Anyway, now that IS is in the home, it's more or less accepted that mum isn't going to make that long journey anymore, and Sandra will come up to her - after all, although Sandra is a woman in her 60s, my mum will be 85 in November, so it's fair enough. And now that there's a spare bed at mum's we don't have to think about getting her out of that toxic atmosphere... But I digress.

Mum had decided that she wanted to see the three museums that Ripon possesses - the Police Museum, the Court Museum and this place - http://riponmuseums.co.uk/museums/workhouse_museum_gardens, the workhouse museum (apologies, can't do neat links). So off we went (they're only open for 3 hours a day) and after much calculation about the cheapest way to see them all, we decided that in fact it was to buy an annual ticket which meant we could get into any of them free for a year.

Well, it's just as well we did that. What an incredible place! It's like a Tardis - so much bigger on the inside. And so damn interesting, especially as with someone of mum's vintage we've got somebody who just remembers the end of the workhouse system - as she said, she's finally turned into living history. But honestly, it's fab. I hope the other two are as good. We're going to go to the next one when Sandra's down again, assuming they're still open (they're seasonal) but if not, then we'll go in the spring. I know it's beyond unlikely any of you will ever be in the area, but if you're caught up in some bizarre warp and end up in Ripon, go there.

But 7 years. It's absurd.

ION, to make up for my dream re Grant, Englebert and Bimsley, I had a horrible dream about everybody I have ever known betraying me and belittling me at every turn. So that was lovely.

I am due to go on holiday for a week next Monday - just a coach trip with mum and I'm *reasonably* sure that she wants to go and is looking forward to it. I'm so far down in my boots I'm actively dreading it- the thought of sharing a room with her for a week, of being surrounded by other people and of being away from my own territory fills me with absolute terror. The thing is that she's worried about me anyway because I had an absolute fit at her house a couple of weeks ago and ended up sobbing on her shoulder; we were supposed to go out for the day yesterday and I just cried off because I couldn't face it; and I know she's really concerned about me. I rang her today and said that if she didn't want to go then I'd be perfectly happy just to spend a few days at her house and go out on a couple of little day trip type things (which I would - I'm more familiar with her house after all, than a strange hotel somewhere), but she said she wanted to go, and I don't feel that I can fight my corner anymore because of the aforementioned worry about me.

But I DON'T WANT TO GO!! I'm absolutely dreading it. If I wasn't in such a state then it wouldn't matter so much, but it's just the thought of it - it's building up in my head now in that way things do when you're in this stae, and I know it's not going to be a success - I'm going to spend so much time putting on a front that I suspect I'll cry like baby every time I step into the shower.

What do I do? How can I tell her that I just can't face it without upsetting her, which is the last thing I ever want to do?

Anyone? Bueller? Anyone?

So this is the start of the third week of my new 'exercise regime' as I laughingly like to call it, which basically involves me walking almost 10 miles a day. I walk 4 miles anyway in a round trip to and from work, but I've added another walk first thing in the morning - one that I do every weekend, but now I'm doing it every day, in some kind of attempt to feel better. At the moment all I feel is beyond knackered because I have to get up at 5.15am every day in order to be able to do it, get myself together and then walk to work! Walked 51 blithering miles last week!!

But I'm sure it's doing me good. Although my bad temper brought on by tiredness is possibly not giving those around me a laugh a minute.

Last night I absolutely didn't dream of Manderley... but what I did dream was rather disconcerting.

I was stuck on a little sailing boat (which was red). I was about 10 feet away from safe water in the harbour but I was stuck in an eddy and I was going down with no way of getting out. I wasn't going to make it to safe harbour. And on that harbour wall, beckoning to me was my dead sister Julie.

So that was lovely.

Most surprising (as in unexpected) sight so far during this bout of hot weather...

I was walking along Lendal on Saturday en route to the library when a girl strode past me - a young thing, really pretty and really confident about it - head up, arms swinging, the works. Men were looking at her. Then I realised why. She was wearing a rucksack which was rucking her short skirt up at the back. And she wasn't wearing any knickers.

All those males must have thought it was every birthday they'd ever had rolled into one. Poor love would have been mortified if she'd known. I was just about to go and catch up to her when somebody told her and the poor girl looked as if someone had suddenly put a belisha beacon on her head. You could have seen her from space.

Right, well IS is happy. Great. Beverley isn't happy. Big, fat surprise. She sent back his disabled stickers (meaning she never plans to take him out again) in an envelope to mum with no note, no nothing. I rather think the Cold War has begun where she's concerned. I fail to care, as does mum.

However...

She (mum) rang me at 8.15 yesterday morning to check that I was still going over because she "hadn't been able to get out for a couple of days" and needed stuff. So I asked if she was poorly and she said "I'm fine, I'll tell you when you get here". So naturally I spent the next 2 hours in a lather of fear. I honestly didn't know what to expect.

So I got there and it turns out she'd had a day last week when she'd felt dreadful - really back to how it was before - she went to the doctor who was very concerned and sent her straight to the hospital for tests. The hospital called her in for these tests on Saturday morning, which shows how concerned they were (and also I have to say, how fab the NHS can be when it works).

I think we all know where this is going, don't we? Yes, she'd suffered a mini stroke. She's absolutely fine, 100% recovered, no residual problems at all. They've tweaked her medication and want to do a brain scan this week, but they caught it within the 'golden time', the first 3 days, and she feels fine. There is some furring of the arteries, but no more than expected for a woman of her age, so hopefully nothing further will happen. And now of course I'm torturing myself with the thought that one mini stroke can lead to a series of them, which can lead to the Big One. Maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm never happy unless I've got something to be scared of.

But on a positive note, the house is looking really nice now. Finished with the living room, nearly finished what is now the spare room and since I'm over there on Friday I may start painting the hall. She was supposed to be having a minor op on Friday which is why I had to be there, but that seems very unlikely now, since they're not going to want to put her under a general when she's a week past a stroke.

God though, if it's not one thing it's a bloody nother.

I could sit here and weep, I really could.

And not only that but I've just read a really (guilty pleasure) type book - one of those glorious Regency Romances that deserves capital letters. All was going well until somebody went 'skeet shooting'. I don't think we've have ever shot a skeet in this country. Clay pigeons, yes. Whether we did or no that really threw me out, and badly.