Merry Christmas, One and All. I'll pop my head round the door from Edinburgh the next couple of days, before shooting down south to see the family. This would be Total Holiday if it weren't for the fact I should really apply for a permanent job that's come up and that has a deadline in January.
Arriving back from more drinks in time to see Mr Bean. I was knocked out of my revellry my the pictures from Sri Lanka on the ITV News. The incredible devastation of this Act of God, visited on so many thousands, has taken my own jollity of celebrating the birth of the Son of God seem hollow. Tonight I am restless, trying not to think.
The plan was to have a quiet couple of days with the immediate family at my brother's house, taking a short trip down the road to have lunch with my Grandparents, Uncle and Aunt. To begin with, I was unsure as to whether I'd be able to go down south as my doctor had muttered something about the possibility of needing some mildly urgent surgery if the drugs she gave me didn't do what they were supposed to do. Luckily, the drugs did and I very nearly managed to avoid hospitals for the duration.
Unfortunately, Grandma was admitted a few days before Christmas, needing (I believe) a minor repair to her leg. So we went and chatted to her, and she seemed ok, if a little pissed off and bored. (This exacerbated by the fact that the women's magazines in the hospital shop were deemed by her 'pornographic'. She has a point.) I presented her with a gift of stationery that she had asked for, presumably so she could continue to compose her wacky free-form-jazz letters from time to time, which I said I enjoyed receiving (which much is true).
We then ambled across to her house where Grandad and the Aunt and Uncle were in situ for the second (of three) Christmas meals. This was all very jolly: Grandad's not entirely compos-mentis these days, but still tells a funny story or two. Unfortunately we had to break up the party atmosphere by taking him to a care home (he's not compos-mentis enough to be able to look after himself when Grandma's away). I can't say I felt entirely at ease with all the incumbents of the institution, but I suppose that's the way these places are. And I'm sure Grandad knows how to fend off the advances of dotty old ladies. Anyway, apart from some hoo-hah about medication and managing to kill a kamikaze deer that ran into the car on the way, this all passed off smoothly. We all, apart from my father (who was driving) slept in the car on the way home.
Understandably, Dad needs an early night. And what does he do, but trip on the stair leading into the bathroom and need taking to Casualty? He returns two hours later with his foot in plaster and hobbling about on crutches. To add excitement to the proceedings, my brother lives in a Victorian house where the loo is downstairs and the sleeping quarters up...
I learnt today that sadly, I shall not be receiving any more of Grandma's trademark letters on account of her passing away this morning. I'm told it happened as quickly and as peacefully as one can hope for once they realised the treatment she was on wasn't working and there was nothing more that could be done.