IS THIS A RHETORICAL QUESTION?

My son came home yesterday to get all the stuff he left here over the summer. I’m putting him on my car insurance for 24 hours so he can drive to Manchester and to the various friends’ houses where he has the rest of his belongings scattered/stored.

It was a record breaking hot sunny 1^st October. We took the dogs for a walk through the woods, the woods where there is a pub at the end and had a pint in the beer garden.

I am not quite sure how this happened, but we ended up in the chippy. We both had a mini rissole, chips, peas and curry sauce. It was only three quid for both of us and no cooking or washing up. We ate them in the car. Then we dashed up to Morrison’s with my “get a free bottle of Encona chilli sauce” voucher. They’d sold out.

Driving back in the car we got to talking about how I am turning into my Mum. My lovely dear old Mum who, in the nicest possible way, used to talk absolute rubbish. She would ask pointless rhetorical questions such as “where are they going?”, “what are they doing?” about total strangers. The sort of things a toddler would say. My dear old Mum, who’d raised a family, held down a full time job, had one or two good wins on the bingo and went cold turkey to get herself off the tranquilisers the docs used to put so many women on in the 1970’s. My Mum who was so easily loved and adored by so many people. My Mum who had managed to hold everything together for so many years, was talking shite.

The thing is, I don’t really feel old. And it is only after the words have bypassed my brain and come out of my mouth that I realise how stupid they are. I understand why my son gets frustrated with me like I used to get frustrated with my Mum.

Its 6 years at the end of this month since my Mum died. What I wouldn’t give to hear one more rubbish, stupid, daft rhetorical question.

Where are you Mum and why aren’t you here now? I’ve got a rotten cold and I want my Mum. So what if I am nearly 55? Although this may sound like a rhetorical question, it is, in fact a statement.

RUBY'S BAD NERVES

I have decided to be a blogger. Because I am menopausal I quite often don’t know what day it is. Things happen and I forget. I don’t think I will forget this morning, but in case I do, this is what happened:-

I was awoken at 6.05 a.m. (Sunday). My 24 year old son had been to a party and this is the time he came home, with his girlfriend in tow. Ordinarily this would not bother me; however, I have 2 dogs, one is called Ruby. Before Ruby came to live with me she had already had at least 2 previous homes. To say she is bad with her nerves would be a fair comment. To say my son was very drunk when he stumbled through the patio doors at 6.05 a.m. would also be a fair comment. I have no idea what happened to Ruby in her previous incarnations but this is not the first time my son has come home drunk in the early hours and it is not the first time that Ruby has gone hysterical in a small dog type way and wet herself. When I say wet herself, I mean dribbled wee all over my bed and pillow and also left a little pool on my lounge room carpet. Ruby is unable to tell me what happened to her previously but I suspect she was hurt or frightened by someone who was very drunk.

In conclusion, dogs are like people. If Ruby is approached suddenly, she will instinctively take a couple of steps backwards. She will always have trust issues but she also has an amazing capacity to forgive, but I don’t think she will ever forget, unlike me who has difficulty knowing what day it is.