Sunday, 18 March 2012

Mother's Day special


What is Lily doing downstairs? All this clunking and clattering going on. I'm trying to sleep!


The latch to my bedroom door is lifting. Is she ill? I blink and raise my head to see over the duvet. She enters, brandishing a plate with a boiled egg and a toasted English muffin slathered in Marmite. Bloody Mother's Day!

'Darling, do you know what time it is?'

'No!' she grins.

'Why didn't you look at your watch? It's really early. It's very kind of you, but I really don't want breakfast now. You have it.'

'OK!' she says cheerily and goes out again.

Serve me right for asking her last night if she remembered what day it was tomorrow, and telling her how some daughters made their mothers cards and breakfast in bed.

Friday, 16 March 2012

CO calamity

Oh my God.

On carbon monoxide poisoning:

Although you may make an apparent full recovery, it could take several years for the damage to show up, by which time the CO incident has been forgotten and the damage attributed to something else. In severe cases, it is even worse than this. Recent medical research has shown that the uptake of carbon monoxide in the membranes of our brain causes these membranes to break down releasing further poisonous and dangerous chemicals, leading to long term brain damage. A few cases have been recorded, where victims of CO poisoning have apparently made a complete recovery, only to be admitted to hospital a few days later, with Parkinson's like disease. Only very recently have these problems been linked to CO poisoning. Longer term, victims can suffer cognitive and learning difficulties. Again, the past these were attributed to growing older and other medical conditions, but now it is known to be caused by the long term effects of CO poisoning.

The lifespan of a person who has had a carbon monoxide incident can be severely shortened. 

So much for the 24 hours. Thank God Lily's been boarding so much. All that healthy eating, all for nought. Body is now saturated with killer chemicals. Well, this settles it. Must emigrate to a country where heating not needed. 

Though this is probably a country where all the cars pump out CO. Doomed!

Death to the Pink Frog!

Awake at 5.30am! Zingy bright-eyed, perky, ready for action! Stay in bed, naturally, for another 45 minutes, but ... up at 6.15am! Yoga, hairwash, shoeshine, all sorts of activities ensue and then the joy of cooking an omelette in an instant on the camping gas stove, instead of waiting 20 minutes for the Rayburn to crank up.

Joy to the world!

Death to the Pink Frog!

Thursday, 15 March 2012

Rayburn revelation!

A day to rejoice, in a slightly skewed fashion. My Rayburn has been making funny noises and throwing out pungent oily metallic fumes for some time now, but I've been ignoring it until Lily's saxophone teacher dropped by yesterday and expressed horror and consternation. So I have with me now the very charming local Rayburn man, who agrees that yes, there is a nasty smell emanating from the oven.

'At least if I can smell it, it's not carbon monoxide,' I say cheerily.

'Oh no,' he says, 'it will contain carbon monoxide. Do you feel dizzy? Headaches?'

'Brain fog!' I cry. 'Alzheimery symptoms? Like not being able to find the right words or remember things?'

'Oh yes,' he says, 'all that. It clouds the judgment and general thought processes...'

'Hooray!' I shout. 'I thought it was the menopause! Or Alzheimer's!'

'...which is why I have to condemn it,' he says.

I have been pumping my head with the silent killer! I don't care if I freeze and can't cook. Within 24 hours - the time it takes, apparently, for CO to work through your system - my brain will be crystal clear, my thought processes sharp as a box of tacks.

Although I can't say I've noticed much sharpening of my brain when I go away for more than 24 hours. Hmmm.

Monday, 12 March 2012

Think pink

Oh God!

Am googling Pink Fog and it's not the sort of fog we menopausal mothers are lost in at all! Esme's mother is the one in a Pink Fog league of her own! Unless she's not Esme's mother. Unless she's Esme's father, dressing as Esme's mother? Because, according to a cross-dressing forum:

Pink fog is the overwhelming urge to do something for your femme side. Example: You go out to get a pair of workboots and along the way you see a nice scarf that you have to have and then a cute skirt, etc. You finally get home with 12 femme items and no boots and maybe no money...

I knew it was an incongruous name.

The Pink Frog

'It's called the Pink Frog,' says Esme's mother.

We are in our daughters' dorm, trying to locate lost hockey socks and school fleeces in other girls' drawers, under the bed, etc, while simultaneously exchanging the usual stories of frustration at our ailing memories and faculties.

Slow, heavy footsteps on the stairs. Mattie's mother staggers into the dorm and, breathing heavily, flops on the nearest bed. 'Urhhh,' she groans. 'That was embarrassing. I just asked Saskia's mother if she'd tended any casualties lately. She looked at me as if I was a mad woman. I thought she was the new nurse. They both look like lambs with their crimpy hair.'

'The Pink Frog strikes again,' I say knowingly.

'Pink Fog!' laughs Esme's mother.

I thought it was an incongruous name. I'm in a Pink Fog league of my own.