annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary



Monday lunchtime. Out of the Pit of Doom, but a bit vacant. Aware that there are many things I have left undone, but unable to get going on anything.

Not true - here I am blogging, so that's something.

Younger Daughter came down yesterday for Mothering Sunday, which was very lovely. ED slipped a card into my bag before I left hers the other day, whereas Son refuses to participate in a media-induced guilt fest - no matter that this is an old church festival celebrating mothers, as opposed to father's day, a recent creation. I try and be cool about it, but actually it hurts a bit. Come on, Son, you bastard, show a bit of appreciation for your poor old Ma, who does her fucking best.

Anyway, me and YD went to see 'The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel', which, to be honest, has been over-sold a bit. It's a tricky line, I suppose - they have to puff it enough to make you go and see it, but over-doing it just leaves you disappointed. It was pleasant enough though and definitely a joy to watch a film about older people, older women esp. I would recommend it, for that alone. And being set in India, with the glorious colour and architecture.

Came home to a flat devoid of cat. I called her, but no reply. I searched indoors thoroughly, fearing that she may have curled up and died under the bed or something, but no, she was not indoors. Went out and called again, with a bit more volume. Back from several gardens away came a piteous cry, leading to a 'conversation' during which her yowls became louder and more indignant, but with no movement towards me. Fuck. She must have climbed down into one of the basement courtyards and been unable to get back out. Double fuck.

Off I went, knocking on doors, being let through people's homes, hearing her cries closer and closer until finally a guy let me in and led me to his yard where a woman was standing on a table with a flashlight, trying to locate the source of the piteous yowls. Bob was delighted to hear me so close and upped the ante considerably, but we couldn't work out which direction it was coming from, as it was echoing around the buildings. The couple were great, though in retrospect they may have been off their heads on something, they were so intense and focused. I tried all the doorbells upstairs on this house and the ones either side, but no one was in. Eventually I had to give up and come home. I sat outside, having a little cry and then suddenly she appeared over the fence. Sigh. She's a very annoying cat, but the thought of being without her was terrible.

Things I could be doing now, apart from the endless dish-washing and tidying, include
1. Getting to the bottom of why I can't update my gold membership here to allow comments. It says my card is not registered at the address given, but I checked with my bank and it bloody well is. I emailed Andrew, so fingers crossed.
2. Going to the garden centre for some compost to plant up the climbers I bought before I moved here.
3. Getting my resident's parking permit renewed.
4. Deciding on a 'project' for my last few art classes of the term. This makes my brain explode. Can't do it. Just want to follow instructions.
5. Write something about depression and stigma - I'm thinking we need a different word as everyone has been depressed in the sense of pissed off, so they don't understand that this is something else.
6. Write an email to Grandson's school, telling them I'm holding off on the CAF form for a bit. ED has promised to try and get up to see him off to school in the mornings and he's been picked up by a mentoring scheme, so let's see how that goes before we call in the cavalry.
7. Do some yoga.
8. Meditate.
9. Go for a walk in the sunshine.
10. Put a thing on FB about getting a pub quiz team together.

But I may just go back to bed and read a bit more of my book. By the way, do not be tempted to buy The Complete works of Dickens for kindle. It was either free or 50p and seemed like a good deal when I decided I want to read Little Dorrit. But it hasn't got a fucking list of contents - you can go to the beginning or to the end of 269,000 kindle pages, none of which have headers or footers to say which novel you're on. It starts with the introduction to 'American Notes' which is very readable but - well, give me a break, kindle.

Grateful for: being much calmer, if not very energetic; seagulls squawking cheerily outside; having a kindle to moan about; buds growing on peonies so they survived being dug up - have to wait and see if they'll flower; spring on its way.

Thank you for reading. Comments are back! Thanks Andrew xx

1:25 p.m. - 19.03.12


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