A strange week

Luke visits Hundon

How lax I have been, neglecting my blog for lesser pursuits, yet much has happened for me to record, so I continue the saga. Our grandson Luke came to visit this week, on his way back to the University of Leeds where he is enjoying himself between studying, in the best traditions. His course is computer science, which should take him forward into the unknown future well prepared for whatever presents. I'm not sure if it was through good luck, a great tip, or the magic of computer analysis of the odds, but he managed to back the winner of the Grand National, Noble Yeats. Ann had considered this horse, but instead switched to the more generic name, Longhouse Poet. Luke picked it for a more prosaic reason. He thought the name reminded him of a modern term currently popular among teenagers, Yeets, which my urban dictionary defines as "an exclamation of excitement, approval, surprise, or all-around energy", rather than the Irish poet. No doubt "YEETS!!" is what he said on winning at 50:1 odds.

At a different level, it was a worrying week when Bronte fell ill. I went into their room last week to find mess over the whole room. The smell was beyond imagining. She would not eat and could only pass small foul dribbles. On Sunday, we took her to the emergency vet, but with no improvement. That night we left her in the hall rather than their room; next morning, she had done the same in every corner of the hall, upstairs and down, including up the stairs and on the walls. Again, the mats went out for a solid hosing down and were hung on the fences to dry, and we took her back to the vets who this time gave antibiotics and Buscopan and advised a very bland diet. That night we shut her in the utility room. Happily, she seems to be improving now, though still far from normal.

The evidence

It seems to be a week for silly things. In their new home, Edwin has bought a lawnmower to cut the small front lawn. He then sent a picture titled "Look what I have done!". He is so used to modern internet-connected gadgets being able to predict his every wish, I think he thought that the lawnmower would magically sense the cable and switch itself off. 

For myself, I continue to get up frequently in the night for the toilet. Last night, I turned the bathroom light off to leave, but remembered by habit to reach for the spray to remove any evidence of my passing. My fingers are so numb I can no longer touch-type but have to look at the keys, and in the dark I held the spray the wrong way round and squirted my face instead of the air. At least I smelt fragrantly as I returned to bed.

Luke with Grandad John