I have to apologise to those of you who had a two-lined post delivered to your inbox. This was technological incompetence on my part and happened because I am at the time of writing this on a mobile phone, undertaking a weekend’s bed-rest trying to heel ulcers on my feet. I touched what I thought was the ‘save draft’ button and 30 seconds later realised I had published what was a very meagre post indeed.
I started the week feeling comparatively limber from a disability standpoint. This is, I think, due to the switch to British Summer Time and the lighter nights and mornings it brings. This is in addition to the mega-strong anti-inflammatories my doctor prescribed.
I woke up last Sunday to bright sun and a lovely breeze, this saw my independence skills sprouting anew. They have been a little dormant this past winter with one thing and another. It was what my mum calls “a good drying day”. I decided a change of bedsheets was in order as I was spending the afternoon at my parents’ house; meaning that my Mum could dry the sheets, iron them and put them back on my bed. This was the method in my forthcoming madness anyway. So how did I achieve my aim? The procedure goes thus:
1) pull back duvet.
2) fling self bodily onto bed in a starfish position.
3) Claw at bottom sheet until elastic pops off corner of mattress.
4) hold corner of sheet and roll to end of bed. This should successfully remove sheet for washing.
Begin the same procedure with the duvet cover and realise one minute in that the cover has buttons at the bottom and not the simple press-studs I was expecting. This makes for a much longer job and feels like Occupational Therapy. For a brief moment I am transported back 30 years to my first class at school. Along with the toys, learning aids and physiotherapy equipment there were a selection of fabrics stretched over a wooden frame all of which had different fastening. There were zips, buttons, toggles, press-studs and Velcro . There you would sit relentlessly grappling with whatever torturous ensemble came your way. I hated the buttons, and still do all these years later. They are what clinches me buying an outfit or consolidates its rejection, or in the case of the bedding situation vow to emerge undefeated!
This I did some one hour later when I put the lot on a boil wash. I rolled back into the bedroom to flick on a DVD. I hunted for the control in all the usual places and a few unusual ones, like my bathroom. Sounds unlikely I know but I have found it in there more than once. It was nowhere to be found, I gave up and went to have a cup of tea. The kettle boiled and all was silent, except for the washing machine in amongst the usual sounds associated with it doing its work I could detect an ominous ‘clunk’. The control had been gathered up in the sheets and had been merrily working its way through the clean, rinse and spin cycle. I was horrified, surely it would not survive and I was about to be plunged into televisual limbo, as the emergency control was at the top of the television set and tantalisingly just out of my reach. I thought I had just created the words first ornamental TV.
I retrieved the control from the drum, dried it, changed the batteries and pressed the power. I have to say I did this more in hope than expectation, I nearly passed out when the little red light blinked on and News24 came on the screen. This is a marvel and triumph of Swedish engineering as far as I am concerned!
After all this activity I felt like I deserved a bit of a treat. I ordered a box set of Law and Order I had never seen, just before I discovered ulcers on my feet and got told to rest and elevate them. I thought at least I would have something good to watch. I waited for the postman in great expectation, opened the parcel put the DVD into the machine only to discover it was in fact dubbed in French. Babel fish anyone?
(For an explanation Google ‘Douglas Adams’ and ‘Babel fish’).