An accidental tourist

Husband had to be at the hospital at 8.30 this morning and as it's a distance away we set off at 7.30 expecting to be caught in rush hour traffic. We had a clear run and were at the hospital by 8, where a cheery porter showed us in, promised me he'd look after Husband, and then showed me his name badge: David Hartrey. (Heart, arteries, angiogram? He thought it was appropriate.)

My plan was to go to Cowbridge, a small market town about 8 miles away, to while away the time until 2.00 pm when I could pick him up. Miss GPS said, "Keep left," which I did before realising what she meant was, "Go straight ahead." But as I was in Coity I thought I might as well visit the castle.

Trouble is, when you've been up for hours you forget that the rest of the world is running late and the castle was not yet open.

Coity Castle seen through the railings.

"Please do a U-turn."

Back on route finally arrived at Cowbridge. Parking is free, always a good thing. First things first and I wandered the high street in search of a tea-shop. I consulted two dog-walking ladies passing by and they recommended the Penny Farthing.

If you're having a cup of tea you have to have a toasted teacake; it's the law. I felt like a proper grown-up going into a cafe on my own.

A quick tour of the charity shops followed coming away with two jigsaws, and then on my way to the Physic Garden I followed a path down a little alley to a vintage retro market. Such a delight. More than that, so many things from my childhood. Like the Beatles first album (selling for £60), Disney Wade Whimsies - I had some from the Lady and the Tramp collection - a mangle just like my granny had, and a newly-upholstered two hundred-year-old seat. It would look wonderful in our hall. (Husband doesn't agree.)

So I finally made it to the Physic garden. It's a formal garden with an array of medicinal plants and herbs, all native to this country before the eighteenth century.

Behind the garden you can see the old grammar school. At one time the garden was a vegetable plot for the school, now it's a peaceful oasis, not at its best in November but very well tended (by volunteers) and what I especially liked is that every plant has an identifying label.

Even the humble dandelion had its place in the Dye Bed, or as I can't help but read it, the Dai Bed, named after the lazy good-for-nothing who would have lived in Llareggub if he'd ever had the oomph to go and live there.

There were just a few splashes of colour in the garden.

I still had time to pass and it wasn't really the day to sit and ponder in the garden so I headed back to the car - free car park, did I mention? - and dithered over what to do next. Decided Llantwit Major sounded interesting and it was by the sea so I'd go there.

It wasn't by the sea and apart from nearly getting caught up in a funeral cortege it wasn't interesting either. So found my way back to the Outlet Centre close to the hospital. Nothing is cheaper there! So bought a panini, drove back to the hospital and sat in the car park and listened to the radio.

Husband meanwhile had messaged to say he'd had the angiogram but had to stay to recover for a couple of hours.

When I'd eaten my panini and more importantly the radio programme I was listening to had finished I went and joined him. And wouldn't you know it? Then he decides to start bleeding.

It was quite a ferocious flow and I had to leave the room and get some fresh air. I am not good with blood. It took them several attempts to get the angiogram in and up his artery, and in the end they did it through his groin but he is left with holes everywhere.

We're home now and he is not allowed to do anything with either arm for 48 hours. I took him a cup of tea. He said, "It's very heavy."

"Don't push it, dear!"

Now it's just about waiting to hear from the consultant about what else if anything needs doing, as well as the valve that is, and when the operation will be. So we're back to waiting but we're one step - and a big one at that - down.

A dark day

Almost more depressing than the election of that man as President is the fact he was propelled there with the help of the Christian right. Such a black day for the world but especially for all those decent Americans who did their utmost to stop this happening.

I was lulled into an obviously false sense of security because all my blogging, Facebook, Twitter friends (or people I follow) are sane, decent human beings, and all the posts I was getting showed huge turnouts of women and new voters and lifelong Republican voters all putting their mark for Kamala Harris.

Enough.

Last Christmas

Lovely to get together with my friend, Tina, yesterday afternoon. She'd worked it out: we haven't seen each other for over nine years! She'd bought me this lovely orchid.

Called into a garden centre on the way home to find it full - FULL - of Christmas decorations, and playing Christmas music. Left quickly.

Walked with Daughter and dogs this morning. A misty murky one but stayed dry if you don't count the sea mist on the beach - which we didn't.

Toby likes to chew sticks. It's no wonder I always take him home with a bleeding mouth.

GrandDaughter2 carved most of this herself.

Yesterday I managed 460 words on MyNoWriMo. Today I am deleting 92 of those as irrelevant to the plot. Still progress.

Having a senior morning

Monday morning is exercise class so I set out all the things I need to take: water, money, keys, glasses. Then I go upstairs to get ready. I go in the shower, begin to wash, realise it's Monday and I shower after exercise. Especially important today as I'm meeting a friend later. I haven't seen her for a long time and I don't want her to recoil at my odour. 

Dress, drive to exercise class, get out of car, realise I've left my money - in a neatly labelled and dated envelope - at home. 

My friend lives on the other side of town in an unfamiliar to me area. The way today is going I could set off and never be seen again.

* * * * *

Under Milk Wood was very good. Swansea Little Theatre is an amateur company but with some very talented actors. Dylan Thomas himself was a member of Swansea Little Theatre in his time, and appeared in various productions.

Yesterday was a quiet day. Church in the morning, followed by Welsh practice, writing, and cooking a roast chicken dinner. 

* * * * *

I have never felt so invested in the result of the US election. That a man like that could be standing for President is unbelievable enough; that the polls - allegedly - say it's a close race, even more so. That he is considered the 'Christian' choice just finishes me.

I apologise to my American friends for those Christians who support a man who mimics fellatio on a stage in front of hundreds. (That's the just latest thing that needs an apology. Listing them all would take all day.)

Upgrade still NOT in progress

However my old Outlook is fixed. It took Husband less than twenty minutes. 

I don't know what to say.

* * * * *

Determined to keep up with MyNoWriMo I have written 55 words on my manuscript. 

Oh this is a depressing day.

Still, Outlook is fixed so I can access emails, and I'm going to see Under Milk Wood tonight with Daughter and Daughter-in-law, so not all bad.

Upgrade NOT in progress

I planned a lie-in this morning but my brain said, "What about this? And what about that?" So I got up, made a list, and began working through it.

One thing on my list was fix email. I've not been able to receive or send any since Thursday. 

My first port of call would normally be Husband but I am trying to be a self-sufficient woman (ha ha ha) so decided I could sort it out myself. I began by referring to the other source of all knowledge, Google. Here I learned many others had had the same problem I was having. Only theirs happened fourteen years ago.

So I called Microsoft Support. 

I don't know if I can bear to tell you how long I spent talking to them and then trying to fix things. And that's before I start grumbling about passwords. Suffice to say I still can't send or receive emails.

The conclusion of our chat was: "We no longer provide support. Try this instead."

So I did and they wanted my password. I couldn't remember my password so had to reset it, which meant remembering a different password, and by the time I'd found that and gone back, I'd forgotten what I was trying to do in the first place, or which one of the many open tabs I needed.

Currently trying to update to new Outlook. They want my password. I have given it to them. I know it's right because I just changed it. It's not working. They say, "You may need an App Password." I google what an App Password is. You have to go to your provider to get one. I go to BT - assuming that's the provider they mean as by now it could be the milkman for all I know - and discover BT doesn't give out App Passwords. "Your BT password should work" they say. 

But it doesn't!

I can't face chatting to an awfully polite but not very helpful IT Support again. I told them they'd solved my problem last time because they were so polite I felt obliged to. 

MyNoWriMo

Well, it's November and I've done the bulk of my Christmas shopping so I am pleased. I also bought Christmas cards before I remembered that I wasn't planning on sending many this year. And as I was writing this sentence I also recalled that I am supposed to be doing MyNoWriMo (i.e. writing some words in my novel each day.) Well not 'supposed to be', but I'd thought about it. So I should start that today. 

But first I'll take off my bra.

Later

I managed 260 words and that's better than nothing.

Before and after

Hair appointment today. Is there anything worse? (Yes, of course I know there are loads of much worse things.)

Sitting under bright lights, in front of a mirror, conscious of your jowls, lines, and baggy eyes, while tensing as you wait for the forced conversation. Still, all worth it in the end, or will be when my hair settles down and I begin to be happy with it.

Before

After

I don't even recognise myself in that photo.

Well ding dong

I pulled into the gate at Cwtch Mawr ready to give "Zac's Place" as the order I'd come to collect, so when the man bounced up and said, "Well, ding dong," in best Leslie Phillips voice, my mouth was already forming the words. Which he then heard as Sex Place.

It took quite a long time and some hilarity to clear up the misunderstanding. Then, after he'd brought out the order he said, "Would like a bag of mixed clothes?"
"Um."
"They're very popular."
"Um."
"We don't get any complaints."
"Oh, okay then, I'll give them a go."

The 'bag' of clothes turned out to be a box, the contents of which filled five bags, most of which probably aren't going to be suitable for Zac's. I'm just a girl who can't say no.

Then while cooking I dropped a small handful of lentils on the hob. When I came to clear them up there were millions! And they stuck to the thermos, to the side of the cooker, and to my hand, but not to the damp paper I was using to gather them up.

* * * * *

Last night I made a rather delicious root veg gratin to accompany the Boeuf Bourgignon. One of my better cookery efforts.

As Husband said, if you cover something in cream it can't really fail. Elder Son ate with us as Daughter-in-law had taken the grandsons to Twickenham to visit her parents while ES stayed home and worked. Originally when the idea had been mooted we thought Husband might be shielding by now so we wouldn't be able to look after Toby Dog and Stella Cat if they all went.