Heads You Win

The construction of my mum’s new downstairs wet room is progressing nicely. Hopefully, within a week the old lady, whose prevailing post-stroke mobility confines her to the ground floor, will have shower and toilet facilities at her disposal. Circumstances, negating any need for utilising commode and carer wet wash alternatives.

Ceasing the latter requirements affording Magington Strachan a more dignified existence within the chambers of her domain. A house her and my old man made a home, welcoming all with a smile, numerous cups of tea (or something stronger), and a M&S buffet which went far and beyond the promised hospitality when inviting “Come over for a cuppa. It’d be lovely to see you.”

It’s been a productive day for Maggie’s eldest offspring. My labour incorporating medical insurance admin relating to her hospital stay, mowing the lawn, undertaking two loads of washing/drying/ironing, cooking a roast pork dinner followed by hand washing shed loads of crockery, pans and cutlery.

Today, GJ Strachan’s ingrained sense of duty prioritising domestic chores above his creative want. Consequently, meaning at this juncture (almost 9pm on Thursday evening) I’m not even half way through this article.

Mental fatigue resulting in me wading through these lines with a cranial numbness which goes well beyond autopilot. Lethargy hampering my aspirations of raising these tepid observations. Subsequently, peeing on my literary chips.

I’m going to watch something in bed now. I’ll conclude this piece tomorrow, when hopefully I feel livelier and less creatively impotent.

As I begin this paragraph, it’s 7am the next day (Friday). Despite a broken slumber, I feel refreshed(ish) ready to take on today’s chores. Overnight, I’d the most bizarre dream in which a good friend of mine from the north east asked me to look after his new cat.

Nothing too idiosyncratic, or so I thought during this night vision, until arriving as his chateau to witness the pet had no body and was only a head. The feline was able to talk, in fact showing great erudition whilst we discussed a range of subjects. However, as you can imagine it wasn’t overly great at chasing birds; you could say, not unlike my chasing different types of birds in my youth.

During our chat, Jerome the cat treated me to a deeply moving rendition of Macbeth’s ‘Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow’ soliloquy. Well he said it was a word for word depiction of Shakespeare’s prose. However, as I’m unfamiliar with this passage, he could’ve been telling me any old b*ll*cks!

Jerome was great company, speaking eloquently of how only consisting of a head meant he wasn’t distracted, like his furry contemporaries, by chasing mice and avians. Proffering, as his owner fed him, there’s no need for such exhibitions of force. Instead, Jezza chose to educate himself with a ferocious appetite for reading; affording him intellectual wherewithal to debate from an informed position.

The verbal exchanges between the feline and I making me re-evaluate my occasional blinkered penchant for judging by the cover; or in this case, if they’re only a head….. Thanks for the life lesson little buddy.

That being said, the night vision ended in confrontation when, after dismissing Jerome’s political views as overly left wing, the moggy bit me….. Give me my puddled, but loving, labrador/retriever buddy Coco anytime.

Leave a Reply