Land of Confusion

According to BBC’s fragrant weather presenter Carol Kirkwood, precipitation will predominantly be this weeks meteorological bedfellow. An irksome forecast which, despite being delivered by an uber chirpy Scottish lady with a delightful West Highlands lilt, has frustratingly scuppered my plans of further outdoor timber staining….. Well, in the short term, anyhow.

As an aside, upon writing the word precipitation above, I pondered that bearing the prefix pre (meaning before) it appeared to indicate a validity for words cipitation and post-cipitation. Being a student of the wordsmiths art, this notion catapulting me onto an odyssey of thorough research, seeking the two locutions meaning.

I was particularly interested to find out what cipitation was, ie what had precipitation prepared us for upon its abatement. Could it be, I wondered, this ‘c’ word mean the drying process nature provides after a rainstorm has stopped? And, if so, was post-cipitation the completion of that drying process? …… And yes, I was that bored!!

Actually, as my research involved a half minute of scouring google, perhaps describing my work as thorough is perhaps over-egging it a tad. Anyhow, from my tenacious groundwork, you’ll no doubt be fascinated to learn the words cipitation and post-cipitation aren’t referenced in Dr Johnson’s famed lexicological almanac.

Being all-knowing, not just enchanting, I’m sure Carol Kirkwood already knew this captivating detail snippet. Her Met Office training affording her with knowledge one needs not concern oneself with frivolous notions surrounding the existence of cipitation.

Anyhow, consequential of these turgid weather conditions, GJ Strachan will spend his time today indoors. His scheduled tasks including writing, drawing and wading through a laundry pile. This trinity of chores currently prevailing at the top of todays itinerary; prioritised over lesser jobs such as scratching around and/or mooching around the place.

Rising early today, I’ve already completed my first Bank Holiday Monday task. This light labour scattering grass seed on areas of dead lawn. This damage caused an overgrown clematis, dog pee and collateral damage consequential from recent building work. My haste at completing the chore, manifesting from a desire to complete the task prior to the arrival of the aforementioned impending deluge.

My motive was concluding early morning spreading grass seed, application of a thin covering of top soil and upcoming rain would be as good a start as any to regenerate my sorry looking lawn.

A strategy bearing significantly greater chance of successful lawn efficacy than my lame effort last week. An occasion where it became glaringly clear that standing in the garden disconsolately sighing, tutting and shaking my head at the grasses patchiness made no impact on resurrecting the yards greenery.

So far today, my mum’s early stage dementia has impaired her cognitive wherewithal greater than normal. Consequently, a volley of confusing questions and reduced understanding of current circumstances have made verbal interaction with mater challenging. In particular, endeavouring to make the matriarch comprehend arrangements for upcoming hairdressing and doctors appointments troublesome.

It’s deeply distressing to witness someone as funny, bright and capable as Maggie Strachan becoming a shell of the individual occupying her now frail body. Especially when at one time her personality elevated her to life and soul of the party status.

Losing her beloved husband of 57 years in late 2017, ever advancing old age and not being able to go into Marks & Spencers during COVID, the rancid brew contributing toward this mental degeneration. Although not always hampered by this cognitive confusion, the old lady on occasion now even struggles to change the TV channel.

Life as it stands for MA Strachan playing out through views of banal daytime telly. Her ‘go to’ entertainment conduit during a mixture of COVID lockdown and rank bad weather. On an evening TV soap operas impart the old lady with existential contentment.

Consequently, post dinner meal times include unsavoury exhibitions of ungracious shouting, confrontational dialogue and bleak storylines…… And that’s just her interactions with me before she sits down to watch the tabloid TV broadcasts!

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