Moonpig, Mother and me during lockdown

It’s five months since Mother got sucked into a demented game of ping pong between us, hospital and her nursing home. Four falls, four visits. Still fighting. In that time, she’s fractured her hip, caught Covid and won the Cheeriest Personality of the Year at the local gerontology department’s Christmas awards after charming them duringContinue reading “Moonpig, Mother and me during lockdown”

Walking boots, sweaty socks and scary phonecalls

I take off my walking boots and sweaty socks in the porch of the cottage and hobble bare foot to the kitchen mantel piece, where my mobile phone is charging below a map of the Brecon Beacons.  The family and I have been out walking along the River Usk for over four hours and weContinue reading “Walking boots, sweaty socks and scary phonecalls”

My mother wants to know what existentialism is

Breakfast. Mother licks her index finger and pats it onto the crumbs of pain au chocolate on her plate, while casually asking my daughter what existentialism is. ‘It was all the rage thirty years ago. But you don’t hear people talking about it anymore,’ Mother says, as if mourning the end of the golden ageContinue reading “My mother wants to know what existentialism is”

Why hasn’t Covid turned me into a Yoga freak?

I’m exhausted from watching ‘Zombieland Double Tap’ I’m woken by a South African woman urging me to ‘keep going’ and the sound of panting in my right ear. ‘Don’t stop now.’ Don’t stop? I don’t remember starting anything and I’d much rather go back to sleep. It’s only 8.30am for Heaven’s sake.    ‘Noooooh,’ IContinue reading “Why hasn’t Covid turned me into a Yoga freak?”