The diary of a bemused Boomer
Slowly, Mother is folding tissue paper around a book which is lying on a small table between us, cover face down. She’s wrapping a present for my son’s birthday. She’s intensely lost in the task like a code breaker and hasn’t spoken to me for over ten minutes, which is five minutes longer than herContinue reading “Wrapping a present for my son’s birthday”
Our car is as ancient as a Viking long ship and as glamourous as a discount warehouse baked bean can. Something inside the old jalopy smells bad, like pickled face flannel, but it’s not so bad that you want to puke and with the windows open it’s bearable over short distances. However, today, I’m drivingContinue reading “The car smells of Boomer despair”
Mother is slowly sipping roast parsnip soup under the watchful eye of her carer. She eats her lunch purposefully, bowing her head down as she brings the spoon up to her lips. Her right-hand trembles but this time the soup doesn’t slop over the side of the spoon. ‘We’re going make you big and strongContinue reading “Does Mother really like roast parsnip soup?”