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Angelus's Journal


Angelus's Journal

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1 entry this month
 

...so I could still have a pork pie for tea.

10:05 Jun 05 2023
Times Read: 166


White-World

I awoke early and got to the front door at eight thirty in the morn

to a world covered in white and a smiling man in black, who

had brought my Father home, after he'd been away for almost

a year. I'd place him down by the bureau then went back to bed,

thoughts of his Life with me and, I'd slept well.

I spent much of the Thursday morning in bed, doing office work, on laptop and phone...

The next day I ignored the phone ringing at 7:30 a.m. and later checked the number finding it came from the Medical Rehabilitation Hospital in the Gulf.

And, then I was off to the dentist. On my return home I'd found men working on the tree outside my home.... work I'd wanted since a lorry caught the tree a while, a tree that my Mother had saved, when it was just a twig...

My visit to the dentist had not gone too badly.
Tony was my taxi driver so 'the beast', his car got fed... I also had a steak and kidney pie down at Raby Mere.

I hadn't had one for over thirty odd years and forgot how much I liked them.

'my Father's Day'
 
I had been intent on providing respect for my Father's Day, a term she endearingly used in conversation with me. Cath is helped me do as I had wanted, by helping me provide the ideal respectful day that I had wanted, for a Father I love greatly on the 28th February 2023. Cath is not just understanding, but I found her quite empathic and most understanding, to me. She is a a listener, so... am empathic listener. She is darn good speaker as well, as I found on 'my Father's Day', when she had spoken my prose, in a fashion I could not, as I would weep. Throught my experience with Cath Burgess, I encountered naught but respect and understanding, hence the rating I had given.

Currently I'm still just waiting round and looking to my lawyer, as my friends help me complete a few jobs around the house, which has been good of them.

Much as I hate Arrowe Park Hospital, as that's where Little Mother died, Doctor Brocki 'blackmailed' me to go there.
I had requested a letter from her, as evidence for Unilever Pensions, so she had looked at me with a smile and remind me I was at least a year and a half late for a camera down my throat. Well, the experience had been easily as bad as the first time I had it, at least twenty years ago. At one point I'd been turned into a foetal position, wanting to scream round the tube down my throat; thankful that the two nurses there were as bright and cheery with me, as they had been.
The fellow with the tube had reminded me of The Master from Doctor Who, with his beard and acerbic sense of humour.

Thursday Tony took me to Moreton, to pay the lawyer £500, travelling to Wallasey on the way. It had been a long and circular journey, but there was a reason, a friend Lucie, had advertised a pie shop to me, selling a pork pie that's actually nice to my palette than Pearsons pies, from New Ferry. A difficult thing to sell indeed. Yet, I digress.

After a long journey and pleasant conversation, as we had followed the gps on his phone, we had hot to the pie-shop. It had been closed, for the week, even after Tony had checked the place on the internet.

He had given me a pearsons pork pie that he had in the glove compartment later, so I could still have a pork pie for tea.


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