Skies littered with five pointed stars

The last few days have been beautiful, exhausting, and frankly just the kind of lovely chaos that I’ve been needing.

 

The last few weeks have been hell. As most of you know, my Grandmother has fairly late-stage Alzheimers now, and has just been taken into respite care after a whole load of nigh-impossible tasks. She’s up North, in the homeland, I’m a hundred and fifty odd miles away. Other than phoning and chatting and trying to keep everyone else on an even keel, I can’t help. My one hope on “helping” is getting my bike functional again, getting up North and running errands. I can’t do emotional stuff, I’m shit at talking about problems, but I can pick up groceries and hassle doctors and make sure that the right meds go to the right people and argue the pros and cons of memantine and quetiapine and citalopram and all that.

My bike, which got home three days ago, has thrown a back wheel bearing. Went out for a first shakedown ride on it with Best Friend, and within eight miles of home it had thrown the bearing, leaving us stranded out in a residential street in a village between the town we left from and the one we were aiming for. Fortunately, help was at hand; First and old gent who’d had a Honda 90 and was more than happy to lend us his extensive toolkit, then a family who all owned Triumphs and classic Minis who offered advice and hand wipes as we stripped the bike down to find the problem (Initially, of curse, assuming the fuelling was the problem, again).

 

Whilst at Best Friend’s house, we rescued a Staffordshire bull terrier. She was lost, stuck out in the back alley in the middle of a downpour, at midnight (I spotted her when checking on the bikes before going to bed). She came into the house when invited, and only when invited, and ate everything given to her (About eight pouches of cat food), but nothing that we didn’t give her, and then sat down happily on a sheepskin to be fussed over and checked for an identity tattoo, a chipping scar, or a name tag. Admitting defeat, we kept her until the next morning, when we went to seek her owners (She slept perfectly well in the guest room, and held her excretions until she got outside).  Taking her to the local park, nobody recognised her. Asking a column of schoolchildren and their teacher, nobody recognised her (The teacher told the children to come forwards and look at the dog to see if they knew her. The classroom assistant, near the back, grabbed three of the children from the back who had come forward to see if they recognised the dog,and told them off with an “Oh aren’t you three nosey!” – I think this sums up classroom assistants really. Total lack of curiosity and blind adherence to routine and love of wielding heavy authority over the powerless.) Eventually I found people who may have been her owners… But they hadn’t noticed that their dog was gone until the morning. I took her to the vet, who scanned her chip and said that they’d take her back to her owners, who’d now have to pay a fine to get her back.

And, to top it all off, I’m now nocturnal again, just when it’s the least convenient. Oh well, there was an hour change a couple of days ago which might hurry me back towards diurnality. At least I’ve had the impetus to tidy out my nest, make some lace (And still get to lace school at that) and make a second bed for myself.

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