I have reached that fabulous age when I can officially apply for an ACAT assessment to gauge my suitability for assistance at home. I think I will pass with flying colours - I frequently fall over ("She's had a fall...", I have difficulty keeping my house tidy without help, carrying the washing basket is now beyond me, changing the bed sheets are too heavy, my back hurts most of the time and my balance is stuffed.
Fortunately at present, we are enveloped in the magic of Onslow. We met a thirty year resident on the beach the other day. She are I shared our views on small yapping dogs, small children (she described them as "little shitheads" - her words not mine, but she tolerates the increase of both by escaping to the beach twice a day looking for glass the ocean has thrown up. Even though Beadon Bay is north facing, the beach has been transformed by the recent encounter with Cyclone Narelle. The loss of much of the sand has thrown up a huge increase in shells, coral, tormented metal, fascinating rock pools, the remains of infrastructure with the ever-present rotation of the tides.
Today is much cooler and cloudy but I have still retreated to the roomy shelter close to our caravan. Michael is busily washing and sorting our collected treasures, Will is relatively tidy, the washing and the washing up are both soaking and after a rocky start, the day has improved out of sight.
Not that I am suddenly cured of being a lunatic, or that I won't cause Michael more exasperation or irritation, but I feel better today than I have for a very long time.
What really worried me recently was that my sense of humour had completely deserted me. I have summoned Danshari back as I needed to create another compartment to hopefully store my mental health a tad more successfully until we return home and a shrink can work out what the hell to do with me!
I also decided that I needed to inject some joy and laughter back to aid the return of my sense of humour. In my increasing ag-ed state, I will be bearing all my beliefs and values that I now present as the Gospel according to Kate. If you are easily offended by profanity and questionable opinions, I suggest you look away now.
- I am not a morning person, have never been a morning person, mainly because my two boys were night wakers and I didn't sleep through the night for six years. Believe me, I love my bed and I loathe having to set an alarm. Plus, I detest all those gorgeously effervescent (mostly) young women who leap out of bed with perfect make-up and coiffures and beam at the camera because they are "Instagram influences" set my teeth on edge.
- I am at the point of giving up wearing a bra forever. After fifty years of searching for the perfect "over the shoulder boulder holder," I have had enough. And if anybody want to take a gander at my saggy tits, good luck to them. They will be sorely disappointed.
- I have come to the conclusion that I will ever svelte again. Apart from my boobs heading steadfastly towards my knees, I have wobbly upper arms, and a neck resembling a bull frog. Fortunately, I do not have a muffin top. Instead, I have a pronounced overhang that a family could shelter under if caught in a sudden thunderstorm.
- I have begun wearing panty liners as a matter of course. I don't suffer from "LBL" - light bladder weakness, I can summon a full blown flood that would seriously impress Noah. Sneezing and laughing or just suddenly needing to have a wee right now are the trigger points. And of course, if the panty liner is not placed correctly inside my knickers, they do fuck all anyway.
- I fart - a lot. Loudly, with expression, or a series of little pop- offs. Long bouts of farting that could see me as a member in a symphony orchestra is farting was introduced as an instrument. And then of course, there is the dreaded fear of follow through - when a fart becomes a shart. Not an experience I recommend.
- Bowels have become a regular conversation piece or eager comparison. When I was a student nurse, I had to ask each poor patient if they had moved their bowels on that particular day. In an open ward with every other patient listening in. Now, talking of poohs is a great way to start each day.
- I hate hospitals and I hate inattentive, unprofessional or boorish nursing stuff even more. Since 2014, when Michael nearly died due to actions of an incompetent nincompoop, I never left him alone in a hospital. And I question everything and expect full explanations in plain English so that we know what is going on.
- The night nurse nurse at Michael's last admission for his hernia operation deserved a decent clip around the earhole of a kick up her arse for loudly broadcasting the results of Michael's blood sugar results to all and sundry. An extremely gormless nurse gave Michael countless sweet biscuits throughout the afternoon because there were nothing else available between lunch and dinner which caused his high blood sugar reading. I also had to explain Michael's meds and I ended up dispensing them which, of course, was STRICTLY FORBIDDEN. Needless to say, my complaints was swept under the carpet of that particular private hospital.
- I used to be a social person. Now I get irritated by the antics of ill bred, ignorant, arrogant and annoying people. Take this morning for example. We are staying in a dog friendly caravan park which means there are a lot of dogs around. Some dickhead complained about Stella's barking at him yesterday morning as she was fully aware he was not a dog person. In that case, what the fuck is he doing staying in a dog friendly caravan park and stirring up trouble. In a perfect world, he either would have spontaneously self combusted or I would have turned the dogs on him.
- I have become totally bored of the gaggle of caravaners who form tightly knitted groups, do stuff all such as exploring the beach or the museum or the Op Shop or the Visitors Centre or the Community Garden. Instead, they sit on their arses under their awnings and exchange phone numbers and talk complete and utter garbage.
- I have become amused by monstrous caravans and the equally monstrous vehicles that are required to pull them. Usually equipped with every gadget possible and filled with screaming kids and harassed parents, their gear spews out around them and takes them an entire afternoon to organise the van, the awning, the table and chairs and every expensive gizmo to place in its correct position. We were particularly gobsmacked in Carnarvon when the caravan and rig in the next site literally could not fit in. Plus some of the titles of some of the vans left me in stitches. I shall display some of these ridiculous names in my photos.
- Have I mentioned I dislike most small children? Particularly the ones screaming past our van on bikes without a parent in sight. The ear piercing shrieking of little girls, the aggro of little boys. Really, the only children I have time for are our granddaughters Immy and Violet.This is entirely the result of Callum and Bronwyn's parenting. Immy and Violet are becoming individuals in their own right. Immy loves art and science, dancing, swimming and outdoorsy activities. Violet has a bit of a minx about her, with explicit opinions and enthusiastic playing in their back yard, Callum and Bronwyn also converted their outdoor al-fresco undercover space into a "Mud Kitchen" for the girls to explore the natural world in and out of their backyard, In wellington boots and beanies to bare feet and hats, Immy and Violet have greater fun than continually in front of an electronic device.
- And so in conclusion, I has decided I prefer the company of my darling husband, Michael and my beloved family. We do have some special friends and we treasure them. The last two days have involved sitting under the shelter, listening to music, catching up on our computers and having icecream and chocolate sauce for lunch on both days, the dogs being relative well behaved, and the lure twice a day of the beach. There is a sea eagle's nest perched on a tower close to the caravan park, but I don't if many of those staying here would have seen this wonderful sight. There are also the patterns on the beach made by crabs which are industrially rebuild during low tide every single day. These are the reasons we have come to Onslow. We are not sure if we return again, given the huge expansion of what used to be quite an intimate park, but at least whilst we are here, we have the sea, the sky, the afternoon breeze to cherish every single day. And bugger those who appear to be here for no other reason, except to escape the cold weather further south.
- We will return to the bay this afternoon which will provide much enjoyment for the dogs and more beachcoming for us.
- And just wait until I undertake my ACAT assessment. I hope that they will have ever met somebody quite like me.
Until next time!
These images reflect my life -
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