I believe this is my fifth blog entry on the last day of a year and yes, I'm grateful to have survived the long journey from the start of my blogging days here.

I could say this Humbug has probably been one of the worst on record for me personally, but there's no point debating or dwelling on such things. It has certainly been very hectic and not in the least relaxing, but again I'm thankful to have survived it and I am relieved it is almost time to put it all behind us.

I could say 2009 has not been a particularly good year for me and will join the ranks of an era which has been particularly painful and difficult. But again, there is little point questioning or deliberating over such things, so I can only give thanks I am still here at the end of it. I must also add the month of May, spent on board the QM2, then visiting wonderful places and meeting fabulous people in the U.S. of A has to be one of the most memorable highlights of my life.

I could say the Noughties has been the worst decade of my life, but as we age there are certain knocks we have to accept as part of life's rich pattern. Problems, trials and traumas have hit me from all angles over the last ten years, some anticipated, some complete shocks, but all I can do is repeat my appreciation that I have lived to tell the tales and received so much support and help from friends here at WDC.

So, as we face the end of another year and decade, I have no profound thoughts to offer or any promises I will have more positive or riveting words to share in the New Year. I will appreciate a very quiet evening at home tonight and won't think about tomorrow until it arrives. I will make no resolutions as usual and will continue to attempt to deal with one day at a time, sweet Jesus.

My only wish for the future is for some peace and contentment, both in mind and body and that too is my wish for all of you who continue to faithfully read and comment on my ramblings. Have a pleasant evening wherever you are and whatever you do and may we all forget about our troubles and the price of carrots until next year.
 

It's official. The one nerve I was surviving on before Humbug day is now deceased and unlikely to be resuscitated. How much longer I function as a semi-sane human being is under interrogation.

The doctor came out to see my Dad on Thursday, could find nothing seriously wrong with him, prescribed some blood pressure medication and asked if he'd feel safer in hospital after the latest series of falls.

'NO.' That should be my father's middle name.

'Will you come to us on Christmas Day?'

'NO.'

''Do you think you should have meals on wheels now?'

'NO.'

'Would you accept some help from Social Services to help you stop falling?'

'NO.'

So, the great day dawns. The grandmonsters are awake and causing mayhem before I'm ready to be semi-human. We get through the morning then deliver dinner to my dad. We wait while he eats, wash up and leave instructions to be very careful getting out of his chair, walking and to try and stay upright. We then go on to visit hubby's 95-year-old mother then return to cook dinner.

Just as the Yorkshire puddings are rising nicely, the stuffing is browning and the potatoes roasting to perfection, the telephone rings. An ambulance is on its way to my Dad's house where he's fallen again and cracked his head. Dinner goes to the wind while we phone sis, dad's neighbours and await news. Humbug day isn't a good one to deal with emergencies and believe me I know from experience. Is it any wonder I wear my Bah Humbug hat?

So, Dad is now back in hospital and with skeleton staff working over Humbug and New Year I suspect it will be yet another three or four week stint of visiting, keeping check on his house and no solid conclusions. The difference is this time I'm not prepared to be put on hold or be fobbed off or take any more of his 'NO's. The time has come - he either accepts some outside help or moves into sheltered accommodation. I can no longer deal with all the hassle with no assistance, thanks or consideration that I too am getting older and cannot cope with old people, dysfunctional families or small children.

The evening of Boxing Day we are finally left in peace. The house is a tip, there's bloody football on television, I have an infection of some sort but cannot sleep. We get a day off tomorrow which will be spent checking up on Dad's house and visiting the hospital, then woohoo we get the grandkids back on Monday while son and wife go to a party. We are supposedly having a party of our own on Tuesday, but I'm not sure I'll survive until then.

It's a great life if you don't weaken. I'd just rather be living someone else's life right now as I've had enough of this one. But then you know me...never one to...


 

The bad news is my Dad had another fall today.

The good news is we arrived just after he'd fallen, so no emergency services had to be involved. We've arranged for the doctor to call in the morning to check him out and just hope he can stay upright until then.

The good news is the grandmonsters have been returned to their rightful owners.

The bad news they will be coming back tomorrow until Saturday.

You have to admit they're cute. (on paper)

We survived day one with the grandkids. Whipped them off to the supermarket where the world and his wife had also decided to shop for England, seeing as there are only four days left to THE day and the shops will be closed for twenty-four hours. A happy afternoon removing fingers from video slots, singing nursery rhymes, wiping faces, hands, bums, sticky surfaces and preventing sibling rivalry murder followed, but finally it was time for ducks in the bath and bedtime stories. I'm too old for all this lark.

The relief was short lived. At two in the morning Dylan was wide awake and wailing for reasons still unknown. At five the scenario was repeated and at exactly the same time the telephone blasted out into the freezing cold night air. Have you guessed yet? I did.

It was the lifeline company informing us my Dad had fallen and pressed his alarm. They suggested sending for an ambulance, but with no wish to have him loitering on hospital wards for no reason for the next month I declined and said we'd sort him out. I'm not sure why or when he fell but he's spent the rest of the day under the duvet while we've rushed round like blue-arsed flies trying to keep the kids occupied, sorting out problems with his alarm and propping our eyelids open.

Peace reigns for the moment, yet what may happen during the night I don't want to think about. Temperatures have dropped dramatically, roads are frozen and people are being advised not to drive unless absolutely necessary. All we need now is a phone call from the son and wife to tell us they can't get back from Newcastle and can we keep the kids over Humbug?

No one ever said life was easy, but no one ever told me it could be this damned difficult and inconvenient either. But you know me...never one to complain except when there's an R in the month...or an A...or a J...
 

I had a chat online to Nada earlier today, who is on board a cruise ship until the middle of January. I hope the trip will help her relax and be some comfort for all she has suffered over the last year especially.

I know she has looked forward to this break for a long time now and understood her need to take it alone. However, during our chat she said she wished I was there. No way possible of course, but at this moment in time I would happily desert my lot and join her. There is only so much even I can take and I'm rapidly approaching saturation point. Forgive me while I indulge in a self pity party.

You may already know this is not my favourite season, for various reasons I'll avoid mentioning here. We don't go overboard at Humbug, but I do my best on the gifts, cards, decorations and catering front and have done for 29 years of married crap bliss. I have given up hope it will ever be someone else's responsibilty during my lifetime and am well practiced in the art of cursing quietly over the sink while peeling 5 million sprouts.

This year is no different. My father refuses to move from his home to join us, but my conscience will not allow me to leave him alone and a suitable dinner with trimmings will be delivered to his armchair. My mother-in-law will also stay at home as she can no longer manage our stairs.

My stepdaughter likes to keep her twin boys at home on Humbug day which is fair enough by me, but by the time they arrive on Boxing Day I'll be a worn out rag. Son and family usually join us and this year had arranged to arrive the day before in order for Paul and Mey Ling to go for drinks with friends while we look after the grandmonsters. Not ideal, but we all tend to bend a little to please our kids.

But now I feel we're being asked to bend a bit too far and I'm afraid my rubber backbone may just snap. There's thick snow on the ground, more forecast, and freezing temperatures making roads hazardous, yet because friends of Mey Ling have invited them to spend three days in Newcastle, it has to be.

With little notice or consideration we are expected to take on the grandmonsters tomorrow until Wednesday while they have a break. First refusal resulted in accusations we do nothing for them, do not support them and a load more emotional blackmail.

I love my son to pieces but I'm not fond of the changes I've seen in him since he married someone who seems to think she's a princess and the world revolves around her. My lips are sealed, but I don't know for how much longer. I think I'm about to become a victim of self combustion.

Hubby of course needs to be in control and will do anything to appease his children. So, the week before Humbug we get to look after the kids as well as coping with elderly parents and preparing for the great day here. At this moment in time I would quite cheerfully wave goodbye to the lot of them and join Nada on her peaceful cruise.

Forgive me my humbug grumpiness. I can't promise anything will change as we start a new decade, but surely it can't be as bad as this last one. Better not tempt fate however. Besides, there's a whole week of kiddywinkles and happy families to survive yet. One day at a time is my usual mantra, but right now it's roll on next weekend.




 

Despite still feeling coach-lagged and snuffly, my friend Joy and I decided to brave the elements yesterday and go shopping in Nottingham. She returned with a box of chocolate buttons and I purchased a ninety-nine pence sticker book of Peppa Pig. Humbug profits will surely rise sharply after the last of the big spenders hit the town.

The truth is I think we're just Humbugged out and can no longer be arsed with it. Saturation point seems to arrive earlier every year in line with the ever increasing premature hype. It seems the shops are also ready to call it a day. Everywhere Humbug displays are decreasing in size, goods are being bundled onto trolleys and staff preparing for the post humbug season.

In other words they've sold as much as they think they'll sell and are all ready for marking down everything for the sales. In my youth these were referred to as the January sales, but I gather shops will reopen on Boxing Day this year, so we can all return unwanted gifts and witness things we bought in November now a third of the price. Oh, how will we cope with the shops closed for one whole day over the season of profit goodwill?

I guess by then adverts for summer holidays abroad and Easter eggs will be in full swing. If I get back on my diet and join a gym I should be able to buy a bikini by February, a Halloween costume in April and then start buying Humbug cards for 2010 in June. With a bit of luck, if we carry on living in such a fast and futuristic way we could all disappear up our own backsides pretty soon. Hopefully they don't celebrate humbug up there. I wish I'd been born rich instead of sarcastic.

So my weary friend and I boarded the last train home feeling rather deflated and very tired. We had to take it in turns to force our eyes open or we'd have ended up at the end of the line fast asleep. Not like us at all, so we're either showing our age or suffering from the symptoms of Humbugitis and just wanting to hibernate until it's all over.

The weather didn't help as it pimply sissed down all day. Today has been bitterly cold with high winds and snow flurries. The forecast is for even worse tomorrow and the advice is to stay at home unless absolutely necessary. Looks like a cosy day in with hubby then - Oh Joy. Maybe I'll have a dormouse day and just stay under the duvet.
 

It was a pleasant if tiring weekend trip to London, but back to Monday and supermarket mayhem arrived too quickly. Jersey Boys was enjoyable but not the best stage show I've ever seen. Both my friend and I had colds start before the weekend which put the dampers on things a little. We spent too much time on coaches, the weather was unpleasantly cold and the very early mornings not to my liking at all. But you know me, never one to complain.

The three previous days spent with my sis were equally hectic, but very enjoyable. Our private readings were very interesting, painfully accurate in parts but laughably inaccurate in others. We spent a lovely day with friends in Newark on Friday before sis had to return home.

I guess now it will be a case of Humbug for breakfast, dinner and tea until all the hype is over and we're all left wondering what the heck that was all about yet again. Hubby keeps asking me what I want as a present, but I keep saying there's nothing I really want that money can buy. Waxing philosophical is something that comes with age I suspect.

However, while my sister was here I told her I wanted to pop into our local branch of Boots the chemist to enquire about a natural sleeping aid I'd seen advertised on television. It's only a small shop, so I wasn't surprised when the girl behind the counter informed me she hadn't heard of the product but would go and ask the pharmacist.

The pharmacist walked over and behind the counter stood an apparition sent from old ladies fantasy heaven. Long, black wavy hair, so shiny it almost blinded me. Big brown eyes so kind and beautiful I was hypnotised. Good looking an inadequate description and when he opened his mouth to speak, a voice to match the perfect vision.

Mesmerised, I didn't hear a bloody word he was saying, but came away clutching my purchase and vowing to find a reason to return to ask his advice on something at least once a day for the forseeable future. Hell, I'm sure they didn't make men like that in my day.

So now I could tell hubby there's something I'd like for Christmas in our local Boots the chemist. No need to wrap it - in fact it would be far more appreciated unwrapped. I'm not sure how much it costs, but I'm certain hubby wouldn't be too pleased if he discovered it was actually the pharmacist himself.

No harm in dreaming is there? Growing more philosophical with age is okay, but I'd rather be twenty years younger and working behind the counter in our local Boots the chemist.


 

It's too early for me. It's dark and dreary. The birds are singing and hubby is clanging pots, clearing his throat and crunching toast. Sometimes the idea of having a quiet morning alone would be an incentive to rise early, but it seems it will never be.

I couldn't get to sleep last night despite being very weary. It happens a lot at this time of year. I put it down to lack of sunshine and an overactive brain cell. But I've had to be up early as I'm going to meet my sis in a bit, who will be staying over until Friday. We've a busy schedule, including seeing a private medium for a reading on Thursday and rising early on Friday to visit a friend in my favourite town of Newark.

On Saturday I'll have to be getting up long before the birds, but I doubt I'll beat hubby to the kettle. I'll be off to London with a friend for the weekend, where we'll be seeing the stage show 'Jersey Boys' and visiting Convent Garden. I suppose once I get back I'll feel like sleeping for a fortnight, but will be forced into preparing for that Humbug thing I'm trying not to think about right now.

So apologies if I neglect you over the next few days, but I'll still be wishing you well and hoping to catch up at some stage next week. Thank you to all my loyal readers and particularly to alfred booth, wanbli ska for the fabulous merit badge I received this week. It's a long time since I was given one of those, so it really brightened my day.

Better go and get sorted and attempt to force myself into the land of the living. I so wish someone would invent a harmless sleeping pill which brought on peaceful, dreamless sleep then ensured we woke bright and breezy at dawn. Next life I'm going to be a bird...or a hubby.
 

I could quite like December if it wasn't for all the damned Humbug hype. I could wrap up warm and go long, peaceful walks. I could curl up by the fire and read, or sit at the computer and write seriously for once. I might even get out my redundant watercolour paints and wash some wintery skies over paper or buy some pretty wool and knit a sweater.

But no. It doesn't matter how organised we try to be, how much we attempt to ignore it or play it down, it seems almost every waking moment of this dreaded month has something to do with Humbug. Even for a grumpy old grinch like me. I resent the waste of time, money and materials more every year.

For the sake of family I put on my best smile and do what has to be done. I write and post all the cards, purchase and wrap all the gifts, see to all the decorations and do all the cooking. It seems rather unbalanced when others can't even be bothered to write a Humbug list. This generally results in last minute shopping trips and late evenings surrounded by mounds of paper, bows, labels and sticky tape. Bah Humbug indeed.

Now if everyone was like my daughter-in-law, it would make life a lot simpler. Mey Ling isn't backwards in coming forwards and I must admit her directness can be irritating or admirable depending on circumstances. As regards Humbug, she's got a thumbs up from me.

'Mom, what you get me for Christmas?'

'I don't know. What would you like?'

'I want a pancake maker. Paul and I look in all the shops but cannot find one anywhere.'

'So, what do you suggest?'

'I find one online. Look Mom, I show you.'

Without further ado, she locates the pancake maker on the computer and confirms it's what she wants. Two clicks of the mouse and it's all done and dusted.

'Okay,' I say. 'You want it wrapped up for Christmas Day?'

'Oh no. We no have Christmas in Cambodia so I have it when it arrives.'

Fine by me. No fuss, no wasted paper, no feigning surprise at a gift you've asked for. So now, Mey Ling is happily making pancakes for her family and I have nothing more to do as regards her main gift. Oh, that everyone was as easy to deal with.

As for me, I'm thinking of asking for a ticket to Sihanoukville in Cambodia for the rest of December. Lying on white sands in the blazing sun, listening to the waves of the sea and sipping a few cocktails, totally oblivious to the manic mayhem of Humbug in the western world sounds like heaven to me.
 

After a year of informing us he wasn't going to make it, my Dad reached Nonagenarian status yesterday. He didn't want any fuss, so there was no party or big celebrations. He quietly opened his cards and gifts, then announced he may get drunk. I told him fair enough, as long as he stayed upright and didn't call out any emergency services.

So now I guess the conversation will revolve around him not reaching ninety-one. I tell him hubby's Mum is ninety-five now and still getting out and about when she can. The older generation seem to be made of stern stuff and many defy the rules regarding longevity. My Dad has drunk beer every day of his life as far back as I can remember and I don't recall the last time he asked for any fruit or fresh vegetables.

There was a woman on our local news recently celebrating her 110th birthday in a care home. She'd complained to the powers that be about the fact every card she'd received from the Queen since her 100th birthday had featured the same photograph. She was sick of the sight of HRH in a boring yellow cardigan and asked for something different this year. Lo and behold, she received a card with Lizzy wearing a blue jacket for her 110th.

Sis and I were discussing this news story when it dawned on us this lady is actually old enough to be our Dad's mother. That makes us see him as quite young by comparison and who knows how long he'll be around? We concluded he could in all possibility outlive us, but one thing's for certain.

Neither of us plan on leaving him anything in our wills.