Lack Of Continuity

Something I miss now our regular carer has "retired" is continuity. The young agency carer who was here this morning was in a proactive mood, asking questions about my mother's health and proposing to give her a bath once a week and I thought, "Good, now we're getting somewhere" and then she consulted her rota and found she isn't booked to come here again this side of Christmas.

Haircut

I know I said I'd grow my hair but I can never get through the bit in the middle- where the hair isn't long enough to constitute a statement but long enough to tickle the ears and be itchy. I'd love to be a cavalier but it looks like I'm destined to live out the rest of this life as a roundhead.

Perhaps I should invest in a wig. Then I could be Prince Rupert in the morning and Praise-God Barebones in the afternoon- or the other way round if I so chose. No, I'm not serious. Wigs are silly.

I was looking at portraits of late seventeenth century admirals in the Queens House at Greenwich, all of them with their fat little faces engulphed in enormous shoulder-length horsehair wigs and I was thinking "How did they stand it?"