YD wrote about her sister today in such a way that it has crept into my soul and I can't imagine any other way of experiencing it, let alone expressing it. So I won't even try, just now.

This is one of the least pleasing photos of me that I have seen in a while, but I feel the angle of the fag reflects my mood at being on the wrong bridge over the Thames, in the rain, before I've had breakfast, en route to visit my daughter in a nursing home:





Here's the view the other way, with landmarks to prove that I did drive through Central London during the fucking rush hour, as I'm bound to think that was just a dream:



and here's another landmark, Nelson's Column, which we hadn't intended to pass, but we did:



and after that YD was concentrating on giving me directions, not taking pictures and all was well, apart from the windscreen wash running out and the wiper blades being way past their usefulness and the lorries splashing filth onto the screen.

ED was in the main lounge when we arrived, sat with her back to the door, chatting away to someone, waving her arms around, just like in days gone by. Which was good to see. I was so tired I took a nap on her bed before we picked Grandson up from school and hung out with him for a few hours.



Then I had another nap on the sofa when we took him home. It was all too much really. ED tried to play noughts and crosses but couldn't grasp the idea of blocking her sister - aiming for three in a row herself was all she could do. At the time I freaked out (internally), but now I'm remembering that they all started like that when they were kids, not getting that you had to block, and none of them are stupid, so maybe we just have to persevere and see if it suddenly clicks, like it did when she was little. The physio at the home said it was irreversible, but I'm not convinced that effort has been made with MSers.

We had to have a word with GS, as I'd spotted him using the word 'faggot' as an insult on facebook (I wasn't spying, it came up on the ticker when I was online and caught my eye). YD spoke to him and it was a big relief to find that he was amazed and aghast to discover the specific meaning of 'faggot' as an insult. She thought it an opportune moment to make sure he was up to speed with a variety of other phrases that get hurled about by morons, to ensure no further accidental offence - his eyes nearly popped out of his head at some of them. Rug-muncher, for example, was new to him as a phrase and possibly as a concept.

Today I have been grateful for: finding the earring I thought I'd lost; a visit from SDig this afternoon; Son and his sardonic wit; YD and her wisdom; furry slippers

Sweet dreams xxx