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Carers need fun, not fuss

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I normally eat my lunch standing up, as I prepare Wriggly Bum's. Time for a treat today, my excuse being that my hernias are playing up, So, I am going to sit at the table, with my soup spoon in my right hand, and the Parish Magazine in the other. It has just been delivered, by Fussy Freda from up the road. I usually feel like hiding behind the curtains when I see her coming.

Good heart, means well, but far too gushing for my taste, and her doleful lookand sepulchral “How aaaaare you?” cause me to snap back in an involuntary and ungracious manner “I'm FINE thank you. And YOU?”

What makes people think that if you have a tough task, you have a tough life, which they need to mourn about with you, instead of realising that you need a bit of fun and light hearted banter, rather than sympathy and back patting/rubbing.

I accept that I am a 'please do not invade my personal space' person, and thus am an aberration and disappointment to compulsive huggers. I'm sorry (well actually, I'm not) but that is just how I am, and how I want to stay. So there!

If you really want lighten my day, make me laugh.

Which reminds me of my all time favourite joke, so I'll stop now, before I inflict it on you. You've had a lucky escape!

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