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Every little helps

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carers

I was enjoying that blissful time at dawn, when the birds have had to get up for choir practice, whilst you have the luxury of lying in for a bit longer.

My reverie was shattered by Robert, who reserves most of his sleep for daytime, telling me that he had to get up.  He explained that his Mum, who died decades ago, came to see him yesterday, and that he had promised to drive her, and aunty, to Norfolk, as they wanted crabs.

I resisted the wicked temptation of reminding him that there was no r in the month, and also that aunty (who would have been 120 this year) was such a bad traveller that she wouldn't even make it to the local fishmonger in a car. Instead, I tried to deflect the moment by suggesting that we watch a bit of TV first, to check on any road reports.

R reminded me, as he has done frequently over the past 6 months, that the TV set fell off the wall and smashed, during the 'explosion', which only he experienced.

OK, said I, I'll get up and make us both a cup of coffee then.

A short time later, we were watching the television, miraculously restored (Humpty Dumpty would have been much better off living in our house), and R had moved from the long ago time and the faraway place he was at, and had returned to the here and now. In fact he was commenting, extremely lucidly and rationally, on the state of the country's economy.

His comments were prompted by the programme we were watching. A reporter was stationed outside the Downing Street home of the Chancellor, who had reportedly been burning the midnight oil working on the awaited Spending Review, which would detail the cuts and savings he would need to make to reduce deficits.

Unfortunately, throughout the whole of the quite lengthy report, our attention was drawn over the reporter's shoulder, to the Chancellor's front door, which was being washed and dried and polished and buffed to within an inch of its life, by a very smartly uniformed, energetic cleaning lady.

Came the voice from the bed - “I wonder if it ever occurs to him (the Chancellor) that the huge majority of the people who have to bear the brunt of these cuts and savings, actually clean their own front door”.

Good thinking! (certainly better that driving to Norfolk to buy a crab!)

After all, as the hymn we sang at junior school said, “Little drops of water, little grains of sand, make the mighty ocean, and our pleasant land”. Listen to Robert’s advice, Chancellor. Go find yourself a cloth!

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