The story so far: one broken husband and one disdainful rabbit combine to make one weary of constant Ow-ow-ows from the Hub.
Monday 11 August
My monthly visit to Write Out Loud at the art gallery, an open mic poetry night.
The Hub refused to go to A&E.
Tuesday 12 August
Tea and toast with Friend Pam at Olive Café in Edgeley, a joint-church venture which is doing remarkable well.
The Hub refused to go to A&E between his groans. I began to feel a tad irritated.
Wednesday 13 August
The Hub refused to at least visit the doctor but had me feel up his swollen shoulder. I began to plot ways of making his suffering even worse.
Spud went out to a pre-results party with his friends so they could all be nervous together instead of in their separate homes.
Yes, you did that read that right – the arch-atheist Hub and I went to church. New Chapel in Denton where, the Hub had discovered via the magic that is the internet, his great-uncle John Ellor, who died in Egypt in 1918, had his name on the Sunday School Roll of Honour for those who died during the Great War.
A wonderful couple – she works as the church secretary – called Christine and Barry pulled out all of the old records and we found lots of relatives from the Hub’s father’s side – and his grandparents’ 1927 marriage certificate. To actually touch their signatures was emotional even for me, who has no blood connection. It’s the first time the Hub has had a good time in church since he married me 29 years ago.
Ah! Just realised why he’s never been back…
I woke up to hear the Hub creeping downstairs…on his way to A&E to get his swelling checked out. He was in agony and unable to sleep. It was worth going in the middle of the night to avoid the I-told-you-sos, and because it took less than an hour for the Hub to be checked over, x-rayed and told that his scapula might be broken but he was so badly bruised that it was impossible to tell. Take ibuprofen and try not to be too smug in your wife’s face or you might end up back here with a definite broken scapula.
Thursday 14 August
Results day. Spud arrived home exhausted but too excited to sleep; and starving. He had a breakfast of 2 eggs and 3 toast followed by 6 lots of cheese and crackers.
Spud slept all day.
Spud’s friends arrived for drinks-before-the-real-boozing-starts-in-town (Manchester) celebration. We have known most of the boys for the last seven years and they are a lovely lot, so we cracked open a bottle of champagne with them, drinking from paper cups because Spud insisted. Then we went off to bed and they went out about ten p.m.
Friday 15 August
Spud crept in. Spud slept all day.
9:15 a.m. I went out for the day to Llandudno, on the church charabanc.
I went on a boat! A three-year old girl loved it; her older brother screamed the whole time.
I went on the beach as the tide came in. So I wasn’t on the beach for long.
I went on the country’s longest pier – a mile and a half, I think.
I went on the tuppeny slots, just like I did on Welsh holidays as a child.
I discovered you can’t slice a scone without a knife but it tastes just as good when buttered, creamed and jammed with a spoon.
I got home at six-thirty and I was in bed thirty minutes later.*
Saturday 16 August
Tory Boy phoned: I’m at the hospital with suspected appendicitis.
Come back soon for the final, exciting instalment – is Tory Boy fit to burst?