Quite a day, one way or another

This pinboard lived over my bed throughout my teenage years.  For the last 17, it's held plant labels and garden inspirations.  And it's outlasted the shed.

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Rolled the dining room carpet up, to make temporary storage space for shed contents, and found a very dead, very flat, mouse underneath.  Really rather sweet, definitely not a rat.  Wondered how many meals I'd served to how many of you on the dining table above it, oblivious.  Reminded me of that unfortunate moment one childhood Passover, first guests knocking at the door, glancing into the dining room only to see one very sleek black cat very quickly eating the liver pate, sitting plum centre of the overladen table.  Nothing for it but to shoo Tinker out, repair the damage quickly with some artistic fork patterns, and open the door.  It's safe to confess that one now, as almost everyone who ate that meal is safely six feet under at Bushey.

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This perfect piece of fake Bakelite is my telephonic piece de resistance - right down to the ringing bell.  Anyone want a fax/answerphone/telephone in perfect working order?  It stays in the cupboard awaiting offers for a week until it gets recycled.

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Feeling better now, but have had an utterly sh!te afternoon.  There I was, calmly, escapistly, choosing the perfect notepad in Paperchase, when 'ID withheld' came up on my mobile - heart thumping, it could only be the hospital with timing of my Ultrasound.  Only it was M [drinking partner & currently taking my students on] from my office, wondering how I was.  Squatting on the busy pavement by Fulham Broadway tube (lousy reception in-store), describing my diagnosis, which suddenly sounded a lot grimmer than when I'd last dwelt on it.  The never-endingness of it all struck me hard, and I just wanted my old normality back.  Stumbled onto the tube, feeling wretched, into a carriage full of Italian 17 year-olds, all gangling legs akimbo and bodies sprawled every which way, laughing loudly, filling every available seat.  Wanted to scream, or maybe just ask really quietly so that all their skins crawled, "I am older than you and I am in pain.  Give me a seat".  But then I thought, "bet they speak rubbish English, and will make me repeat myself umpteen times, while I weep", and then "besides, they are so, so young.  Why shatter their self-centred bliss."  So, I sat on the floor.  Nobody moved.  I've never taken codeine on public transport before.  Wondered if I'd be able to get off and walk home.  I did.