Fear and loathing of Carnations

Today after breakfast a neighbour called in to see how I was, and bought a large bunch of Carnations for me. People have been so kind to me, and have given me so many flowers but sadly now I find I associate cream carnations with being ill, and find I do not like them at all as a result. It is a shame because they are lovely flowers and when grown out doors have a lovely warm clove smell that I like. It is odd that I have this antipathy towards Carnations now because my Mother did not like them either; it was not till I was grown up that she told me my father uses to give them to her when feeling guilty about a new indiscretion, and she loathed them. Poor flowers!

The postman bought a treat for Mas: Clare had a school project and when completed was posted to Mas .She had written an 'Ode to My Grandfather' for which she got marked by the teacher 25 points out of 30. It was a lovely touching poem, and it was illustrated too. I am going to frame this for him, it is so nice he is being appreciated!

My tooth seems a lot better, and later I walked down to Edgware to collect yet another prescription, but feeling a bit tired took the bus home and had another nap. Pete called again in the afternoon and we talked. Diane sent me a cheerful e-card, and I spoke to her as well.

In the evening we watched Wycliffe, a detective story set in Cornwall and a Touch of Frost (more detectives), and then to bed.

Communications and shopping till you drop.

Since my last entry Pete returned home, and I have had two more hospital visits, and have had long conversations with Toby and Pete. I have caught up on most of my emails, and had lots of visits from friends and neighbours; the house rapidly filled with carnations and good wishes cards.

On Wednesday I went on the bus with Margaret to Watford's Harlequin shopping center with the idea of buying some new underwear. This bus ride is very scenic, passing through an area of very large expensive historic homes, woodland, Bushey and Old Bushey before arriving at Watford. I prefer taking the bus to driving along the motor way. Unfortunately I did not remember what a rough ride it was, the road surfaces are so uneven it feels like riding a horse and I felt exhausted by the jolting by the time we arrived. We had a fruit drink and Margaret had hot chocolate and I recovered somewhat and managed to get my new underwear, then we returned home, this time not sitting upstairs so it was not so jolting. I did think I had rather overdone it, so rested for a while.