The weather…

It is pouring with rain and feels like 2C. That’s just above freezing.

I have wanted to visit neighbour. On Saturday evening there was a frenzied rapping at my door. It was a doctor looking for Amanda. Not here. As I resumed my sofa, it dawned on me that Amanda lives at 9. I went to the door and called out to the doctor to go to number 9.

I wanted to drop in today to see if she was ok, and if they need anything. It’s a bit too much to walk and if I use the trolley, I will get soaked. I hope the weather will be drier tomorrow.

I have met resistance again in the same locality with the campaign. I will not post there again. Everywhere else is on board, though some feel it’s too late. But this is to the PM, and I tell them I have written to him. This garners some signatures.

My writing is getting more read on medium. It feels good.


Not so good Saturday…

Yesterday evening, my daughter said something unkind to me. My whole being seemed to shrink and my purpose in life wobbled for a while.

The people we love can hurt us in places other people cannot reach. The love that binds us feels the knife of words deeply, forgives easily, but the wound can sink deep and wobble us.

This is normal. My identity as a mother still runs deep, although it’s no longer my primary function.We take the blows of unfiltered children more easily. My daughter was always so sweet to me when she was small. The only unfiltered comment that amused me, concerned me, made me laugh, and feel substandard all at once were her yearly questions about whether she would get as many freckles as I.

In her teens, I managed to not show how her angry outbursts affected me. I still don’t let on how much she can hurt me. It serves no useful purpose.

I am struggling with the campaign, as we still have only 2 000 signatures on the latest petition to save our hospital. It increases daily, but more and more slowly. So an unkind remark has more effect.

I am ok now. Time brings perspective.

I had anchovies in garlic for lunch yesterday.High in fat and protein. I enjoyed it.


On becoming defacto leader of the campaign to save our hospital…

I wrote a letter to the Prime Minister. As a person, he intrigues me. Highly intelligent, lots of subjects to talk about. As a politician, he represents nothing I value.

But the hospital needs saving. I not only needed to be nice to him, I complimented him to help him see our point of view and that people will die if he doesn’t intervene.

Politics is about making friends with one’s natural enemies. It isn’t always as easy as writing a letter. Sometimes one has to sit across the table and look them in eye. I have no idea if the letter will work. I may need to write more.

I’m trying to organise direct action, but few are willing when they realise the police will pay us a visit. At the moment we are a team of two. We can do it with two, but more would be good.

It’s hard. Now is crunch time. Time to act.


Later today…

After my tepid shower early this morning I laid down, determined to sleep. I laughed, because if one is determined to sleep, success is not guaranteed. But I fell asleep around 8.30, because I missed my favourite news programme of the week.

I woke at 1pm feeling sleep satisfied, but not quite myself. Nothing specific.

I logged into and found I had more followers and responses to articles I have written. I so value this validation.

I have started a new campaign to try to save our local hospital, which serves a vast rural area. The political plan is to downgrade our acute hospital to elective surgeries only, and a walk in Urgent Care for minor injuries only. They want to upgrade a second-rate hospital on the far side of the next town, which means much longer travel times for the majority of the population. This flies in the face of common sense, let alone the risk assessment made by the ambulance service, and the nominated hospital has also calculated that 56 people per year will suffer a negative clinical result. Their figure is well below reality.

After the Tories won such a landslide victory, I was so gobsmacked that I thought I would no longer campaign. But habits die hard, and I have started a new petition, addressed to PM Boris Johnson. (His first name is Alex, but he adopted his middle name when he was about 14. We all refer to him as ‘Boris’.)

So my day so far has been productive, even though it’s Sunday. I don’t go out as much in winter, so it’s no problem. I take leisure time when it suits me.

I am about to eat some dinner, though it’s quite early. And I need to find someone to fetch my prescription, which my friend failed to get yesterday because she didn’t care enough. She thought the chemist would still be open when the shop she works had shut. The chemist closes at 5pm on a Saturday, and at the same time as her shop every weekday.

But I’m ready to sleep well tonight, and have a movie picked out for tonight.