Sunday 15th April 2018

29th anniversary of the Hillsborough disaster.

We wake at half six or so, as we usually do after a night at Jen's with too little sleep. But the cats are glad to see us up, so I go down to feed them, make coffee and begin the process of waking up.

What better way than to watch a recording of the footy, and with the bonus of channeling Likely Lads in that I didn't know the results of two of the games. Citeh played Spurs at Wembley, and were back on track winning 3-1, so were now just one win away from the title. They could win it on Sunday if WBA won at Old Trafford, the Theatre of Revised Expectations. But that would never happen, would it?

Halfway though the football, I stop to make breakfast; a full try up. I had some left over mash from the other night, so bought some bacon and chipolatas, topped off with a fried slice or two and a fried egg. Perfect. Lovely and unhealthy of course.

I return to the football, then go out in the garden to join Jools with gardening duties. We had bought 20 wooden poles, and rented a thing for ramming the posts into the ground We had to make a frame for supporting the soft fruits, raspberries, loganberries, etc.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Then comes the task of screwing hooks and eyes into the poles and fence to string the support wires. It is simple work, but keep me quiet for a couple of hours until it is time for lunch.

More hooks and eyes after lunch, potting seedlings, watering and repositioning one of the artichokes. Phew.

At half one the football starts, and so began the daily struggle against snoozing on the sofa. I can say that I did win out and stay awake, although it was a close run thing. It did help that Arse lost at the Toon, and then, against all the odds, Albion beat United 1-0, despite WBA being bottom of the table and United 2nd.

Football, eh?

I cook rack of lamb again. Its so easy, and with boiled new spuds and friend fresh mini veg in a balsamic drizzle. Yummy.

I call Mum and find she has not been out of the house for a month. At least. She has done nothing of note, and so I let rip. All the broken promises of change, lay broken as we suspected they would. All the time in hospital, the recovery, the infection, the pain, all so she could return to her armchair for 23 and a half hours a day. She may as well have been taken last September for all the good she has put her third chance to. Doesn't help her that on the 17th it'll be 22 years since Dad passed, with no warning, no second chance.

And again I say, the weekend has slipped us by. It grew dark outside and rain fell gently doing the garden good.