Went out with Mum today, for the first time in a long time. I've been avoiding her for weeks. I couldn't deal with worrying about her as well while I was driving myself up the wall with the DWP shit. But we need each other, so we're picking up where we left off.

I've got over being angry at her. I only touched on the drinking thing once; I told her that she'd known perfectly well what she was risking when she started to drink again, and I asked her what she was thinking when she made that decision.

Actually, I already know what she was thinking. I've been there and done that. I don't need her to answer that question for me; but she needs to ask it of herself and look hard at her answer.

Then I changed the subject and we were back to normal for the rest of the afternoon. We didn't do a lot, only went to the pet shop for dogfood and cat litter and a grooming glove for her cat, and then to the Turkish grocery over the road from the pet shop.

I love the Turkish grocery. It's full of tasty stuff with strange brand names you can't get anywhere else. I came home with taramosalata and German assorted butter biscuits and vanilla-scented toilet paper (I KNOW RIGHT. But it was the cheapest toilet paper they had, and it actually smells really, really nice.) I resisted sage tea and waffles and canned fried aubergine in tomato sauce and unreasonable quantities of cake. The two adorable good-looking Turkish cashiers flirted with both of us, and one made me burst out laughing by eyeing Mum while she was paying - "You two are sisters, aren't you?" he said.

Oh yeah, she's still got it.


I ought to be feeling better, but I'm not. I feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop - fiddling vainly on volcano day while the ash clouds gather on the horizon. But I suppose it'll pass.

Mum had the liver scan and she's managed NOT to do it any substantial further damage. So at least she's not about to drop dead and she should be out of hospital in the next couple of days.

I'm still working on the rest of it - how does one go about living with a person in your life you can neither stop loving nor ever entirely trust again? I have no idea. But at least I've got a chance of the time to work it out.

thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Today we discovered that Mum has been drinking for nearly nine months, and that she'd told all her friends that her doctor had said it was okay for her to drink. (What he actually told her was "You'll probably die if you start drinking again." You can see how easily one might confuse the two.) My sisters and I were the only people not to have known.

Tara says my niece has been crying and fretting for her Marnie that she loves.

ulva - I HAS A HAT THANK YOU THANK YOU I LOVE YOU <3

so Mum turned yellow again on Xmas Day. Today my sisters frogmarched her to hospital where it came out that she's been drinking again.

I don't even. I can't begin. I what.

If this were anyone in my life but my own fucking mother this would be where she got cut out of my life for good. No looking back, no more chances.

EDIT: And some fucker's setting off fireworks outside. DO NOT MAKE ME HAVE TO GO OUT AND KILL YOU, NEIGHBOURS.

No power in the 'verse can stop me.

(Nearly) everyone's Mum sends them email forwards, right? This is the sort of thing my Mum sends me. It made me happy.

aah! went charity-shop pillaging with mum today in addition to grocery shopping. i now own two perfectly glorious purple tops, one in a sort of lushy plushy velourish fabric with white poppies printed on it and one in a silky slithery knitty glittery drapey fabric, with a V-neck practically down to the navel and a nice billowy drape over the bits I'm not so keen to show off.

generally, I do not own nice clothes. the last lot of decent clothes I acquired happened when my sister lost a lot of weight and gave me all the stuff that was too big for her now; and while she always looks good we're not built the same and don't like the same colours either (i'm allergic to all blues except jeans, and navy in particular; plus she has a thing for bile-green and mustard-coloured. It works for her, but.) so while i was glad to have the stuff there was nothing there that made my soul glad.

Well, except for these jeans.

anyway she got fat again after she had Maya, so that won't happen again for a while if ever. but today i have nice things and i am girlishly joyous.

I also have a new coffee machine - well, also second-hand, but I'd rather have an old classy thing than a cheap new one. They last longer. it has a nylon-mesh filtery thing so I won't have to get anxiety attacks over running out of filter papers. YAY.

it's the little things that make you happy.

The daffodils are out, the squirrels have arrived in force, the foxes are fucking and the other morning I was nearly hit in the head by one of two wrens, so busy fighting over tree rights that they never saw me at all. The grass has taken on a shine as new shoots start insinuating themselves among the old crap that's been there all winter, and Squish dog wants to eat it all. It's officially spring here.

One should never go shopping when hungry, yet it's often the only time I'm motivated enough to bother. So I end up buying way more than I can easily carry home, not to mention more strawberry and white chocolate muffins than any sensible person ought to need. Also discovered Italian ground coffee in 1lb packs for 50p each, which is insane, so I had four packs as well as the muffins and the dogs' chicken parts and pork ribs.

Our Asda has automatic self-checkout scanners, but I refuse to use them. They issue orders at you and catalogue your shopping in a synthesised voice. When it says "Two point four kilos of baking potatoes" I can't stop my brain hearing "Exterminate!" and frankly, it freaks me the fuck out. So I joined the queue on the only human-operated till, despite the woman in front of me who was either recruiting an army or feeding a family of teenagers. We got talking about the bargain coffee and the strawberry muffins and she ended by offering me a ride home, which goes to show you should always follow your instincts in the matter of shopping queues. She won't read this and I thanked her a lot at the time, but I'll thank her here again: Blonde lady with the SUV and the teenagers, you made my night.

My mother's friend Ossie died unexpectedly this week. He used to work the checkout at Asda as well - sweet guy, but utterly incapable of working a checkout and a conversation at the same time. He made shopping with my mother wryly entertaining, as I'd stand there listening to the two of them gossiping for what felt like hours while the queue behind us grew steadily longer and grumpier as their frozen food melted, unmoving. You have to admire someone who attains that level of cheerful, oblivious unhurriability even when it irritates the fuck out of you.

This rambling, mostly pointless post is dedicated to his memory.