Obviously, it's not funny.....

... but there are times when I feel my life takes on the proportions of a black comedy. On Friday, my Dad came round and it was clear he was not well. Fearing it was flu, I tried to get him to take a hot water bottle with him, and insisted he leave with a packet of ibuprofen to supplement his Lemsips if things got worse. Of course, they did. Yesterday morning I got a call from him, very distressed, asking for help because he felt so wretched. Now, Carlo and I have just got over this so I know how bad it is - but he has it worse as he also has tummy troubles, just to complicate matters further.

So, I'm up and down like a yo-yo to the village to look after him. Soups with ring pulls ( he hss no strength...) medicines, hot water bottles, juices and drinks... and lucozade, which made me really sad as that is what he always brought me when I was little and ill. I wasn't a very healthy child and seemed to be ill quite often, and i'd lay under my mum's red coat on the settee (only the red coat - never a blanket) and my Dad would come in with lucozade to make me better. I thought it might tempt him as i'm worried he won't drink enough and get dehydrated as if he's not poorly enough as it is, and sure enough his eyes lit up and he gulped a glassful down - I guess we all like a bit of fuss and attention when we're ill, however old we are.

Then i'm there this morning trying to cook him a breakfast after phoning him three times and getting no answer and convincing myself he's out cold on the floor....and Vinnie's ringing and ringing and ringing me up to pick him up as he stayed at a friends and didn't take a key... and I'm running to his neighbour to let her know he's ill, and ask her to keep an eye on him, and I go sprawling in the thawed ice and sloppy mud and skin all my elbow and knee sliding out of the car... yeah Gods! It's great to be middle aged eh?

And I just had to laugh because heaven knows it's not funny... but what else can you do?