I didn’t quite make the post last week, there was no time for coffee – boo! This week I’m determined not to continue to slip, however… if we were having coffee this week, it might be an instant coffee, in a horrible single-use plastic cup, out of a vending machine. I’m not really selling this, am I?
I don’t remember the last time I had an instant coffee; bloody horrible stuff, but I do remember my first, at about aged thirteen, thinking I was so sophisticated at the local youth club. I also remember thinking that it was vile back then too, but I hid it because I wanted to fit in. I think if memory serves me well, it was Mellow Birds instant coffee out of an industrial-sized catering tin. Quality stuff!
This was before the coffee revolution, High Streets still had real shops, and if you could find a café, coffee came in black or white, with or without sugar. Cappuccinos, macchiatos, double-shot-dairy-free-pumpkin-spice-frappe-lattes were a thing of the future and no one needed their name written on the cup.
Which was just as well, as some poor Saturday Girl, like me, would have had to wash it back off again, by hand. This was before the disposable cup revolution too, people sat down to have tea or coffee, and drank it in a proper cup. Imagine!
Now I feel ancient AF!
Then there were the university years and the sartorial elegance of the cafetiere or French Press. My friend had one of these in her room; (yes Julia, if you are reading this, I’m talking about you here) she had the luxury of making a full pot and carrying it back to where she was ‘studying’ no traipsing back and forward with endless mugs every time she wanted a coffee. Dowe Egberts flowed with the viscosity of tar when we needed to pull an all-nighter and I was so envious.
She was the cosmopolitan queen of style, I was… not. I was so far off the chart it actually hurts to remember, I wasn’t even cosmopolitan by NI standards, nevermind the big league. Nothing changes HA!
When I finally bought my own coffee press, it was a prized possession only finally biting the dust when a certain Mr. Plot came on the scene 25+ years later. Ah well, I got my money’s worth.
So why the fascination with instant coffee this week? Probably because of hospitals and medical appointments and such. Metaphorically, I’ve been hit by a bus.
First, there’s been my own health scare. I’ve had a sinister condition develop that’s been lurking getting worse for the past four weeks or so. Thankfully the Doc has now ruled out some of the worst possibilities, without actually telling me what she thinks it is (not helpful) nothing seemed to be working until about two days ago. My skin has looked and felt like it was on fire, but it finally seems to be abating, a bit.
The actual physical problem, as annoying and debilitating as it has been, was only half the issue, as I’ve been worried sick about it and anxiety just makes everything worse. But many deep, slow breaths later, the situation is improving.
Then, my Dad was rushed into hospital with a suspected heart attack. He lost consciousness for over 5 minutes, was a bad colour, and since he has very many other health problems, he was rushed into A&E where he spent the next 24hrs+ on a trolly. Much of this time was spent in a crowded corridor, but thankfully not all. He never did quite manage to be allocated a bed though even though he was kept in for observation.
Once they were satisfied that he could go home, this also took a further six hours to discharge him as there was only a single F1 doctor working and able to sign the discharge form. It was quite an ordeal for an elderly man, and it was no easier on my mum who is his only carer.
When dealing with stuff, adrenaline does a great job of keeping you going, but once I eventually go home from this I was bushed! Perfect timing for Mr Plot to pull a muscle in his leg then? I just keep telling myself, it could have been worse, he could have broken a leg, but only a complete idiot would do that wouldn’t they? Ahem! Read more about that here
On a more positive note, at work, I have written out to the schools in Belfast and about twenty have contacted me (so far) to book in readings of The Letter from Santa. So this weekend I’ll be blowing the dust off Mrs Claus’ wig and seeing if her dress still fits. I no longer need the prop glasses, this year I’ve got my own real ones and if I stopped dying my hair, I probably wouldn’t need a white wig either. lol!
Onwards and upwards eh? Till next week!