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On the Thursday it seemed the Clarithromycin had done its job, as much as I'll ever get: This chest of mine will never get better than it does, having copd.
Unfortunately, I've been feeling very fatiqued of late and, more than a tad forgetful. It's one thing that I'm my Fathers memory when needed, of late I'm making errors myself. I don't like that.
I cannot recall whether I posted my vote, or not.
I'd been sitting cross-legged on my bed typing, listening to a Third Doctor audio adventure, when my bedroom door opened and Dad had entered: “I'm off to the bank,” he told me, handing me a white envelope.
Inside the envelope had been a birthday card for me from years prior: and inside the card had been three ten pound notes. As he had closed the door I'd begun to laugh, uproariously.
As a side note, it had taken my Father forty-five minutes to cycle to Bromborough Village, the bank and return home I'd realised, when I heard the sound of the gate clang shut. For a fellow of ninety-four that's a heck of an achievement. Come to that, forty-five minutes is pretty fast for anyone, quite irrespective of age.
I went through to the kitchen, in need of water for my throat, caffeine for my brain and tea for Dad.
Moments after I'd turned the kettle on I'd heard a sound I recognized, so turned to look out the kitchen window, to see a street-cleaner go passed.
I'd laughed, having another piece of a particular puzzle put together.
About a week prior I'd read a leaflet from the Conservative Party, to ready us for the election. As I'd read it and all that it said of the Labour Parties ommissions, I'd wanted to giggle, knowing full well what would be happening next. And, I'd been right. Of course.
As the week passed by, each of Labours 'ommission' were dealt with, including news of a new green initiative, which I'd expected. Then, when I saw the street-cleaner go passed our home, it was as I say, 'another piece of the puzzle put together'.
I had realised, as did the Consersatives no doubt, that all the claims they had made on their leaflet were accurate, but made at the end of the end of fiscal year. As I write this the new fiscal year has begun and, before the oncoming elections the Labour Party has now attended to all the ommissions that had been written of on the Conservatives leaflet.
And so, before I'd returned to my room to write I'd laughed. It had all been so darn predictable.
Yet back to Thursday, I'd finished a short story about a young woman and what her memory had meant, to me.

Then come another Thursday, I'd taken my Father to his appointment at Dermatology at Clatterbridge Hospital, as I'd previously arranged. We'd travelled by a pre-booked taxi, with Malley a driver I happen to like.
I'd acted as Dad's ears, with the girl who had greeted us and asked covid questions. We'd sat in those irritating high back chairs I recall from several elderly persons homes I've worked in, seperated by high plastic screens.
We'd waited awhile, realising that we had been more than a tad too early. Finally Dad had been called through. Once again I had placed myself forward as Dad's ears, prior to his examination.
He had pierced a lump on the lefthand side of his nose, as if it had been a boil to lance. It could be cancerous, the doctor had explained to Dad loudly, in a fashion that I'd been able to understand, through previous incarnations of my worklife.
Finally it had been explained that before anything else happened, a biopsy was needed. Then an appointment had been made the very next day, for the week after.
We'd attended the appointment of course, with me acquiring the taxi and ensuring that we got there in time. Unfortunately that ment being there too early, much as we had the first time. The good thing about it being that it allowed me the opportunity to organise our taxi home, while being Dad's ears, when needed.
Then later, I found myself asking a question I've asked several times before, 'why is it when you need dental assistance, it's always late on a Friday, Saturday or Sunday and you can't see the dentist of choice and whom you trust,
The tooth on the upper right that helps support my upper plate corroded into half its self, a bit like the tooth on the lower left, that fell apart a week previous and, seems to be sliding away from the few lower teeth I have left.
Having them as a hinderance to eating solid food is one thing, but then theres the added annoyance of the loose tooth at the the front, which is irksome in itself, particularly when I have several eating disorders already, besides the anxiety Dad creates every teatime, with an arguement off his making.
Come Monday I phoned the dentists of course, only to lern that Mr Nolan te best NHS dentist in the world , is 'moving on'.
Come Monday I phoned the dentst, onlu to find out from his assistant, he'd soon be moving on. And, he's been the nest NHS dentist I've ever known, I had been ever so-miffed to learn that. Then, I'd been given an appointment three momths hence, which I'd taken gratefully, as I trust the fellow,which is rare in my world, currently.
Thankfully I'd got a cancelled appointent, at a time that suited me and, I'd readily accepted. Needless to say, things had gone quite well with the fellow, my favourite dentist of over forty of years or so.
Then we got the letter, that explained the results from Dad's biopsy, telling us that he has a form of skin cancer, albeit it is benign.
Then I'd needed to take Dad to Arrowe Parl Hospital, to see about his hearing-aid. In this time of pandemic it had been interesting to say the least, on a hot day, with people sitting outside sunbathing, while following social rescrictions insdie the hospital. That said, I had got the last of the geraniums planted and got to my tomato plants. So I'm coool with that.
But, I needed the doctor. So after seeing sister steadman I found out that among everything else, I have acid reflux; a diagnosis which did explain a lot to me.