‘Searching for the young Sole rebels – couldn’t find them anywhere’

The biggest problem with this blog stuff – apart from the greedy leaders and the thoughts that linger – is that if you miss a couple of days you forget what has happened – particularly when you’re looking at life from a toe’s eye view.

‘Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.’  Go Ferris.

Here we are now on the 25th simply having a lovely Christmas time – or trying to anyway.

High spots in the life of this toe..

The PAM’s dearest friend gave us all a Christmas makeover – the fingernails are sparkly and red, and nine of us toes are painted red too – yes – I’m still in the buff because I have no nail (sniff) – well, there is a little crescent-shaped something hovering down there that may actually turn into a toenail one day just to spite the podiatrist that wrote it off .  The two middle toes have rhinestones and I had a very tender wash and brush up.  This seems to have put the Other Toe into a snit however as it decided to develop a whitlow and sulk until the PAM gave it a salty bath and an outfit to complement mine (not as good as mine of course!).

We also acquired several pairs of very cosy but large bedsocks that are big enough to accommodate me and the other four toes inside the elephant-sized boot – not just practical but stylish too as they are in our signature colours of black, white and purple (couldn’t find any red ones).

The mad rush to buy and wrap presents prior to the LONG journey South brought much stinging and achiness ,and in the midst of it all the PAM had an essay to finish and get off for 20th December.  She did it – as she knew  that she would and whilst the writing of essays means rest and warmth for me, the accompanying angst is not good for any of us.

The doctor has signed us all off again – I am ‘ongoing’ and ‘acute’ and ‘reactive’ – oh go me!

A visit to our Breath of Fresh Air and her lovely brood injected a note of Christmas that had hitherto been missing – you can’t buy that kind of seasonal cheer.

So fast forward to the 22nd – up with a handful of larks, several sparrows and a sky full of thrushes – dragged reluctantly to the supermarket to collect the Christmas food and stow it in the fridge for when we return on Christmas Eve.  We usually go to the place with the ampersand in the middle (must have been the blow from the crate that made me so intellectual) and have a teeth grinding queue-fest with the gold handbag and shoe wearers who NEVER have their purses at the ready.

This time we went elsewhere, closer to home, spent less, got more and were second in a very small queue when picking up the old turkey etc.

Back home and the process of harassing teens, loading the car, forgetting essentials, turning round, collecting the essentials and heading off down the highway took its toll.  When we arrived at our eventual destination (lunch with the PAM’s family) at an old riverside pub in Hampshire, it was discovered that her other half had buster blood vessel – in his eye.  Not pretty but gruesome and a constant reminder of the stress we are all under at the moment – and I ain’t just talking Christmas here!

It didn’t help that the journey there (and back) was in torrential rain and that the motorways were infested with mobile phone talkers, texters, middle-lane hoggers and total morons.

A cold coming we had of it.

The pub was lovely – small, crowded but steeped in Christmas and lovely; the last time I was there it was a glorious summer day, I was twenty years younger and wearing sandals that fit me – how times change.

Can’t tell you much about lunch because – as usual – I was under the table.  I hear the food was good and the company even better – marred only by the close proximity of some elderly and imperious old Hampshire ladies and a rowdy perma-tanned, bleached and tattooed bunch of pikey Hampshire Nouveau Riche.  These words are not mine – they were uttered by the PAM’s youngest son after his shoulder had been grabbed for the tenth time by one particularly loud member (I think he must have been a locksmith judging from the large and noisy bunch of keys hanging from his belt?

Many hugs and kisses, exchanges of brightly wrapped boxes and bags and we are on our way to the posh hotel which will be home for the next two days whilst we distribute more presents and bonhomie, telling the sad tale of my mangling at the hands of the crappy crate.

The hotel lost its fifth star and it shows; still opulent, the staff are still charming and helpful but stains on chairs, dirty grouting and cracked tiles are all signs of  the general decline.  Still the food was good, the bed was okay and best of all – the teens were in separate rooms from us (and each other).

There were good and bad bits about our festive trip and the PAM can write about them later when she recovers from her incipient paranoia.  It was good to see all the folks again though and I received much sympathy, compliments (mostly) on my appearance and shed loads of attention. Yo Ho Toe!

So here we are on Christmas Day.  The presents have been opened and appreciated; the food is being cooked (except for the youngest teen who hates turkey and is having smoked haddock – he wanted lobster but Waitrose were all out).  The eldest teen is having cold feet about Lanzarote (I’m having thoughts of lovely warm feet :-)) as he has exams at Uni as soon as he goes back, his younger brother annoys him (so do his parents) and it would be much easier to just stay at home.

As a consequence the PAM is up and down like a proverbial yo-yo and her other half is having to work even harder to restore her equilibrium.

Happy Flipping Christmas!

Falling crates and podiatrists aside – life is much easier when you are a toe.

 

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