Conspiracy

In recent days I have been watching a lot of telly. My house is spotless, my linen cupboard has neat piles of towels and bedsheets and I have no ironing to do. I’m not working and having issues filling my time. Telly is my comfort.

Or it should be.

There seems to be an inordinate amount of movies and telly programs about the loss of a loved one or movies that remind me of my childhood.

In No Reservation a young girls loses her mum in a car accident, goes to stay with Auntie Catherine Zeta Jones and worries that she’ll forget her mum.

Carousel always made me cry, especially the bit at the end when Billy Bigalow’s daughter and wife sing ‘You Never Walk Alone’. I really shouldn’t have watched that one.

The Nanny, an old favourite, happened to show the episode were Maggie (eldest daughter) has an issue with Fran and Mr. Sheffield relationship because she thinks they were having an affair when her mother was still alive.

It seems I’m being forced to think about my Muv at every turn. I even had a dream about her last night. I had the worst nights sleep for an age mainly because the dream showed me that she was really alive and had watched the whole funeral process with her arms crossed and shaking of her head.

I need to come up with something other than cleaning to occupy my mind. I’m thinking too much (and leaky eyes) and quite frankly if I don’t get a job soon to keep my mind off the last few months I’m going to turn into a gibbering wreak.

I may be going to the polo at the weekend. That will be nice.