The Husband and I do not have a fixed address. We are a modern bohemian couple, one step short of homeless due to the kindness of family (his in Scotland, mine in South Africa). You see the husband has always been a wanderer, when he first came to visit me in South Africa his holiday packing consisted of a plastic shopping bag containing a pair of shorts, a t-shirt and a toothbrush. If it doesn't fit in the plastic bag or a family member's attic then we don't need it - all very Zen of us.
Another quirk of our married life is that we are very seldom simultaneously employed. It is the nature of our relationship that one must earn, the other must spend. To fund this lifestyle I work as a live-in-carer for the rich and geriatric and the Husband is a trawlerman, raping and pillaging the North Sea of Haddock and the like.
But as fate would have it the Husband is off fishing (cue 10 days of radio silence) and I find myself looking after 91 year old Lady Pumpernickle in her 12 bedroomed manor house in the Scottish hinterland.
Lady Pumpernickle is both demented and incontinent. Yesterday I went through to wake her and found her complaining that the house had sprung a leak due to my inadequate plumbing skills. Her urine soaked mattress was clearly my fault and she explained in no uncertain terms that she would not be staying in this hotel again!
The day progressed fairly smoothly until at bedtime I left her brushing her teeth and returned to find her liberally coating her toothbrush with soap and brushing for all she was worth. When I commented that her teeth must surely be clean by now, she remarked that she just couldn't get the horrid taste out of her mouth.
Old age is a strange beast my friends. I think I'd rather have my youth and no fixed abode than pottering around a mansion wondering where that wet spot was.
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