Ebola Monkey

Today I look and feel like the Ebola Monkey. It's all because I went jolling too hard at the Kings of Leon concert on Sunday night and now God has smote me with a case of Man Flu (I grow weak and pathetic when ill, I take to my bed and demand sympathy in the manner of one with testicles). My Sunday night in Edinburgh is a story in itself but will be have to be shared when I don't feel like death warmed up.

Luckily I have the prospect of a new care job starting next week to cheer me up. Here are the details for my newest charge, as told to me by the Agency (who are always rather euphemistic in their descriptions):

- She has heart failure. (I had to ponder this turn of phrase, as in my mind that would make her dead. It's rather like the case of a friend who was telephoned by her elderly father's care home to be told that he had taken a 'turn for the worse,' only to discover that he had in fact died.)

- She is 90. (Read: Very cranky and set in her ways.)

-She is deaf as a doorpost and refuses to wear a hearing aid. (Should make for interesting conversation)

- She is continent, but may need some help with personal care. (Read: She will probably hide her used sanitary towels in coat pockets or worst case scenario poop on the floor)

- She only eats the same 3 ready meals on rotation. I will need to cook my own food and store it in a separate fridge in the pantry out of her view. (Read: She is shumbies)

-She gets rather tetchy if her cup of tea is not made just right. (Read: control and potential anger management issues.)

- She walks with a zimmer frame, but may need occasional assistance. (Read: She'll go down faster than cheap tequila in a student bar. Constant vigilance.)

With all these plus points you can see why I immediately agreed to do the job.