There’s nothing more entertaining than watching my mum try to do up her seatbelt in the back of a car.
We went over to mum’s today because she was heading out to the Visual Impairment Centre (or some nonsense name) to get a variety of things to help her out with. It’s taken a bloody year or so, but finally she’s actually allowed to go to these places and get things. And now she has a small white stick which, undoubtedly, she’s going to take someone’s eye out with – possibly her own – and a thing that hooks on the side of a cup to tell you when it’s got enough water in it.
And, knowing the way mum pours cups of coffee and/or tea, there’s no danger of the batteries in that thing ever running out because it will go off so rarely.
Anyway, Carole and mum headed off for that. I stayed at mum’s and shredded about a million things, tidied up some paperwork and found some lost bank statements which had been filed by colour, rather than content. True story.
And then we went for lunch. And mum got in the back seat of the car and proceeded to clip her seatbelt into the furthest catch she could. We went round a corner and I swear she just slid along the back seat – starting out behind Carole and ending up behind me. If it wasn’t for the copious amounts of fleeces and coats Carole stores in the car she’d probably have made it all the way to the opposite door.
And then coming back she managed to tie some sort of knot which incorporated her handbag, the string on her glasses and her seatbelt in such a fashion that there was, for a while, the real possibility she would strangle herself to death in the back seat. I thought it couldn’t get any worse than walking around a farm shop with her wearing her coat over her handbag. Which shows how much I know.
And now they’ve introduced a white stick into the mix as well. I can only imagine how much chaos that will bring. Mum’s an absolute bugger for routing in her handbag as she walks along at the best of times, but if we now bring a white stick into her other hand – somehow – people are going to die. And don’t even get me started about her being in the bank with it, juggling that and her card wallet and the wallet she puts her money in and her seventeen bags she goes everywhere with and the bag of one pound coins she always gets.
It’s a recipe for disaster.
I don’t think there are any missions which involve me going to town with mum, so hopefully she’ll practice her stick work with my auntie, inflicting bruises on her like there’s no tomorrow. So that by the time I find myself in a position of having to accompany her with her new deadly weapon I might be at least partially safe.
I give her a week before she’s threatened to jam the stick up someone’s arse.