Saturday morning, waking up late to a cup of tea in bed. The birds are singing outside, and the radio is playing relaxing songs, the smell of bacon frying is wafting up the stairs. Life is easy and summer is still in the air.
Now, this is my real Saturday morning. Legs thundering up the stairs and a whoosh of air as the door flies open and I’m woken by Husband-in-a-hurry exclaiming in horror that the football starts at 12.30 not 3pm and it’s a two-hour drive away!
The panic is now in full force. I am hoisted form the bed with no dignity whatsoever and accelerated into the bathroom for what is jokingly described as a shower but is really a lick and a promise of something better tomorrow. There’s no time for a hair wash and with the same acceleration I’m returned to the bedroom and hoisted onto the bed. The hoist doesn’t move fast enough this morning. He might not get to the start of the game; we’re not panicking much.
I’m given no choice about which trousers come out of the wardrobe and they are flung on I’m surprised they’re not backwards. Then I have to be lifted again into a chair. He struggles with bras on a good day so you can guess how well supported I am this morning. I dispatch him downstairs to organise himself and eat breakfast, has he got time?
I drink a cup of lemon tea and try to breath. Then quick as a flash he’s back upstairs and without any clothes I’m whisked downstairs. As I descend on a stairlift I notice the front door is wide open, luckily the postman is always late.
Yes, I know I’m fairly high maintenance. I need some attention on my feet, I like to have my hair brushed and I like to brush my teeth. Not today. My feet aren’t allowed socks let alone any moisturiser and I can keep bed hair all day, well don’t worry no-one is going to see me and I’ll be back in bed in 13 hours.
There’s a knock at the front door which has now been closed to accommodate yet another hoist and my PA is greeted with the same panic and squeezes through a small aperture to find me at the bottom of the stairs, bra and vest askew. With a horrified and worried, ‘Is everything ok?’ she is bought up to speed on the situation. Because she is aware of the importance of football in my house, she takes control of husband-in-a-hurry and tells him to worry about himself and we’ll be fine from here.
It takes me and my PA a good hour to return the house to its normal state. The abandoned towels, lids missing from his toothpaste and deodorant and hoists blocking the hall. We breathe a sigh of relief however, the rest of the morning felt out of kilter.
I’ll be checking the times of kick-off for him in future……