Tucked away here at Drumbuidhe at least I can disguise the chaos that my campaign is coming from. I'm currently sitting here in my dressing gown having lit the fire, washed yesterday's dishes (the dishwasher is currently in bits although this is better than it was when I arrived and it was in bits all over the living room floor ... the mess is now confined to under the kitchen counter) made the coffee (I was hoping to find a moment to talk to C about how difficult his drinking is but since it took him less than two minutes to get his first drink of the day in - whisky in his coffee - I missed the elusive 'sober' moment) and put the bread onto bake. Give me five minutes and I'll get round to some respectable clothes so I can tackle the Labour Party's 'print creator' again.
Today we have a handyman from Lochaline turning up with his wife and kids to help C on what will hopefully be a regular basis. It's fair to say that C is struggling with everything. He's making his way through at least a bottle of wine and a quarter bottle of whisky a day which doesn't help his memory, balance and temper. The list of things that C can't do is extensive, for example he couldn't come up the dam when I cleared it out to get the water turbine working (it was a sunny day and it's a nice spot about 50m from the garden but C's too unsteady) he tried to defrost the freezer and broke it (since it's a large chest freezer this is a very big deal) by leaving a fan heater inside it and he's forgetting how to prepare food (when I'm not around he lives on booze and fray bentos). What he does enjoy is getting involved in the solving of basic problems (once I'd cleared the dam the two of us worked our way along the garden water supply, unscrewing the junctions to clear them out).
Right, enough of the dressing gown and the blogging: it's time for proper clothes and a proper leaflet.
