The Freshwater Coffee House: iced latte, homemade scone and jam

This afternoon I went out, for the second time in two weeks. (And I hate how limited my life has becomes that that is a novelty.)

Mum, of course, made every effort to stop me from going, whining “I don’t want to lose you”, and going off in a huff when I reminded her it would only be for two hours.

Mum’s protests aside, I had everything planned: first I would go to the GP surgery and set up proxy access to my mum’s medical records, then I would pop into the chemist and collect a prescription. Errands sorted, I would go to a café for a cold drink, then into the little Sainsbury’s to get something interesting for dinner, then home.

Did it work out like that? Of course not.

I called the GP surgery to confirm what ID I would need to set up the proxy access, which is necessary so I can manage mum’s prescriptions and appointments given that accessing the surgery in person is difficult for both me and mum.

The person I spoke to told me I would need ID with a photo: not a problem, I still have a valid driving licence.

I would also need an official letter with my name and address: no problem, I have lots of letters from the NHS, DWP, and other official acronyms.

I would need the same for mum: slightly more tricky, at least for the photo ID, but doable as long as an out-of-date item is acceptable.

Oh, and I would need mum there, to verify my request. Mum not being able to go is, of course, the reason I need proxy access, so I asked if someone could come to us to do the verification. No, was the answer: we both have to attend in person, with our ID.

So that part of the plan was abandoned.

I still wanted to go out, though, so I got ready and waited for the taxi. And waited, and waited.

When the taxi finally arrived, 25 minutes late (the driver gave me a discount to apologise, so it’s all good), I went down to the pharmacy, but they couldn’t find any record of my prescription. I had to phone my usual online pharmacy to get the prescription numbers before the pharmacy staff could locate my prescription and even then, after keeping me waiting for another 25 minutes, they refused to issue half of what had been prescribed.

By that time I was too fed-up to argue, and accepted what they would give me.

Then I went to Sainsbury’s, and discovered that two of the chiller cabinets were out of order so “something interesting for dinner” became chicken and mushroom pasties.

I did, however, get my cold drink, a delicious oat milk iced latte from The Freshwater Coffee House, the closest thing the village has to a properly bougie coffee shop. (They stock several types of plant milk! And vegan and gluten-free cakes! It’s almost like being in the 21st century!)

Having been too stressed to eat all day, I also got myself a homemade scone with butter and jam, and ate every crumb.

Then I came home and laid on my bed, exhausted from having walked less than 100 yards, in five separate sessions over an hour and a half. I hate being disabled.

Then I heated up the chicken and mushroom pasties, which were too boring for me to take a photo of, ate that with salad, then had pretty much all of my calories for the day in one go, in the form of a triple chocolate muffin with clotted cream ice cream and chocolate sauce. Now I’m half watching the tennis, less than half listening to mum’s never-ending list of complaints, and waiting until the appropriate time to lie down and sleep.

I really hope that that, at least, goes to plan.