Discomfiture

A SENSE of unreality pervades me as I drive back from our Friday gathering in the Geriatrics’ Corner of the Pub.

I know my car control is a little erratic – but then other people’s seems no less so.

And the unreality extends to meal time, too; I’ve prepared us a Moroccan spiced tomato and chicken casserole, and I’ve just got the boiled rice to do.

It’s not until My Good Lady asks me if I’m not making the accompanying

Gremolata that I realise I’d completely forgotten about it.

Unreal!

Quite what is causing this state is a bit of a mystery. Oh yes, I find the Pub today too noisy for my hearing. My tinnitus is playing up badly, and with PD yelling, as it seems, at the top of his voice across the Corner while I try to talk with Fran and Den and Henry, it makes it almost impossible for me to follow what’s going on.

My leg is giving me difficulty, today too, and for some reason my back is aching.

All in all, I’m feeling a bit of old crock!

On the positive side, my chicken dish is quite amusing, even without the Gremolata condiment, and the Romanian Merlot, Cab Sauv., Shiraz wine proves to be quite enjoyable, too.

Best of all, today, My Good Lady seems to be in much better spirits than of late, with her “black dog” experience finally in abeyance.

I know, I ought to count my blessings instead of wallowing in my own discomfiture.