A day to myself....

Yesterday, i thought i would have a day to myself.

Darling Daughter was going off to do something with mates, and Sy is in the middle of a very busy period with 'Arthur'.

He hasn't had time to even pass the time of day with me (to busy with Authonomy...and those bloody forums!)

So, i thought i would take myself off to Stratford and browse the charity shops.

I cooked the two of them a huge breakfast, made sure they didn't need anything and got myself together.

'Where are you off to Sprouty?'



It's the first time in nearly a week that Sy has asked me anything, so it threw me a bit.

I glanced at him shiftily- i knew what was coming if i told him where i was going.

'Just out'.

'Where out?'

More than one question- this was serious.

'......Stratford', i mumbled.

I can't remember the last time i saw him move so fast.

'Two minutes and i'll be with you.'



Bugger, bugger and arse.



In the car, he say's 'where abouts in Stratford?'

'You didn't think to ask that before we set off?'

'Well, i'm sure it's somewhere lovely..'

Time passes.

'Can we call in at the Tip shop? There might be some new books there.'

Dutifully, i drive down to the hospice tip shop and park up.

Sy is out the car like a bullet and heads down to the book section at the back.

Sighing, i grab a handful of carrier bags from the boot of the car- he never, ever buys just one book.

Half an hour later, we drive into Stratford town centre, with seven new additions (note additions, not editions- we've not been that lucky yet) safely ensconced in the boot.

I'm already £6.50 down.



Right, serious shopping- look for the charity shops.

'Sprouty, you've never seen Shakespeare's grave, have you?'



Not today, please....

'Noooo.....'

He grabs my arm and propels me at an astonishing speed in the direction of Holy Trinity church.

'We will go now- then you can say that you have been there. After all, how can you listen to me talk about his death and where he is buried, if you've never been to the grave?'

He's got a point.

And i can't believe that i've lived here all my life and never visited the grave.

But they say, people who live by the sea, and all that...



I've seen it.

It's small.

He has his family either side of him.

It's right in front of the alter.

And i had so many questions, that poor Sy hardly knew what had hit him.

I bought him a little bust of Shakespeare to put on his desk- for inspiration purposes.

Another £4.00.



Ok- charity shops!!

We mosy back up into town.

Sy see's another little church.

'We'll just pop in here Sprouty...it's never been open when i've come before.'

We have to leave money for the restoration of the stained glass windows....another £3.00.



Twenty minutes later, i'm making a beeline for the heart foundation shop.

Yay! We're in!.

But i don't see anything i like, so that's that.

Unlike Sy, who has found another two books....£4.00.

'Never mind Sprouty- lets go and see little bruv in his Gallery..we might get a cuppa.'

As i mentioned in a previous post, Sy's brother has an Art Gallery in Stratford- so along we went, the shop was open, and we awaited coffee.

No such luck- they bring it in from Costas, and had just done a 'run'.



More bugger and more arse.



So we stood in the Gallery, Sy yapping to his Brother about Politics and other stuff that people should be banned from talking about on a Sunday, all the while, it was getting later and later.

'Best go and find some more shops for you then!' he crys gleefully at about 4.00pm.



Bloody great.

Everything shuts at about 4.

We head back to the carpark, i pay £2.50 to get out of the carpark, (the barrier was shut on this one, not like the feckin hospital...) and we head home.



'Lovely day out, Sprouty. Thanks everso.'

Sy plants a kiss on my cheek as he gets out of the car.



I follow him into the house, where he is already back in another world, checking the ansaphone and starting up the computer.



I can't help but wonder how i let my day out become his?
Not just how- why????



Till next time,



Shakespeare's Housekeeper xx