out to lunch

We went up to Aldeburgh today, to take my cousin out to lunch.  He is not strictly my cousin, but my father's cousin, but 'cousin' is less of a mouthful than 'first cousin once removed'.  He is eighty-five, was widowed in April, and is in extremely good nick, apart from the fact that he needs a new hip. Two years ago he was striding along Aldeburgh beach and leading parties of geologists from the University of the Third Age to look at rock formations in Yorkshire, then wear and tear caught up with his hip, and now he can barely make it half way up the high street.

He was booked in to have the operation in August, then the anaesthetist demanded another battery of tests before taking responsibility for an eighty-five year old, and he lost his place in the queue. Having passed the tests, he is now back on for the middle of next month, subject to passing the pre med that he passed before in August.  The appointment has just come through, so we didn't know that when we booked the lunch.  Timing isn't ideal.  My cousin has no children, and this time round one close friend who would have helped out while he was convalescing will be twelve thousand miles away, visiting her daughter in New Zealand.

It isn't at all convenient, waiting to have your hip replaced.  Apart from the pain, and the limited mobility and loss of independence, you have to put your life on hold, hoping to get The Call.  Had my cousin been to any concerts at this year's Aldeburgh Festival, I asked.  No, because there was no point in buying tickets to things.  Although you could look on having some concert tickets as a powerful magic to ensure you got a fresh appointment (as a strict rationalist I am not superstitious, but I have noticed how since investing in a very warm, very long, thick winter coat because my purple velvet one after six years was going bald, we have had an abnormally warm autumn).

My cousin is due to give a presentation to his geology group on Monday week, and was dismayed that it had taken him two solid days to produce the first three Powerpoint slides on his new computer, and one of those wasn't right.  My cousin had to replace his old desktop when it broke down, and so has been upgraded to Windows 8.  From what I've gathered, not liking Windows 8 one tiny bit has nothing to do with being eighty-five, and everything to do with it being Windows 8.  I haven't heard anyone have a single good thing to say about it.  Mind you, that has been true for every new version of Windows I can remember.  It is fortunate for my cousin that the Systems Administrator was there to help, sounding very confident and e-mailing the images home to work on there.  I said as much, as we walked back to the car, and the SA admitted to currently having no idea at all what to do, but hoping it would all be clear once on a familiar machine with the full suite of programmes, instead of the dreaded Windows 8.

The SA did indeed work it out when we got home.  That shows what you can achieve through a judicious mixture of bullshit and self-restraint.  The SA didn't have a pudding.  I did, to keep my cousin company, as well as fish and chips, and coffee, which came with an enormous shortbread biscuit, and am still so stuffed my brain is barely in gear.  Blame any typos in this post on the sticky toffee pudding.