The red spot

Dragged untimely from my pit by an early morning phone call from Elderly Friend who has one thing not to fret about. And what is she doing? Fretting about minutiae. Then forgetting she’s called us and calling again half an hour later with breaks for lunch and supper. Doesn’t matter how much we explain or try to reassure, the dementia and memory loss are accelerating and all we can do is play along.

Thus in my semi somnolent state I stumbled into the kitchen, sneezed and coughed a little to clear the tubes as usual, emptied the dishwasher and made the tea. Hello, what’s that on the floor in front of the sink? A carmine red oval about the size of a small fingernail. Bloody hell! Is that blood?

To my sleep fogged brain it looked very similar to a single ten millimetre long blob of semi-congealed blood. Which woke me up rather more sharply than I like. Cautiously I picked up a paper towel and wiped it up. Jesus H Christ on a bike! It looks like blood? Am I coughing up blood? The terrified little thought starts to swirl around my head. Coughing up blood is very bad. Especially a blob like that.

I cough again, blow my nose into a tissue. That’s funny. Tissue shows not the faintest spot of red. Check the bit of paper towel I used to wipe up the spot and have a sniff. Sniff again. Hmm. That’s familiar. Doesn’t smell like blood. Smells sweet….. like Raspberry jam. Well thank the Lord for that. It’s raspberry bloody jam! Be still my beating heart. I tell Mrs S who roars with laughter, as do I.

Raspberry jam. Memory floods back from a raspberry jam on toast snack early yesterday evening. I don’t remember dropping any on the kitchen floor, but I don’t bother with lights when I close the kitchen down just after seven and setting the dishwasher going so I must have missed it.

Well that’s a relief.

I’ll be glad when the next week of lockdown is over and April arrives. I must be going a bit stir crazy.