Friday night was a long one. Aunty Emily had a heart attack, and has been taken to Liverpool Hospital. She “came over all weak and floppy”, she has had a blockage removed already but may need more surgery. We went over to Hurlstone Park to collect Cocky, who spent Friday night in our shower. She wasn’t impressed with being put in a cat carrier for the trip, and bit Mark thoroughly through his welders gloves. I am afraid she may have hurt a wing, but since I don’t know what is normal for this bird, I am loathe to put her through the stress of another car ride (the only avian vet that is open on a Sunday is miles away) while she is just settling in.
We have made her a much bigger house (though still tiny for such a large parrot), which she will hopefully learn to like more than the tiny cage she has been in for the last god knows how many years.
Saturday morning we made a quick trip out to Dural for the 80th birthday of an old family friend. Mary and her family lived next door to us when we were growing up, and Mary was like a third grandmother to Adam and I. I haven’t seen her in years, so it was lovely to be able to see her on such a momentous occasion, and to introduce her to Mark – and to tell her our news. It was also great to catch up with Donna, her daughter, who I have always adored.
We then went to Bunnings to buy Cockatoo house fixings. Note to self: Just because one’s husband has an honours degree in pure maths does not mean he is capable of simple calculation. I believe we’ll be popping in to Bunnings again today.
Then off to Rubi + Lana’s for the late shift. THe shop closes at 2pm, I got there about 2.30pm, so no shopping for me (which could be a good thing). Too ill to do much knitting, but the (insert superlative here) Kate gave me three balls of gorgeous fluffy orange stuff with an alpaca base, and a bath bomb which will get used very soon. Thanks Kate!
Still feeling vile, I dragged myself home, and into bed. Got up a couple of times to supervise cockatoo house building, but head-spins and dizziness drove me back to my bed.
It’s now sunday morning, and I promise some pictures of the new arrival as soon as Mark gets up. I can’t contemplate getting out of bed without a full breakfast, and a significant lie in.
PS. Cocky needs a name. I can’t go to the vet with a magnificent bird with a name like “Cocky”. The ignominy.
PPS. I hate myself a little for saying this, but 45 days in prison for Paris Hilton brings me joy. Hopefully that means 45 days of no “Paris News”. I can hardly wait.