I got dropped off at the library on the centre of town and gave my cash card to my carer, my widower dad
  the library is only a forty five minutes walk in one direction. I rarely thought of not getting a lift there or back home. I never took my phone, house keys, or wallet.
 
My carer deals with all the bills and I just contribute monthly, usual procedure.
 

 
Two hours later, and as usual, my caring dad was sitting in his car outside the library, waiting to pick me up.
 
When we arrived , my dad sat upon his favourite arm chair, and I went straight to the kitchen fridge and bread bin for my lunch.  There was enough to eat, as my dad had said he had stocked up quite a bit.  As usual my dad had run some errands in the afternoon. I thought nothing of it, read for a while and spent some time upon the internt, doing simple maths puzzles.  After a while, I began to wonder that the time was getting on a bit,   my dad was not yet home, and he did not usually took this long. Suddenly the phone rang.
I picked up the receiver and our local GP told me that my dad had arrived in the surgery complaining over chest pains and dizziness. The doctor had instantly carried out emergency treatment and my dad was taken to hopital, feeling in a much better
state than before he arrived at the surgery.
 
I was shocked, to say the least. However, fortunately, my dad had returned my cash card, so I would be okay for getting my own food for the next seven days.
 
I am lucky enough to have a local express supermarket just a five minutes stroll away.
I was in no way accustomed to doing my own food shopping. 
 
The first outing, I  could only deal with cold food because I did not know how to use the oven. I had a craving for pork pies, but I could not find them. A friendly shelf filler  showed me the way to the small but morish meats delights.
 
At the cash till , and with only about seven items, I had no idea how to use contactless
pay point.  I was uncertain whether to wait for a ping or push and enter my pin. However, the cashier was very helpful.
 

I decided that night , so to avoid continuing exhaustion. The next morning being a Saturday. I would get the  shopping done before even eating any breakfast.
 
I shuffed my shopping bag into my jacket pocket and now more aware of what to do, grabbed my mask , hung it round my face , and took the short stroll, once again.
 
The supermarket was jam- packed, It reminded me of a fairground. There were so many customers in the que and so many shelf fillers, filling the shelves, that even  thought about telling someone what was going on with me. I was becoming a regular customer in  a shop that I could not recall the last time I had stepped in the place, hence this emergency . However, I decided to try and relax with a purchase of the cheapest ale contained in  aluminum cans.
 
It may have been a comforting psychological ploy by the medical doctors in the hospital, as my Dad was thankfully making a steady but  full recovery, especially with the advanced medicines they have available nowadays. I guess that they told my dad to phone me everday, just to say his heart rate is coming down and he will be home that very evening, only for the hospital to keep him in for yet  another day.
 
By Sunday, I might have been a bit hungover, but just to get out of the house, again I took the slow and gradual stomach churning stroll to the supermarket. I did not want to eat much that day,just get some chocolate bars for sustenance. My dad would be coming home today, of course, it would be yet another day.
 
Then arriving home, my brother telephoned to tell me that he could stay the night, but had to get away early the next morning for work.
 
After the first company for an entire week , we sat and ate pizza, chocolate, and drank beer whilst watching whatever was on free view television. The evening was getting late, and our heads were getting heavy. As usual , it would only be the done thing to empty the trash can or wash up some plates the next morning.
 
I headed for bed, and left my brother watching ghost hunting programmes. Suddenly there was a big smash. I intially thought it was my brother hunting for an ash try, as he likes a cigarrette. He shouted and told me to run out  the house, as there was a poltergeist throwing dishes. In the kitchen, though, in between a mountain of pizza boxes, and chocolate rappers, a solitary beer can had fallen of the recycling bag and crashed upon the kitchen tiles, case solved.
 
The next morning, again slightly worse for wear, we slightly overslept. I was suddenly awoken by a thumping noise coming from outside. I fumbled out of bed and looked through window pushing away only half a drawn curtain. The refuse collectors were rolling the bins to the dust truck. I had forgotten to put the bins out, usually leaving it to my dad. I grabbed my dressing gown, rushed out of the front door. I limped, dragging the reycycling bin just in time to catch up with the slowly moving dust truck.
 
Perhaps I don´t believe in mischievous ghosts, but sometimes, I can follow a helping hint from my Mum , who always cooked the meals and did the washing up.