Remembering Bubby Limpkin

I’ve cancelled everything, absolutely everything I was going to write about in my blog this week because of some very, very sad news:

Bubby Limpkin, one of the residents of the Home, passed away last night.

I thought it would be a nice gesture if I wrote about her in my blog, as a special ‘memorial’ to her. Not for thanks, or payment, but because I believe it’s important to commemorate the passing into a better world of not just celebrities or politicians - but ordinary people like Bubby, who people don’t really care about, who’ve contributed nothing special to the world and who would otherwise be totally forgotten forever and ever.

I’m not sure when Bubby Limpkin was born or how she spent most of her life, and I really don’t have the time to find out. But what I do know – and this is to stray from the subject – is that I’ve had a rash down the side of my leg that’s driving me barmy. I scratch and scratch, and the only thing that seems to do any good is cold water, but I can’t be dabbing that on all the time. I’ve said something to Margaret and she’s promised to get me some cream.

But of course, poor Bubby had more than a rash. She had a heart condition and I remember thinking when she first arrived in the Home, I’m going to win hands-down, she’s got three years to go maximum, and I was right – and Bubby was wrong, not about that, but about saying Midsommer Murders is all repeats, which I knew wasn’t true, because it was a new series. Also, I never liked the way she’d wait at the front door to wave goodbye to her grandchildren, causing a draught. That was typical of her, because she was always, to coin a phrase, ‘very selfish’.

But this isn’t the time or place to dwell on Bubby’s faults because, as I say, she’s dead. In some ways, I wish she’d had more faults or more something, because she was someone you barely noticed was there, she was a long drink of water, in my experience - she was like a nothing, except she got on your nerves. Always talking about her operations and how much she missed Jack (her husband)! She could bore for England, but anyway, there’s no point in giving myself aggravation about her now, because as I say, she’s dead.

My sincere and touching condolences go to her daughter Leslie, her other daughter whose name I don’t know, and her two sons, likewise whose names I don’t know and who more or less never visited her (once a month, maximum); one of them goes on business to Holland a lot (I don’t know why!), and the other’s got like a funny wife called Henny or Hommy or something like that. She never said a word to Bubby when she did visit, she’d just sit and frass all the biscuits and go to the toilet umpteen times, and not to do a wee, it was always the Other, she was there for hours on end. Hinny or Humpy, some name like that.

But the thing I’ll always remember Bubby for is not for something she did herself, but just a few weeks ago we were all having dinner and one of the nurses asked us if we wanted any more peas, and I said, More peas please, Denise! (although the nurse’s actual name was Carol) I can’t tell you how we all laughed, Benny and Dolly and Zuzzi, everyone..

I’m not sure if Bubby was there, but it’s the kind of thing she would have been there for, which was typical of this very special lady. Because although everyone will soon forget she ever existed, for now I’m sure she has a very special place in all our memories.

Bubby, rest in peace darling, and may you be more loved, respected and noticed Up There than you were down here, sweetheart (though that wouldn’t be difficult!). I’ll stop now as Margaret’s just brought me in that tube of cream.