Well Quick Sketch, having read your latest blog it felt it had all the drama of a BBC play. Rather than comment on it by way of a somewhat short and merciless attempt at humour I thought I might make it a more central comment by using this blog as the means, and anyway nothing much has happened this week to me so your news is better than mine.
And so you live Sherlock Holmes, despite the poison I your arch enemy Moriarty, had laced your coffee with. Once mixed with seasonal curry following on from dancing and the celebration of another Yuletide having passed, the poison was slow acting and designed like Polonium, to take days to effect the nervous system, or at least until another badly written BBC play was over. As a back up, I asked an unemployed man with an out of date tray of Cadbury's chocolates to flip the switch for the power in your particular block. This was the fiendish part of the operation, because it had to be done when you were lying down or else you would not feel the effects.So that meant putting a camera in your smoke alarm. You had to have all your back up power disabled, even though many months ago I, Moriarty, in the guise of Bas the friendly Christian non-murderer, had advised in your very own blog for a back up to the Bi-pap, I knew you were taking a risk by relying on a jobsworth from the Leccie Board to do his job and fix the power problem, and that the ambulance crew despatched to you ( that's what they call it nowadays when they are sent to your house )don't have the technical training to carry out running repairs on an electric blanket. A difficult man to kill, rather like J.Bond, that's what you are. But don't think that's the end, there will be other attempts on your life, so you had better be prepared and have an independent generator parked up outside your block chained to a lamppost ready for Polly to quickly fill it with diesel and fire it up.
That's that, micky taking over. Well done for beating this one. Breathing is something that is fundamentally and essentially important for you to do.People reading this who have always been able to do it without trouble won't realise how bad it feels when you can't do it. Could this new disabled block across the road from you incorporate storage for a bi-pap back up unit.
I had a very nice lady from the hospice come to see me today. Quite wore me out and I slept when she went. Big, in a tall slim way, Chris had come round and helped to get our rug clean and when I woke it was clean and he had gone too. Hospice talk is particularly intense and I wouldn't want to chat about it for a job. I got a bit bored after a little while, I'm not someone to tip toe around, but of course they don't know that if it's the first time they have met me.I see it more as booking into a good star hotel, where I get my own dispensing doctor who will stop me getting sore and help me to sleep. I want a decent view, but not worried about parking services or a pool. I won't need TV but will want music, softly in the background, and food is not really an issue either. If I can get it down, then I will have food, if not then not. I definitely don't want Quick Sketch's old BI-Pap breathing machine when he throws it out, and I want to reserve my room for June in twenty years time. If you are positive enough and plan to defeat every fiendish plot laid against you, then why shouldn't you suceed.Until next time, careful with the coins in the Xmas pudding!
Wednesday 23 December 2009
Saturday 19 December 2009
Octopus
Another day sat around in a hospital. Nearly said wasted but it wasn't. Saw Maddie F_Smith in the IV suite and she nearly found a vein for me, but I apparently send them into spasms so they are difficult to locate.
I have been feeling up and then down this last week. Mostly asleep, but then I have wakeful surges when I feel strongly that I should do something but cannot summon the energy to achieve anything. I am very concious that Christmas approaches and for the second year running I haven't been able to get out to choose presents for my family.So they have chosen for themselves.
My house cannot get warm enough for my lungs right night now, and I go to bed freezing and wake up in the early hours really cold too. A discussion is raging right now about the positive and negatives of an electric blanket, and Melanie feels that because of her hot flushes it is better for me to be a bit cold than for her to get a tiny bit extra hot. I can see that this might end in separate beds, but I don't want to go down that path. Hot water bottles are not right as they touch her during the night, and cause her to wake up being attacked by an octopus. I insist on the heating being left on 24 hours a day, so the octopus should have dried up at night.
I now have enough morphine to last for a few weeks, and am hoping that I have the pain under control soon. Need to get this under control before the rugby starts, as Quick Sketch and I are off to watch grown men get injured at Twickenham.(Confirmation just came through) I am looking forward to being well enough to go out, and he is looking forward to being driven about by a world class driver......well, perhaps not, perhaps he is looking forward to seeing the Great Irish men of the age triumphing over the weak and puny Englishmen of the age. Either way, it will be a good day out and something to look forward to other than hospitals and being accused of raising octopus during the day just to torment her at night.
Saturday 12 December 2009
A torrid day giving out orders
My friends, it has been a good day. I have lain on my settee counting how many cups of sweet tea I can drink in an hour, whilst watching a match of varying interest on the TV. I have been doing this is preparation for tonight's bonanza of Cheryl Cole on her own with Will I. Am and then after that X Factor which starts soon.
I have an issue with Americans coming over here and telling us that we have got their name wrong. The former chief of Defence Col. Powell had obviously heard we call nerds Colin, so he became Coelin Powell, just to avoid being called a nerd name. The same goes with this US rapper Will.I. Am. His real name is William and he is a Black Eyed Pea, but oh no he won't have that, hence we now are likely to have the Reverend. Will.I. Am and other's such named like Prince William being renamed in the future. You might see them objecting at first but it won't last long.
My chest has been sort of ok. I haven't done too much, despite the doctor at the hospital on Monday telling me I should do deep breathing and twisting and generally things in keeping with sweeping the leaves up off my driveway. I think she is someone I will ignore from now on although she wasn't American, probably Hungarian from the surname I recall. Lots of Magyar s riding across the steppes and conquering illness. Hasn't sorted out mine yet though.
Big Chris came round and took my tree down from the roof, and Mel and the girls have spent the rest of the afternoon putting it together. It looks great but could do with a lighter fairy on the top branch, not that I'm picky. I have just rolled over and sat at the PC, to write this. It's hard when you don't do much. So shall I just stop? That would be like being called William and giving in without a struggle so I shan't.
All wood has now left the driveway, and it means the garden looks smart again. birds are still tapping at the glass, I haven't been out to feed them yet, need another week before I will be up to that. Although it is hard to guess these things. It might be a year before this goes away, especially as the Dr I.saw at the Marsden yesterday ( Dr Isore-did you get it? probably not- you need to be taking Morphine to understand me these days) said it was a serious pneumonia that I was suffering from, and there was a good chance I could drag this out for months from a sympathy level. Horah! I might be number one in the sympathy charts again before too long. Did I tell you I nearly didn't make it back to the car yesterday? No, it was brill. A brand new Phlebotomy practioner had a go at getting blood out of me 3 times and failed because I have been hiding my veins again. So I wobbled along to surgery, lay down there on a table that folds flat and then had a chat before wobbling out to the car. Mel likes to ask me a lot of detailed questions when I feel faint and sick, and so I made a break for it up the hill while she paid in the car park. I didn't make it, and she was back with me before I reached the car, and asking lots of questions. I drove out the car park with my head out the window and a mouthful of salty saliva, which I recognise as about to throw up but nothing to do with being drunk. An unusual experience for me. But I managed to get out of the hospital without talking or opening my douche and am now called Basil.Will.You.Answer.Me.
I have an issue with Americans coming over here and telling us that we have got their name wrong. The former chief of Defence Col. Powell had obviously heard we call nerds Colin, so he became Coelin Powell, just to avoid being called a nerd name. The same goes with this US rapper Will.I. Am. His real name is William and he is a Black Eyed Pea, but oh no he won't have that, hence we now are likely to have the Reverend. Will.I. Am and other's such named like Prince William being renamed in the future. You might see them objecting at first but it won't last long.
My chest has been sort of ok. I haven't done too much, despite the doctor at the hospital on Monday telling me I should do deep breathing and twisting and generally things in keeping with sweeping the leaves up off my driveway. I think she is someone I will ignore from now on although she wasn't American, probably Hungarian from the surname I recall. Lots of Magyar s riding across the steppes and conquering illness. Hasn't sorted out mine yet though.
Big Chris came round and took my tree down from the roof, and Mel and the girls have spent the rest of the afternoon putting it together. It looks great but could do with a lighter fairy on the top branch, not that I'm picky. I have just rolled over and sat at the PC, to write this. It's hard when you don't do much. So shall I just stop? That would be like being called William and giving in without a struggle so I shan't.
All wood has now left the driveway, and it means the garden looks smart again. birds are still tapping at the glass, I haven't been out to feed them yet, need another week before I will be up to that. Although it is hard to guess these things. It might be a year before this goes away, especially as the Dr I.saw at the Marsden yesterday ( Dr Isore-did you get it? probably not- you need to be taking Morphine to understand me these days) said it was a serious pneumonia that I was suffering from, and there was a good chance I could drag this out for months from a sympathy level. Horah! I might be number one in the sympathy charts again before too long. Did I tell you I nearly didn't make it back to the car yesterday? No, it was brill. A brand new Phlebotomy practioner had a go at getting blood out of me 3 times and failed because I have been hiding my veins again. So I wobbled along to surgery, lay down there on a table that folds flat and then had a chat before wobbling out to the car. Mel likes to ask me a lot of detailed questions when I feel faint and sick, and so I made a break for it up the hill while she paid in the car park. I didn't make it, and she was back with me before I reached the car, and asking lots of questions. I drove out the car park with my head out the window and a mouthful of salty saliva, which I recognise as about to throw up but nothing to do with being drunk. An unusual experience for me. But I managed to get out of the hospital without talking or opening my douche and am now called Basil.Will.You.Answer.Me.
Wednesday 9 December 2009
Keep fit campaign for eagles
I awoke early this morning, at around 5am, swallowed a bit of liquid morphine and crashed out until 930am. I then felt raring to go and wanted to see what my physical limitations were. Was I still able to bench press a lot of weight( lifted a 3kg bag of coffee beans once ), do sprint reps with someone of equal weight on my back, and swim 400m in the pool in less than 5 minutes. Well, I thought I might try to find out.
I quickly got dressed, not bothering with a shower as I had one last week, and slowly went downstairs, put on a fleece and then I was off out into the back garden. I felt free of constraints and soon drove my car forward 10 feet to to enable me to get at some of the tools and equipment that are located in the far corner of the garage. I pulled out a 6lb sledge hammer, almost the lightest sledge hammer you can buy, and tapped a copper pipe into the ground. Then I had to raise said hammer fairly high, and clout the pipe a bit harder. It was my plan to use it as a hole in which to drop the bolt when opening the side gate.After that I tried to sweep the driveway clear of leaves until I felt all woozy, and thought I might well collapse on the garage floor. It must have been the recent rain has made the leaves heavier. It occurred to me that Mel wouldn't come to find me, as she doesn't like it out in the garden, so I could be there for some time, struggling to breath. I was gulping huge mouthfuls of air when I heard her join me. Can you sweep up the leaves for me, I asked. I then got some light bulbs and took the step ladder indoors to change some of the 6 lights that had gone out whilst I had been away. Six of them. What have they been doing to blow six of them? Must have been a good party. I was determined to get as many jobs done as I could this morning before I died.
Did that, then covered the wooden garden furniture ready for the winter squalls and went to fill the bird feeders, all six of them being empty now that there isn't a bird lover in residence whilst I was away. But I couldn't do it. Totally exhausted by my efforts, or rather Melanie's efforts and my supervisory skills. So the birds will wait until the morning, when I am up from my morphine induced slumbers. Who knows, I might see eagles and flamingo's in my garden.For the first time, although I do know people who reckon they get parakeets in theirs. As if!
I still had to put the car away and the effort of walking out and getting into it was almost too much for me. I might still be able to carry Melanie on my back to the bird feeders tomorrow so mustn't despair. I shall keep up this fitness regime until it kills me, I am only 48 and you wouldn't know it to look at me would you.
I quickly got dressed, not bothering with a shower as I had one last week, and slowly went downstairs, put on a fleece and then I was off out into the back garden. I felt free of constraints and soon drove my car forward 10 feet to to enable me to get at some of the tools and equipment that are located in the far corner of the garage. I pulled out a 6lb sledge hammer, almost the lightest sledge hammer you can buy, and tapped a copper pipe into the ground. Then I had to raise said hammer fairly high, and clout the pipe a bit harder. It was my plan to use it as a hole in which to drop the bolt when opening the side gate.After that I tried to sweep the driveway clear of leaves until I felt all woozy, and thought I might well collapse on the garage floor. It must have been the recent rain has made the leaves heavier. It occurred to me that Mel wouldn't come to find me, as she doesn't like it out in the garden, so I could be there for some time, struggling to breath. I was gulping huge mouthfuls of air when I heard her join me. Can you sweep up the leaves for me, I asked. I then got some light bulbs and took the step ladder indoors to change some of the 6 lights that had gone out whilst I had been away. Six of them. What have they been doing to blow six of them? Must have been a good party. I was determined to get as many jobs done as I could this morning before I died.
Did that, then covered the wooden garden furniture ready for the winter squalls and went to fill the bird feeders, all six of them being empty now that there isn't a bird lover in residence whilst I was away. But I couldn't do it. Totally exhausted by my efforts, or rather Melanie's efforts and my supervisory skills. So the birds will wait until the morning, when I am up from my morphine induced slumbers. Who knows, I might see eagles and flamingo's in my garden.For the first time, although I do know people who reckon they get parakeets in theirs. As if!
I still had to put the car away and the effort of walking out and getting into it was almost too much for me. I might still be able to carry Melanie on my back to the bird feeders tomorrow so mustn't despair. I shall keep up this fitness regime until it kills me, I am only 48 and you wouldn't know it to look at me would you.
Tuesday 8 December 2009
Still got the looks
Now I am home after 3 weeks of IV antibiotics, and being kept under control by four hourly doses of Morphine designed to prevent me running around the hospital ward with pencils up my nostrils, I can tell you that it wasn't all fun. My problem is that I can't really remember if things happened or not over the first two weeks. I do remember that my vicar, William, appearing at my bedside and telling me wonderful news about Rosanna Connelly, how her aggressive leukaemia has miraculously disappeared. For a 16 year old girl to have been struck down with this was awful, and it is such a positive thing to happen that I confess I did shed a few tears over this wonderful news. William can come round any time he has news like that, but not if he is just going to talk about his latest sermon, now that I have Morphine I know how to deal with it.
I was dosed up that week so have had to check with Gabriella if it was correct, and it was.
I am pretty sure that one quiet Sunday afternoon a male doctor came in to see me, pulled the curtains and declared that I "looked a million dollars". Well, I didn't know what he meant by this so I told Melanie and she suggested he might be gay, and I was looking particularly windswept that afternoon. They could have done all sorts to me in hospital and I wouldn't have had a clue. Did it really happen, probably not, but it is nice to think you can still be attractive even when you are virtually a junkie.
I'm off back to the syringe now, hope this wasn't too long for those of you with very short attention spans; Roger and Karen, we know who you are.( Blogs are meant to be read one at a time, not the previous 3 months all in one hit)
I was dosed up that week so have had to check with Gabriella if it was correct, and it was.
I am pretty sure that one quiet Sunday afternoon a male doctor came in to see me, pulled the curtains and declared that I "looked a million dollars". Well, I didn't know what he meant by this so I told Melanie and she suggested he might be gay, and I was looking particularly windswept that afternoon. They could have done all sorts to me in hospital and I wouldn't have had a clue. Did it really happen, probably not, but it is nice to think you can still be attractive even when you are virtually a junkie.
I'm off back to the syringe now, hope this wasn't too long for those of you with very short attention spans; Roger and Karen, we know who you are.( Blogs are meant to be read one at a time, not the previous 3 months all in one hit)
Thursday 12 November 2009
I Told You I Wasn't Well
I have been looking forward to using the tome from Spike Milligan's headstone. Does anyone know if it does actually say that on it or is it an urban myth. I'm not going all the way across London to find out because as I said, I am ill.
I was thinking of putting in the title " Author struck down with Pneumonia " but that is probably a bit too dramatic for my blog. Truth is a have a lung infection, which is the P word, but I only have it in a certain section of my rt lung. I have to say that I am mightily relieved because I had it down for something a lot worse that it turned out. I was going for the 'that's it, no point in planning for Christmas' option. It never works out how I think it is going to, and I have dropped the moniker of "Lucky" from my name. I don't suppose all the recent outside events has done me much good, but you only live once and I did enjoy them.
So how did it go, I hear you ask. Well it was nothing like I had planned, and took six and a half hours. I wasn't able to help anyone with my chatty positive conversation, and could only look on as a young lad, probably only 11yrs, was wheeled into the area by his dad. He had an obvious growth in his throat and his dad looked like he was being pushed into the ground by a huge weight. The boy was visibly tired and just wanted to get through the scan. Let's hope he gets through what's ahead. Be nice to see him running around a rugby pitch in a few years time.
My cannula went in well, and they managed to distract me long enough for me not to faint. Bridget wasn't there and I didn't get scared. The TV was put on early after we arrived and a group of friends of a patient decided to compete for volume with Jeremy Kyle show. They were from somewhere exotic like Romania, but I was trying hard to find out why an ugly bloke had had a child by his mother. As the TV show got louder, so did the Romanians who were only sitting across from each other. I reached for my baton and my CS gas, but remembered they were out of reach in my office and so I had to put up with the Romanians drowning out the full detailed explanation.
When they left I found out it was because he couldn't get a girlfriend and wanted to have his own baby. Rev Will might well cover this aspect of sex in his sermon on Sunday morning. Webbed fingers is usually a dead giveaway. Let's just hope nobody gets upset and walks out of the hall this Sunday. Which reminds me, my Rosanna has a Sunday afternoon job in Clarke's shoe shop, and didn't leave church early last Sunday because of anything Will said. Glad to have cleared that one up. I have her name down for the Sister's of Mercy Convent in Streatham anyway, so no need to worry about how she turns out.
My blog has been changed because a critic suggested I make it more feline and easy on the eye.
I won't know what it is like until I publish it, but hope it more visually pleasing.
I'm off to lie down now and finish my Dan Brown book..which has been spoilt a little by my blog reviewers......lets just hope it is exciting and that I find out what the symbol was that was lost in such a dramatic way.
I was thinking of putting in the title " Author struck down with Pneumonia " but that is probably a bit too dramatic for my blog. Truth is a have a lung infection, which is the P word, but I only have it in a certain section of my rt lung. I have to say that I am mightily relieved because I had it down for something a lot worse that it turned out. I was going for the 'that's it, no point in planning for Christmas' option. It never works out how I think it is going to, and I have dropped the moniker of "Lucky" from my name. I don't suppose all the recent outside events has done me much good, but you only live once and I did enjoy them.
So how did it go, I hear you ask. Well it was nothing like I had planned, and took six and a half hours. I wasn't able to help anyone with my chatty positive conversation, and could only look on as a young lad, probably only 11yrs, was wheeled into the area by his dad. He had an obvious growth in his throat and his dad looked like he was being pushed into the ground by a huge weight. The boy was visibly tired and just wanted to get through the scan. Let's hope he gets through what's ahead. Be nice to see him running around a rugby pitch in a few years time.
My cannula went in well, and they managed to distract me long enough for me not to faint. Bridget wasn't there and I didn't get scared. The TV was put on early after we arrived and a group of friends of a patient decided to compete for volume with Jeremy Kyle show. They were from somewhere exotic like Romania, but I was trying hard to find out why an ugly bloke had had a child by his mother. As the TV show got louder, so did the Romanians who were only sitting across from each other. I reached for my baton and my CS gas, but remembered they were out of reach in my office and so I had to put up with the Romanians drowning out the full detailed explanation.
When they left I found out it was because he couldn't get a girlfriend and wanted to have his own baby. Rev Will might well cover this aspect of sex in his sermon on Sunday morning. Webbed fingers is usually a dead giveaway. Let's just hope nobody gets upset and walks out of the hall this Sunday. Which reminds me, my Rosanna has a Sunday afternoon job in Clarke's shoe shop, and didn't leave church early last Sunday because of anything Will said. Glad to have cleared that one up. I have her name down for the Sister's of Mercy Convent in Streatham anyway, so no need to worry about how she turns out.
My blog has been changed because a critic suggested I make it more feline and easy on the eye.
I won't know what it is like until I publish it, but hope it more visually pleasing.
I'm off to lie down now and finish my Dan Brown book..which has been spoilt a little by my blog reviewers......lets just hope it is exciting and that I find out what the symbol was that was lost in such a dramatic way.
Wednesday 11 November 2009
Schoolboy rugby in the rain
What a day today was. Got very wet, but ended the day happy.
Picked up Rob, who invited me to a match between his son's team Whitgift, and the local catholic opposition, John Fisher. They were playing in a grudge match for the Daily Mail U18 cup, and there was a very good turn out. I haven't seen schoolboy rugby being played for over 29 years, and it has changed I can tell you. I wanted to stay and watch the netball match at Reigate College last week, but Gabriella and her friend Bryony pulled me away a bit too forcefully I thought at the time. It doesn't count if they aren't your daughters, I told them, but they didn't listen to me. It is amazing how the youth of today have all grown, they must all be on steroids, especially the girls in the netball teams. Tall, long legged athletes gliding around a court. None of them looked out of breath. Not natural. Then today there were young lads who looked in their mid 20's playing. They were out there warming up an hour before the match started, and that would never have happened in my day. We would have been worn out come kick off if we had done that. And they had all the gear the professionals seem to have, tackle pads and other expensive equipment. They don't spare the horses at Whitgift School. One or two of them could run about a bit too, and it wasn't a surprise that there were a sprinkling of internationals on both teams. It started to rain but it was ok as I was booked to attend a council meeting, and I managed to get out of it to watch the game. Lets hope the citadel of Croydon doesn't collapse as a result of my not being at the council meeting.
On arriving home I quickly learnt all the days gossip. A woman had phoned twice asking for me, and refusing to speak to Mel. Sounds intriguing I thought, perhaps they want me to coach the girls netball team. So, after a bit of argument between my wife, and a woman I don't know, refusing to divulge what the matter was other than it was a personal matter, they agreed to a truce, and the woman was to call back at 4pm. This would give Mel enough time to question me as to what it was all about. " I know nothing about this whatsoever " just doesn't cut the mustard with my wife. I have had instances in the past of women I hadn't married declaring amorous intent towards me, and have passed them all on to Mel to deal with. I can't really be bothered to let them down gently, particularly as I don't feel that I have encouraged them and they have misread my signals. If I was being nice to them, it was probably because they had a donut left on their plate that they weren't going to eat, and I was still hungry from being on the latest diet Mel had put me on. That was how they usually misread my look of longing. It's always been very simple for me. I married my wife because I love her and want to spend the rest of my life with her. I haven't changed my mind. I am the result of an all boys boarding school, which means I don't always send out the right signals to girls. For goodness sake boys don't misread my signals, so is it to much to ask for girls to pay attention. I think that for some girls just smiling at them is enough, and being nice is tantamount to declaring undying love. So, having learnt my lesson over the years I hardly ever talked to women at work. And guess what. I was seen as a male chauvinist, not to my face you understand, more when I wasn't there. How do I know? I had a camcorder in the girls locker room.
So here is this woman insisting on talking personally to me. Here we go again, thinks I. More trouble. And guess what, she wants my blood tomorrow morning at 9am. A surprise attack with a needle. I hate cannula's being done to me. They are great big long needles put up into your veins to enable them to pump loads of chemicals into you over a few hours. Being a big strong man, I usually faint. It's the thought of the needle going in that gets me going. On one occasion the apprentice nurse just over from Ireland couldn't do it properly. Apparently I had hidden all my veins in my arms, which is a ridiculous thing to say. Where would I hide them? Of course I hadn't but she made such a fuss trying to find them that on the fifth try I fell forward in my seat. That was fun then. Some great doctor decided I must be having a heart attack and quick as you like had me wired up ready for my heart to be jumped. If my nurse hadn't come in to the room and explained my pulse is always slow I might not be here now. It did frighten me and now I always have a quiet word to make sure they know not to keep on putting long needles in my arm. If I get an experienced nurse, who is used to cannula's rather than Bridget from Sligo, then I am usually confident it will go well. Nothing against Bridget, but she was probably trained in Galway and is misguidedly trying to pay me back for the potato famine. Me, a genetically superior man from Cork. Not that superior then, as I'm probably related to Bridget.
Blood and scans in the morning, what a way to start the day eh!
Sometimes when you are waiting for a CT scan you are joined by much younger, and for some reason almost always, women, who are often upset and crying about having to go through with a CT scan and probably because they have to go through with dealing with cancer ( note small case-don't ever give it any prominence as a word) at a comparatively young age. It's not a nice place for anyone, but sometimes you meet people who are very positive and it makes the time go by a little more pleasantly. I always aim to be first in the queue of a Thursday morning, and then I can set the stage for those coming after me by being chirpy and positive. I did meet an eleven year old boy one time and he was brilliantly positive. We compared length of scars and lengths of operations as his Mum and Mel chatted nearby. I wasn't going to show him my shark bite at first, but he showed me the chest scar so I thought it ok to. Do you have to have a CRB check to display your scar to a minor? He was there for a last check up as his cancer was in remission, and I couldn't have been more pleased. There are a lot of people who deal with it very well.
Then if a young girl comes in with her mum, which is something that Mel and I have had a lot, it might not be so bad for them.
You know who I mean.
Picked up Rob, who invited me to a match between his son's team Whitgift, and the local catholic opposition, John Fisher. They were playing in a grudge match for the Daily Mail U18 cup, and there was a very good turn out. I haven't seen schoolboy rugby being played for over 29 years, and it has changed I can tell you. I wanted to stay and watch the netball match at Reigate College last week, but Gabriella and her friend Bryony pulled me away a bit too forcefully I thought at the time. It doesn't count if they aren't your daughters, I told them, but they didn't listen to me. It is amazing how the youth of today have all grown, they must all be on steroids, especially the girls in the netball teams. Tall, long legged athletes gliding around a court. None of them looked out of breath. Not natural. Then today there were young lads who looked in their mid 20's playing. They were out there warming up an hour before the match started, and that would never have happened in my day. We would have been worn out come kick off if we had done that. And they had all the gear the professionals seem to have, tackle pads and other expensive equipment. They don't spare the horses at Whitgift School. One or two of them could run about a bit too, and it wasn't a surprise that there were a sprinkling of internationals on both teams. It started to rain but it was ok as I was booked to attend a council meeting, and I managed to get out of it to watch the game. Lets hope the citadel of Croydon doesn't collapse as a result of my not being at the council meeting.
On arriving home I quickly learnt all the days gossip. A woman had phoned twice asking for me, and refusing to speak to Mel. Sounds intriguing I thought, perhaps they want me to coach the girls netball team. So, after a bit of argument between my wife, and a woman I don't know, refusing to divulge what the matter was other than it was a personal matter, they agreed to a truce, and the woman was to call back at 4pm. This would give Mel enough time to question me as to what it was all about. " I know nothing about this whatsoever " just doesn't cut the mustard with my wife. I have had instances in the past of women I hadn't married declaring amorous intent towards me, and have passed them all on to Mel to deal with. I can't really be bothered to let them down gently, particularly as I don't feel that I have encouraged them and they have misread my signals. If I was being nice to them, it was probably because they had a donut left on their plate that they weren't going to eat, and I was still hungry from being on the latest diet Mel had put me on. That was how they usually misread my look of longing. It's always been very simple for me. I married my wife because I love her and want to spend the rest of my life with her. I haven't changed my mind. I am the result of an all boys boarding school, which means I don't always send out the right signals to girls. For goodness sake boys don't misread my signals, so is it to much to ask for girls to pay attention. I think that for some girls just smiling at them is enough, and being nice is tantamount to declaring undying love. So, having learnt my lesson over the years I hardly ever talked to women at work. And guess what. I was seen as a male chauvinist, not to my face you understand, more when I wasn't there. How do I know? I had a camcorder in the girls locker room.
So here is this woman insisting on talking personally to me. Here we go again, thinks I. More trouble. And guess what, she wants my blood tomorrow morning at 9am. A surprise attack with a needle. I hate cannula's being done to me. They are great big long needles put up into your veins to enable them to pump loads of chemicals into you over a few hours. Being a big strong man, I usually faint. It's the thought of the needle going in that gets me going. On one occasion the apprentice nurse just over from Ireland couldn't do it properly. Apparently I had hidden all my veins in my arms, which is a ridiculous thing to say. Where would I hide them? Of course I hadn't but she made such a fuss trying to find them that on the fifth try I fell forward in my seat. That was fun then. Some great doctor decided I must be having a heart attack and quick as you like had me wired up ready for my heart to be jumped. If my nurse hadn't come in to the room and explained my pulse is always slow I might not be here now. It did frighten me and now I always have a quiet word to make sure they know not to keep on putting long needles in my arm. If I get an experienced nurse, who is used to cannula's rather than Bridget from Sligo, then I am usually confident it will go well. Nothing against Bridget, but she was probably trained in Galway and is misguidedly trying to pay me back for the potato famine. Me, a genetically superior man from Cork. Not that superior then, as I'm probably related to Bridget.
Blood and scans in the morning, what a way to start the day eh!
Sometimes when you are waiting for a CT scan you are joined by much younger, and for some reason almost always, women, who are often upset and crying about having to go through with a CT scan and probably because they have to go through with dealing with cancer ( note small case-don't ever give it any prominence as a word) at a comparatively young age. It's not a nice place for anyone, but sometimes you meet people who are very positive and it makes the time go by a little more pleasantly. I always aim to be first in the queue of a Thursday morning, and then I can set the stage for those coming after me by being chirpy and positive. I did meet an eleven year old boy one time and he was brilliantly positive. We compared length of scars and lengths of operations as his Mum and Mel chatted nearby. I wasn't going to show him my shark bite at first, but he showed me the chest scar so I thought it ok to. Do you have to have a CRB check to display your scar to a minor? He was there for a last check up as his cancer was in remission, and I couldn't have been more pleased. There are a lot of people who deal with it very well.
Then if a young girl comes in with her mum, which is something that Mel and I have had a lot, it might not be so bad for them.
You know who I mean.
Tuesday 10 November 2009
It was a bit hectic today, and I have had to have a lie down again.
I drove to work dropping off my Rosanna at her Uni in Wimbledon. I like having her in the car because she is trapped and has to listen to my view on whatever the great issue of the day is. We put on the radio and listen to the 'Shock Jock' and the topical debate concerning London but decided our topic was better. This morning it was the business of passing her driving test, and how it is stressing her out. Grandad, himself a very brilliant driver, is paying for the lessons, and having bought 20 feels that Rosie should be ready to take her test by now. I have told her that she should ignore these ill informed opinions and only listen to me, her father, who after all is the worlds finest exponent of the art of driving. I big myself up so that she listens to me and not my father, who's finest hour came behind the wheel of a nuclear submarine and who thinks having electrically operated windows is an unnecessary expense with a built in fault waiting to pounce on the unwary. I'll admit that pointing HMS Renown, a Resolution Class nuclear powered submarine, is probably a far more challenging thing to do than parking a 14ft long car in a car park. But lets face it when you come out of the store with your trolley you don't get those irritating little dinks on the bodywork from a mum throwing open her car doors to fit her screaming infant into the child seat in the back. Not if your your choice of craft for the day is a submarine. And what if someone cuts you up in traffic whilst you are struggling through Brixton or Peckham on your way home from work. You wouldn't really worry if after digit signals are exchanged the other driver gets out with a machete and walks towards you. You have a Polarus Missile you can wave at him. Either that or you can depth charge his BMW. So, no I don't really think my dad should be handing out advice to his granddaughter on driving. He did have an important role to fill in the Falklands and was responsible for a few missiles getting away from certain ships to land on other navy's ships, but he very rarely gets behind the wheel of anything these days and is most often seen cycling along the sea front with a bag of vegetables from the allotment. And very nice they are too.
London is a hard place to drive and Rosanna has a challenge to drive safely here.The biggest physical challenge is that her glasses don't allow her to see very well. No, I don't know why either. I went with her to get her eyes tested years ago and when we were in the darkened room she got to the third from bottom line before she couldn't see any more. That was with new glasses on. I thought it was rubbish and told the lady in the white coat so. She looked at me as if I were slightly retarded, and told me this was normal, at which I said it wasn't as I could see the entire board and the name of the company who made it. I continued my protest and was asked to leave. So is it really any surprise that anyone with glasses can't see approaching cars and children in the road.I think they are a fashion accessory, and as long as they are by Armani then they are good enough. Poor girl, she needs me around to pick her up and drop her off. I'm not allowed into Opticians with her these days apart from to pay when the bill arrives.
So after that it was into an office that i am allowed to use in times of petrol shortages. I enjoyed myself for a while sending out emails to colleagues who thought I had died, until I was about to go home and Richard turned up. He had spent all morning tracking down a London Bus driver, who having committed some heinous offence had then committed the more serious offence of lying to Richard. Richard is the largest person I know. He is probably the largest policeman in London today. Not only is he tall, but he is big. I think I saw him on the TV at the weekend, boxing against David Haye. I certainly wouldn't lie to him, but I'm not an idiot with a death wish. Anyway, a certain bus driver is soon to be called into a surprise discipline hearing where he will get the chance to see how large Richard is. I thought it funny anyway. Then I met another Richard as I was about to get in my car. This Richard recently came into a very large sum of money, and only mixes with people like us because he would be bored if he stayed at home in his mansion. I think he likes the work. There are some sad people in my life but I think they are great. We need people who are unusual don't we?
So I popped into my local cafe and spoke to Carol, who has a proper coffee machine imported from Italy. I can't taste coffee very well at the moment so I didn't have any, but had a couple of nice rolls instead. Then it was off home and that's about it really. My right lung is in poor condition, and I have a CT scan on Thursday in which they might be able to see what is going on. I sat down and fell asleep after a couple of strong pain killers. Just taken two more and right now I am away with the fairies so will stop now before I waffle on. This must be how Tolkein got the ideas for his stories wot he wort.
I drove to work dropping off my Rosanna at her Uni in Wimbledon. I like having her in the car because she is trapped and has to listen to my view on whatever the great issue of the day is. We put on the radio and listen to the 'Shock Jock' and the topical debate concerning London but decided our topic was better. This morning it was the business of passing her driving test, and how it is stressing her out. Grandad, himself a very brilliant driver, is paying for the lessons, and having bought 20 feels that Rosie should be ready to take her test by now. I have told her that she should ignore these ill informed opinions and only listen to me, her father, who after all is the worlds finest exponent of the art of driving. I big myself up so that she listens to me and not my father, who's finest hour came behind the wheel of a nuclear submarine and who thinks having electrically operated windows is an unnecessary expense with a built in fault waiting to pounce on the unwary. I'll admit that pointing HMS Renown, a Resolution Class nuclear powered submarine, is probably a far more challenging thing to do than parking a 14ft long car in a car park. But lets face it when you come out of the store with your trolley you don't get those irritating little dinks on the bodywork from a mum throwing open her car doors to fit her screaming infant into the child seat in the back. Not if your your choice of craft for the day is a submarine. And what if someone cuts you up in traffic whilst you are struggling through Brixton or Peckham on your way home from work. You wouldn't really worry if after digit signals are exchanged the other driver gets out with a machete and walks towards you. You have a Polarus Missile you can wave at him. Either that or you can depth charge his BMW. So, no I don't really think my dad should be handing out advice to his granddaughter on driving. He did have an important role to fill in the Falklands and was responsible for a few missiles getting away from certain ships to land on other navy's ships, but he very rarely gets behind the wheel of anything these days and is most often seen cycling along the sea front with a bag of vegetables from the allotment. And very nice they are too.
London is a hard place to drive and Rosanna has a challenge to drive safely here.The biggest physical challenge is that her glasses don't allow her to see very well. No, I don't know why either. I went with her to get her eyes tested years ago and when we were in the darkened room she got to the third from bottom line before she couldn't see any more. That was with new glasses on. I thought it was rubbish and told the lady in the white coat so. She looked at me as if I were slightly retarded, and told me this was normal, at which I said it wasn't as I could see the entire board and the name of the company who made it. I continued my protest and was asked to leave. So is it really any surprise that anyone with glasses can't see approaching cars and children in the road.I think they are a fashion accessory, and as long as they are by Armani then they are good enough. Poor girl, she needs me around to pick her up and drop her off. I'm not allowed into Opticians with her these days apart from to pay when the bill arrives.
So after that it was into an office that i am allowed to use in times of petrol shortages. I enjoyed myself for a while sending out emails to colleagues who thought I had died, until I was about to go home and Richard turned up. He had spent all morning tracking down a London Bus driver, who having committed some heinous offence had then committed the more serious offence of lying to Richard. Richard is the largest person I know. He is probably the largest policeman in London today. Not only is he tall, but he is big. I think I saw him on the TV at the weekend, boxing against David Haye. I certainly wouldn't lie to him, but I'm not an idiot with a death wish. Anyway, a certain bus driver is soon to be called into a surprise discipline hearing where he will get the chance to see how large Richard is. I thought it funny anyway. Then I met another Richard as I was about to get in my car. This Richard recently came into a very large sum of money, and only mixes with people like us because he would be bored if he stayed at home in his mansion. I think he likes the work. There are some sad people in my life but I think they are great. We need people who are unusual don't we?
So I popped into my local cafe and spoke to Carol, who has a proper coffee machine imported from Italy. I can't taste coffee very well at the moment so I didn't have any, but had a couple of nice rolls instead. Then it was off home and that's about it really. My right lung is in poor condition, and I have a CT scan on Thursday in which they might be able to see what is going on. I sat down and fell asleep after a couple of strong pain killers. Just taken two more and right now I am away with the fairies so will stop now before I waffle on. This must be how Tolkein got the ideas for his stories wot he wort.
Sunday 8 November 2009
Tired and drunk
The weekend went pretty much as I hoped it would.
I couldn't eat any more jelly beans, for some reason I only had a couple and then I found them too much. I left them on the coffee table and unbeknown to me Gabriella's friends ate them all. She told me she was going to berate them with a comment such as " Why have you eaten all my dad's Jelly Beans that are the only source of pleasure left in his otherwise miserable life?" but thought it might make her sound a bit mean. And it would be the sort of thing I might say just for a bit of fun. She doesn't want to be like me, but I think it too late. She told her mum she learnt a valuable lesson when wheeling me about amongst the crowds for the Eng v Australia rugby match. We had been given parking by the stadium but it was a long way away from our seats and she had a Damascus experience pushing me through the crowds of merry, drunk, mostly large, men who didn't see me at all. I asked her not to force me into the legs of these adult men, and to try to aim at the good looking women, but she didn't have the control of the wheelchair that a strong man might. It was a disturbing experience for her, because it was like I , a large 16 stone man, had suddenly and inextricably become invisible. She also got quite angry at a couple of able bodied men who insisted on climbing into the wheelchair access only area to facilitate their going to the toilet at half time, but they used the body of a severely disabled man sat next to me, who's carer had gone off to get him a cup of coffee, to haul themselves up onto our level. I haven't seen her so annoyed for a long time, and in a strange way I was pleased that this incident had aroused a strong sense of outrage in one so young. I must have done something right when raising her after all, although I think she is naturally anti-bullies and it has nothing to do with me. She came out with a profound comment to her mum about this whole experience that made me realise that it was a brilliant day out for me and her together, and that's what it's about folks.
So she came back and her friends came to the house and set off for the firework display together, and following that she brought them back and cooked hot dogs for them all. I noticed the kitchen was clean and tidy on our return and queried if the event had taken place, but she smiled and told me that she had made sure there was no mess. I think all the worries about how she might turn out were pointless. We had her down for a job as a government torturer or debt collector, but my work is done gentlemen, she is becoming a responsible mature and caring adult. I still have a lot to teach both my daughters, my font of wisdom has a few more tricks to pass on to them, so I'm not going anywhere for a long time. I say that because I have been preparing mentally for the possibility of bad news next week.
So how did it go at Nigel and Lynda's I hear you ask. Well I tried a spectacular single malt, and I could taste it as it sat on my tongue, which I was really pleased about as my tongue is a mess these days. Then it was on to a fine bottle of white Grande Vin De Bordeaux, followed by a red that tasted great, and ended with a mature bottle of Port that I had trouble seeing properly. The food was excellent, and as the conversation heated up with N & L as brilliant hosts, it was one of the best evenings I have had at friends ever. Nigel has a photo in his toilet of when he was the base player in a well known band, and he looked like a pretty boy back in the day. He has matured a lot since and like us all has become less obviously pretty and more debonair.
Will had a go at the sermon I mentioned in my last blog. He concentrated more on the taking of a life I thought, and in particular the area of abortion. He started with a health warning, and ended with an apology as there were a few tears in the congregation and a few people clearly found it difficult. I did get a mention, but it was veiled so only I knew it, which I was pleased about because he's not usually that subtle. But as far as the wood on my driveway is concerned, I didn't get round to a heckle. I think it might have been inappropriate and totally insensitive to the feelings of people effected by the sermon. Next week he is talking about sex, so I'll be there and you should be too. I will be selling tickets for this talk if you want to attend. And then the week after that it will be about race, which is very topical, and could cause a few more people to get upset, or at least that's how Will is selling it, although I don't know why. People have different skin because their ancestors have had to deal with different climates. Even today, if I were to live in a hot and sunny climate, I would struggle without sun lotion, and may well develop a fatal skin condition. God has enabled our bodies to develop and deal with this eventuality by adjusting our pigmentation. It doesn't mean that anyone is better than anyone else, just they are different to some up here in the North of the World where it is always cold and get two days of sunshine a year. Eventually people of colour's descendants will be pale and Lilly skinned like me, although I must confess that I feel I am genetically blessed having been born as one of God's chosen people from Cork.
Rosanna had a great night in Brighton and came home safely. She decided not to go to a club because everyone seemed too drunk and rowdy, and she didn't feel safe. Instead she sat on the beach with her friend and ate chips. Now that's what I call a good night out.
I am going for a lie down now as the weekend has tired me out. What with all that thinking I don't feel too good, hope not to be sick. Got friends round for dinner, but not sure I will be able to join in as can't see the screen anymore. Good job I can touch type.
I couldn't eat any more jelly beans, for some reason I only had a couple and then I found them too much. I left them on the coffee table and unbeknown to me Gabriella's friends ate them all. She told me she was going to berate them with a comment such as " Why have you eaten all my dad's Jelly Beans that are the only source of pleasure left in his otherwise miserable life?" but thought it might make her sound a bit mean. And it would be the sort of thing I might say just for a bit of fun. She doesn't want to be like me, but I think it too late. She told her mum she learnt a valuable lesson when wheeling me about amongst the crowds for the Eng v Australia rugby match. We had been given parking by the stadium but it was a long way away from our seats and she had a Damascus experience pushing me through the crowds of merry, drunk, mostly large, men who didn't see me at all. I asked her not to force me into the legs of these adult men, and to try to aim at the good looking women, but she didn't have the control of the wheelchair that a strong man might. It was a disturbing experience for her, because it was like I , a large 16 stone man, had suddenly and inextricably become invisible. She also got quite angry at a couple of able bodied men who insisted on climbing into the wheelchair access only area to facilitate their going to the toilet at half time, but they used the body of a severely disabled man sat next to me, who's carer had gone off to get him a cup of coffee, to haul themselves up onto our level. I haven't seen her so annoyed for a long time, and in a strange way I was pleased that this incident had aroused a strong sense of outrage in one so young. I must have done something right when raising her after all, although I think she is naturally anti-bullies and it has nothing to do with me. She came out with a profound comment to her mum about this whole experience that made me realise that it was a brilliant day out for me and her together, and that's what it's about folks.
So she came back and her friends came to the house and set off for the firework display together, and following that she brought them back and cooked hot dogs for them all. I noticed the kitchen was clean and tidy on our return and queried if the event had taken place, but she smiled and told me that she had made sure there was no mess. I think all the worries about how she might turn out were pointless. We had her down for a job as a government torturer or debt collector, but my work is done gentlemen, she is becoming a responsible mature and caring adult. I still have a lot to teach both my daughters, my font of wisdom has a few more tricks to pass on to them, so I'm not going anywhere for a long time. I say that because I have been preparing mentally for the possibility of bad news next week.
So how did it go at Nigel and Lynda's I hear you ask. Well I tried a spectacular single malt, and I could taste it as it sat on my tongue, which I was really pleased about as my tongue is a mess these days. Then it was on to a fine bottle of white Grande Vin De Bordeaux, followed by a red that tasted great, and ended with a mature bottle of Port that I had trouble seeing properly. The food was excellent, and as the conversation heated up with N & L as brilliant hosts, it was one of the best evenings I have had at friends ever. Nigel has a photo in his toilet of when he was the base player in a well known band, and he looked like a pretty boy back in the day. He has matured a lot since and like us all has become less obviously pretty and more debonair.
Will had a go at the sermon I mentioned in my last blog. He concentrated more on the taking of a life I thought, and in particular the area of abortion. He started with a health warning, and ended with an apology as there were a few tears in the congregation and a few people clearly found it difficult. I did get a mention, but it was veiled so only I knew it, which I was pleased about because he's not usually that subtle. But as far as the wood on my driveway is concerned, I didn't get round to a heckle. I think it might have been inappropriate and totally insensitive to the feelings of people effected by the sermon. Next week he is talking about sex, so I'll be there and you should be too. I will be selling tickets for this talk if you want to attend. And then the week after that it will be about race, which is very topical, and could cause a few more people to get upset, or at least that's how Will is selling it, although I don't know why. People have different skin because their ancestors have had to deal with different climates. Even today, if I were to live in a hot and sunny climate, I would struggle without sun lotion, and may well develop a fatal skin condition. God has enabled our bodies to develop and deal with this eventuality by adjusting our pigmentation. It doesn't mean that anyone is better than anyone else, just they are different to some up here in the North of the World where it is always cold and get two days of sunshine a year. Eventually people of colour's descendants will be pale and Lilly skinned like me, although I must confess that I feel I am genetically blessed having been born as one of God's chosen people from Cork.
Rosanna had a great night in Brighton and came home safely. She decided not to go to a club because everyone seemed too drunk and rowdy, and she didn't feel safe. Instead she sat on the beach with her friend and ate chips. Now that's what I call a good night out.
I am going for a lie down now as the weekend has tired me out. What with all that thinking I don't feel too good, hope not to be sick. Got friends round for dinner, but not sure I will be able to join in as can't see the screen anymore. Good job I can touch type.
Friday 6 November 2009
Shopping with Melanie
We started the day well.
The piles of logs that my friend John and I prepared for William were stacked and Will called to say he was on his way up to collect them. He thought a single trip would do it. I told him that we were now getting gentlemen callers asking to take away the wood free of charge to heat their 5 bed mansions for the winter months. It's true, but I wanted to put a bit of pressure on Will to come and take the two trees away. We were going out, and I said I wasn't able to help load the trailer, but that wasn't a problem for super Will, although the last thing he said was "my back is playing up a little." It's probably all that sunbathing in Israel last week.
Mel and I dropped Rosanna off at East Croydon Station for her weekend sleepover staying with a Uni friend in Brighton. As she exited the car she said "I can't wait dad, I have never been clubbing it in Brighton before." I didn't know about this plan and advise all daughters not to tell their dad their real plans when going away for the weekend, not until they are at least 34 years old. So I now have to try to get to sleep without worrying about her. When you look at it sensibly there isn't much to worry about though because doesn't Brighton have a boy-boy culture. I hope so anyway, I am banking on this to get me through the night. I have a full day on Saturday so need my sleep, breakfast at my friend Nick's house, then off to Rugby with Gabriella at Twickenham to watch England lose to Australia while eating jelly beans, then back home to light a fire for Gabriella and her friends who need feeding with hot dogs before they all walk round to Carshalton Park to the Fireworks display, and then Melanie and I are off round to Nigel and Linda's for dinner. I expect to be tasting various single malts there before winding our way back home and into bed. Melanie will want to watch X Factor, and I will probably be drunk by then, yes it happens once a year, and fall into a stupor.
Then on Sunday morning I shall be up early, and off to Springfield Church to watch Will very carefully as he preaches his sermon on Dignitas and the church's stance on taking your own life. Apart from me, does anyone else find his sermons make them want to go to Switzerland to end it all? So if you are bereft of something else to do come along and listen to the philisophical debate. I suspect he might bring me into it as I have discussed this 'option' with him before, and it is an option for some after all.
I am someone who doesn't want to die at all, ever, not until I have completed everything on my very long list of to do's, so I will not be taking that path, I do expect to be given large amounts of controlled drugs if the pain becomes unbearable, but that's not the same thing so I am told. I have lived enough to know that whatever you think will happen, won't, and you get caught out by a completely unexpected result if you try to plan for an eventuality. If Will looks like he has a bad back, then fair enough, but if he bounces around as he usually does, like he has just swam a few laps of The Sea of Galilee, then I might well heckle him. He doesn't reckon much on Dan Brown's writing either and like so many believes the De Vinci Code was worthy of philosophical public debate rather than being viewed as a jolly good read with a cliffhanger at the end of every single chapter...what more could you ask for?
So back to today. We went slowly around the shops in Croydon, together. My right lung has been playing up so I have to take it easy, not enough oxygen gets to my muscles and they feel weak when you compare them to how I used to be a few short years ago. I was once able to jog and years ago run around a bit. Now Gabriella tells me she could beat me up. I live in fear of her. Melanie must have found my blog about shopping because she was ever so nice. We had to have Sushi in the basement of the new shopping centre called Centrale. Sushi apparently has no calories whatsoever, so she can eat it. I took the opportunity to eat a few bits of raw Tuna before it gets banned by Gordon Brown. If you have never tried it then I would urge you not to as the world stock of Bluefin Tuna is diminished, and anyway it doesn't taste of anything. I have mine with slices of something pink, which might be a Japanese ginger root. Then I was allowed to look at the boys toys and even at the Single Malt Whiskies before she grew tired and gently pulled me away. I did manage to buy two bags of the proper Jelly Beans though. You know, the ones with all the nice flavours they don't fill the preboxed packages with. I absentmindedly had a handful as I was being led through the stationary and gift wrapping. It isn't theft if it is an automotive thing, like swerving when a swarm of bees flies into your car window. I paid for what was left before leaving the store. They were ever so cheap, must be a sale on. On arriving home the wood piles were still on the driveway, but I don't care because it all adds fuel to my heckling on Sunday morning. Have a good weekend yourself and try to stay warm.
The piles of logs that my friend John and I prepared for William were stacked and Will called to say he was on his way up to collect them. He thought a single trip would do it. I told him that we were now getting gentlemen callers asking to take away the wood free of charge to heat their 5 bed mansions for the winter months. It's true, but I wanted to put a bit of pressure on Will to come and take the two trees away. We were going out, and I said I wasn't able to help load the trailer, but that wasn't a problem for super Will, although the last thing he said was "my back is playing up a little." It's probably all that sunbathing in Israel last week.
Mel and I dropped Rosanna off at East Croydon Station for her weekend sleepover staying with a Uni friend in Brighton. As she exited the car she said "I can't wait dad, I have never been clubbing it in Brighton before." I didn't know about this plan and advise all daughters not to tell their dad their real plans when going away for the weekend, not until they are at least 34 years old. So I now have to try to get to sleep without worrying about her. When you look at it sensibly there isn't much to worry about though because doesn't Brighton have a boy-boy culture. I hope so anyway, I am banking on this to get me through the night. I have a full day on Saturday so need my sleep, breakfast at my friend Nick's house, then off to Rugby with Gabriella at Twickenham to watch England lose to Australia while eating jelly beans, then back home to light a fire for Gabriella and her friends who need feeding with hot dogs before they all walk round to Carshalton Park to the Fireworks display, and then Melanie and I are off round to Nigel and Linda's for dinner. I expect to be tasting various single malts there before winding our way back home and into bed. Melanie will want to watch X Factor, and I will probably be drunk by then, yes it happens once a year, and fall into a stupor.
Then on Sunday morning I shall be up early, and off to Springfield Church to watch Will very carefully as he preaches his sermon on Dignitas and the church's stance on taking your own life. Apart from me, does anyone else find his sermons make them want to go to Switzerland to end it all? So if you are bereft of something else to do come along and listen to the philisophical debate. I suspect he might bring me into it as I have discussed this 'option' with him before, and it is an option for some after all.
I am someone who doesn't want to die at all, ever, not until I have completed everything on my very long list of to do's, so I will not be taking that path, I do expect to be given large amounts of controlled drugs if the pain becomes unbearable, but that's not the same thing so I am told. I have lived enough to know that whatever you think will happen, won't, and you get caught out by a completely unexpected result if you try to plan for an eventuality. If Will looks like he has a bad back, then fair enough, but if he bounces around as he usually does, like he has just swam a few laps of The Sea of Galilee, then I might well heckle him. He doesn't reckon much on Dan Brown's writing either and like so many believes the De Vinci Code was worthy of philosophical public debate rather than being viewed as a jolly good read with a cliffhanger at the end of every single chapter...what more could you ask for?
So back to today. We went slowly around the shops in Croydon, together. My right lung has been playing up so I have to take it easy, not enough oxygen gets to my muscles and they feel weak when you compare them to how I used to be a few short years ago. I was once able to jog and years ago run around a bit. Now Gabriella tells me she could beat me up. I live in fear of her. Melanie must have found my blog about shopping because she was ever so nice. We had to have Sushi in the basement of the new shopping centre called Centrale. Sushi apparently has no calories whatsoever, so she can eat it. I took the opportunity to eat a few bits of raw Tuna before it gets banned by Gordon Brown. If you have never tried it then I would urge you not to as the world stock of Bluefin Tuna is diminished, and anyway it doesn't taste of anything. I have mine with slices of something pink, which might be a Japanese ginger root. Then I was allowed to look at the boys toys and even at the Single Malt Whiskies before she grew tired and gently pulled me away. I did manage to buy two bags of the proper Jelly Beans though. You know, the ones with all the nice flavours they don't fill the preboxed packages with. I absentmindedly had a handful as I was being led through the stationary and gift wrapping. It isn't theft if it is an automotive thing, like swerving when a swarm of bees flies into your car window. I paid for what was left before leaving the store. They were ever so cheap, must be a sale on. On arriving home the wood piles were still on the driveway, but I don't care because it all adds fuel to my heckling on Sunday morning. Have a good weekend yourself and try to stay warm.
Wednesday 4 November 2009
Harley v R1
Well, the car got through its MOT without any problems. This was pleasing as there are certain feelings involved that remind me of leaving a child at school for an entrance exam. You walk away from the garage without the keys, having handed them over to the key custodian otherwise known as Chris, who will take your baby round for Phil to put a tube into its exhaust pipe. It's enough to bring tears to your eyes. I don't stay to watch, too painful. Just in case they criticise my baby. I'm like that with my children too. I am sure that over the years teachers have discussed my daughters amongst themselves, possibly critically, but I don't want to know what they said or are still saying, because it might be negative, and I don't think of them in a negative way. That said if I lost my car to theft or damage ( it would not be because of bad driving on my part-obviously ) I would get over it, but not if it were my daughters. They used to say that I loved my motorbike more than I loved them, and although I did like the bike very much, it wasn't true. My bike was washed and polished frequently, it was rarely taken out and never in the rain. I had a special suit I wore when getting on it, with special boots, helmet and gloves. I wore earplugs and had a special neck scarf, it was great fun going out on it. Actually if I thought about it, I was scared before I went out on it. All that power, all that speed, just a little bit of rubber between me and the road. Speed that was just there at the turn of a wrist, super car acceleration. Probably quicker than a super car. I had to not think about it and just do it, rely on my training and experience to get me past the next car, lorry or coach before the oncoming vehicle got close. Never had a problem, it was so fast it could do it all easily.
Why am I writing about that? Nostalgia really. Chris has a Harley Davidson Fat Boy stored in the MOT garage, and I had a while looking at it before handing over my car keys. He even offered me a ride if I wanted to. How nice is that? I know it is his baby so I declined. I'm not sure my legs would be strong enough to get it off its side stand to hold it upright. It's a different type of bike to mine, slow and heavy with a poor turning circle. He has a lot of extra chrome on it though, and I would be frightened if I scratched it.
Nice of him to let me dream a little though.
It's not about the bike, I prefer to dream about my kids.
Why am I writing about that? Nostalgia really. Chris has a Harley Davidson Fat Boy stored in the MOT garage, and I had a while looking at it before handing over my car keys. He even offered me a ride if I wanted to. How nice is that? I know it is his baby so I declined. I'm not sure my legs would be strong enough to get it off its side stand to hold it upright. It's a different type of bike to mine, slow and heavy with a poor turning circle. He has a lot of extra chrome on it though, and I would be frightened if I scratched it.
Nice of him to let me dream a little though.
It's not about the bike, I prefer to dream about my kids.
Monday 2 November 2009
No MOT
Well, I made a pretty poor patient myself, after going on about being a great, no historic, nurse I fell over with a bang. Melanie phoned the Royal Marsden and they were going to admit me, but didn't have a spare quarantine room, so home I stayed while retching and other nasty things going on. Anyway I make a great patient, I don't eat at all, so no cooking for the carer. I try to drink a lot of fluids and have a large carton of Lidl's apple drink by my bed, and I sleep long and hard. So what is there to do for the nurse? I never moan, and hardly make any noise about feeling sorry for myself, or how much more can a body take. No, I think I must be a joy to look after. All I need is a good book, which Melanie tells me I can't buy as we haven't got any spare money with Christmas coming up fast. I don't like watching TV when I am feeling unwell and i can't be the only one like that. I am picky in what I watch anyway, I don't just sit with the box on all day, I have to have something that I can learn something from or else I don't bother. Apart from X factor. This is the only prog that my whole family sit and watch together, so I will admit to sitting in the same room as them when it is on. This week I guessed who would be knocked out, and I think it is because she is black, and picked the wrong song to sing. Can't be because she is a bad singer because she is very good. I don't like it much when they say things like ' if I don't make it my life will end' or 'It means everything to me' because you and I know this is tosh. Wait until something bad comes along then it puts it into perspective, and it is just singing after all, not an illness.
So I popped out with Rosanna and bought the new Dan Brown book just to cheer me up. She sat in the car because she didn't have any makeup on and didn't want anyone seeing her. I was just getting a paper but saw the opportunity and took it. I have been reading books by Simon Scarrow and other adventure type writers, but really they are not very good wordsmiths. Brown's book has already captivated my attention and the others just don't in the same way. Wilbur Smith used to be my favourite for his epics, but he has lost his touch by co-writing with lesser authors, and I have struggled to find someone else as good. It has cheered me up too, because I can't wait to finish this blog and get back to it, even if I did get told off for wasting our money on a book I could have had for Christmas. Can I be the only man who when he sees a new CD or book or tie or anything really that he fancies, gets told in January that I can have it for Christmas with the proviso that I am good. I always argue that it will be out of my list of wants by the time Christmas comes along, but usually lose and do without. Then come Christmas I get a different CD by a band of strangled screaming Irish Monks who repeat their words monotonously over and over again, with my wife saying 'There you go, you may never have heard of them but I think they are great'. This is why I sneak out and buy the CD I want when she isn't looking. And yes i do get caught out. Always & immediately I return home with the contraband. How does she do it? I don't know. If I manage to get out to the shops 'on my own', I am usually accompanied by a gaoler, Gabriella, who is under strict instructions not to let me enter the HMV shop, or Maplins. The boss knows I am not interested in clothes or fripperies ( lovely word that) and can't go into Anne Summers with a 16 year old daughter. I have a time limit put on my shopping and a call is made if I manage to escape my gaoler and pull her into a music shop. It's even worse if I am out with the boss. I can't look at stuff I might be interested in in case I want to buy it, thereby depriving the family of more Christmas gifts. I like to pop into Cash Converters to see what the burglars are taking from homes in Croydon but as you don't get a good class of shopper in their I have to leave and go to M & S for a cup of tea and a slice of cake. I liked to drop into Richer Sounds, but they have moved to South Croydon, and I can't park there easily so i don't bother going anymore. Mind you, I was so unwell last week I forgot to go and have the car MOT'd and so I can't go anywhere until tomorrow afternoon when it is now booked in. If I had got a Motability car I wouldn't have all this trouble, but then I would be driving round in a Euro box and that wouldn't do at all. Not with my wife's image to think of. I did remember to compliment her on her hair being done for £80 on Saturday. My hair costs £7 to get cut and that is too much. But when her hair needs doing, well it is worth it isn't it. I usually forget to say how good it looks when she gets home after having it done, probably because she leaves the house in daylight and comes home in the dark and a lot of time has passed in between. I might have watched a good film, or good rugby match, or read a book in the time it takes. And yes in the past I may have forgotten that the process of sitting in a chair whilst someone talks to you for 4 hours was going on. I am sometimes busy, and might be doing some work.
Anyway, I am sorry & it won't happen again. Honest
The Professor has popped round with Gabriella's laptop computer. He has fixed it again, all virus cured, and replaced the internal fan. It would seem that sitting with your laptop on your bed with it on the duvet doesn't allow the air to flow around it properly. That and long hair getting into the fan and stopping it working altogether are the problem. So, do I tell her when she gets home from college or will that be dad keeping on about boring stuff again. What do they do when they leave for Uni? Do they run anti-virus software there or can't they be bothered either. I guess because a laptop is only usually kept on for a short time, when you set up the times for the programmes to run to keep it fresh, it is switched off. As you know, I had a virus and I know that life is better without them. I might say that without getting moaned at.
So I popped out with Rosanna and bought the new Dan Brown book just to cheer me up. She sat in the car because she didn't have any makeup on and didn't want anyone seeing her. I was just getting a paper but saw the opportunity and took it. I have been reading books by Simon Scarrow and other adventure type writers, but really they are not very good wordsmiths. Brown's book has already captivated my attention and the others just don't in the same way. Wilbur Smith used to be my favourite for his epics, but he has lost his touch by co-writing with lesser authors, and I have struggled to find someone else as good. It has cheered me up too, because I can't wait to finish this blog and get back to it, even if I did get told off for wasting our money on a book I could have had for Christmas. Can I be the only man who when he sees a new CD or book or tie or anything really that he fancies, gets told in January that I can have it for Christmas with the proviso that I am good. I always argue that it will be out of my list of wants by the time Christmas comes along, but usually lose and do without. Then come Christmas I get a different CD by a band of strangled screaming Irish Monks who repeat their words monotonously over and over again, with my wife saying 'There you go, you may never have heard of them but I think they are great'. This is why I sneak out and buy the CD I want when she isn't looking. And yes i do get caught out. Always & immediately I return home with the contraband. How does she do it? I don't know. If I manage to get out to the shops 'on my own', I am usually accompanied by a gaoler, Gabriella, who is under strict instructions not to let me enter the HMV shop, or Maplins. The boss knows I am not interested in clothes or fripperies ( lovely word that) and can't go into Anne Summers with a 16 year old daughter. I have a time limit put on my shopping and a call is made if I manage to escape my gaoler and pull her into a music shop. It's even worse if I am out with the boss. I can't look at stuff I might be interested in in case I want to buy it, thereby depriving the family of more Christmas gifts. I like to pop into Cash Converters to see what the burglars are taking from homes in Croydon but as you don't get a good class of shopper in their I have to leave and go to M & S for a cup of tea and a slice of cake. I liked to drop into Richer Sounds, but they have moved to South Croydon, and I can't park there easily so i don't bother going anymore. Mind you, I was so unwell last week I forgot to go and have the car MOT'd and so I can't go anywhere until tomorrow afternoon when it is now booked in. If I had got a Motability car I wouldn't have all this trouble, but then I would be driving round in a Euro box and that wouldn't do at all. Not with my wife's image to think of. I did remember to compliment her on her hair being done for £80 on Saturday. My hair costs £7 to get cut and that is too much. But when her hair needs doing, well it is worth it isn't it. I usually forget to say how good it looks when she gets home after having it done, probably because she leaves the house in daylight and comes home in the dark and a lot of time has passed in between. I might have watched a good film, or good rugby match, or read a book in the time it takes. And yes in the past I may have forgotten that the process of sitting in a chair whilst someone talks to you for 4 hours was going on. I am sometimes busy, and might be doing some work.
Anyway, I am sorry & it won't happen again. Honest
The Professor has popped round with Gabriella's laptop computer. He has fixed it again, all virus cured, and replaced the internal fan. It would seem that sitting with your laptop on your bed with it on the duvet doesn't allow the air to flow around it properly. That and long hair getting into the fan and stopping it working altogether are the problem. So, do I tell her when she gets home from college or will that be dad keeping on about boring stuff again. What do they do when they leave for Uni? Do they run anti-virus software there or can't they be bothered either. I guess because a laptop is only usually kept on for a short time, when you set up the times for the programmes to run to keep it fresh, it is switched off. As you know, I had a virus and I know that life is better without them. I might say that without getting moaned at.
Tuesday 27 October 2009
An Underpaid Nurse
Florence Nightingale couldn't do a better job than me, I reckon. For the last two days I have tended to my family night and day, as they have struggled to deal with a nasty bout of something that makes them sick. I have cleaned floors and provided drinks, toasted bread and boiled kettles, all out of love and devotion. Throughout this time I have not sought payment or indeed any thanks, and have not received any either. To think, had I wanted to do this for a career I would have had to study to degree level. I wonder if someone with a degree would be content with this role for 30+ years, or would they seek a role that would be more commensurate with their qualifications. Being around ill people isn't my idea of fun, and to do it for a job, well I think you have to be pretty special.
Which is why I wonder why some nurses I have been told about continue to do their jobs. Firstly I have to say my experience of nurses has been very good, but then I have mainly been treated at 'centres of excellence'. My nurses are smart, clever and caring. I know that because they have lifted me out of my own body fluid, shouted at doctors to leave me alone when they knew I was frightened by a particular procedure which wasn't being done quickly enough by an inexperienced doctor. They have stood next to me holding my hand when the pain was getting pretty intense, and one even stayed up all night to keep me company when I couldn't sleep despite the morphine drip into my arm. I'm no different to them, I used to go to work and just get on with it. I can deal with blood and guts everywhere, but for some reason I don't like it when it is mine. I have been rude to people, but usually in response to them trying to stab me or punch me or vent their anger on me. And at such times I usually try to make it into a competition to see who can come out with the cleverest insults. I have not considered anyone to have bettered me in this department, so far anyway. I suppose when you look at it, it is a little unfair because they have lost their cool and I am just producing a string of insults that I have spent years honing and moulding into masterful put downs. I have also found that because most of them are humorous, it can often diffuse an otherwise angry situation, and if they are bigger younger and stronger than me then I consider this to be wise on my part. I don't do it any more because it can upset people when you compare them to hamsters in the desert.
But I have been told of a nurse who, when dealing with a physically disabled person, lost their temper when told the medicine they are giving them is not the correct one, after all they know what they should be taking, and have threatened the patient with physical violence. What is going on inside their heads? Is it caused by their feeling that they have not achieved the position they should have, because of raised expectations through having a degree. If all local hospitals were made centres of excellence then maybe the nurses would be proud to work there and the frustration of being unappreciated and undervalued would end.
The big dead cherry tree in my front garden was felled yesterday, by my height fearing gardener, who has made a jolly good fist of it. His chainsaw packed up a few times, and because cherry is a hardwood it meant he had to buy a new chain for the machine halfway through the operation. Rev Will has still to come and take the bits away in his trailer, and I think he might moan that it's not all cut into small log size chunks, but it is recycling on a grand scale and he is getting it for free so he shouldn't. I was going to attempt a smaller tree myself with the help of a neighbour but I might wait to see how Will feels about this load first.Meanwhile I shall soldier on in my own hospital, making sure that the brows are wiped and stomachs remain empty.
Which is why I wonder why some nurses I have been told about continue to do their jobs. Firstly I have to say my experience of nurses has been very good, but then I have mainly been treated at 'centres of excellence'. My nurses are smart, clever and caring. I know that because they have lifted me out of my own body fluid, shouted at doctors to leave me alone when they knew I was frightened by a particular procedure which wasn't being done quickly enough by an inexperienced doctor. They have stood next to me holding my hand when the pain was getting pretty intense, and one even stayed up all night to keep me company when I couldn't sleep despite the morphine drip into my arm. I'm no different to them, I used to go to work and just get on with it. I can deal with blood and guts everywhere, but for some reason I don't like it when it is mine. I have been rude to people, but usually in response to them trying to stab me or punch me or vent their anger on me. And at such times I usually try to make it into a competition to see who can come out with the cleverest insults. I have not considered anyone to have bettered me in this department, so far anyway. I suppose when you look at it, it is a little unfair because they have lost their cool and I am just producing a string of insults that I have spent years honing and moulding into masterful put downs. I have also found that because most of them are humorous, it can often diffuse an otherwise angry situation, and if they are bigger younger and stronger than me then I consider this to be wise on my part. I don't do it any more because it can upset people when you compare them to hamsters in the desert.
But I have been told of a nurse who, when dealing with a physically disabled person, lost their temper when told the medicine they are giving them is not the correct one, after all they know what they should be taking, and have threatened the patient with physical violence. What is going on inside their heads? Is it caused by their feeling that they have not achieved the position they should have, because of raised expectations through having a degree. If all local hospitals were made centres of excellence then maybe the nurses would be proud to work there and the frustration of being unappreciated and undervalued would end.
The big dead cherry tree in my front garden was felled yesterday, by my height fearing gardener, who has made a jolly good fist of it. His chainsaw packed up a few times, and because cherry is a hardwood it meant he had to buy a new chain for the machine halfway through the operation. Rev Will has still to come and take the bits away in his trailer, and I think he might moan that it's not all cut into small log size chunks, but it is recycling on a grand scale and he is getting it for free so he shouldn't. I was going to attempt a smaller tree myself with the help of a neighbour but I might wait to see how Will feels about this load first.Meanwhile I shall soldier on in my own hospital, making sure that the brows are wiped and stomachs remain empty.
Monday 26 October 2009
Scottish Restaurant & with water or not
It's starting to become a habit this writing a blog. Should it be a capital letter, is Blog a noun? I'm not keen on Facebook as it seems a little trite, talking about popping out to the shops.
I didn't know about these things until I began to read Quick Sketch's 'How to be an Inspiration', and enjoyed his writing. I had wanted to chat to him but found it hard to get over the wheel chair thing. I have a few friends in chairs and it hasn't effected me, but with Quick Sketch it did, however I wanted to know more about him, the man without the chair if you like. So I asked Polly, his wife, and she pointed me in the direction of his Blog. 'It's not about the bike' is a favourite book of mine for many reasons, and it showed me it shouldn't be about the illness.
I only wrote my Blog for my wife, thinking I would do one entry and that would be it, as she knew most of my news anyway. But I found you can put other stuff in there, things you don't really want to talk about, and maybe she can read it and think about it before making a comment. Sometimes it's easier to write things down than to say them, and you can get them in some order so they make sense. I don't always say the right thing, and often get in trouble with my family and friends for being tactless, but I get a chance to push the delete button with this.
Made a big mistake today when a friend from church phoned to ask me what I needed in the way of prayer support. There are people in our church who are going through tough times, a young girl - Gabriella's friend-who nearly died last week and others like me who have problems. So I spoke about the doctor saying the drug I'm on lasting on average six months, and that I was still, three weeks later, upset by this as I was led to believe it would work for longer. I went into an in-depth conversation about my options when this drug stopped working, and how it was getting me down. I asked for people to pray that it would be effective for a lot longer than he had said, for me to regain my positivity and thanked the friend for calling before putting the phone down. I honestly thought I was alone in the room when the call came through, but then I heard my 16 year old daughter Gabriella crying. She was there sitting quietly and overheard the entire conversation, and we hadn't told her what the doctor had said. I felt and still feel awful now many hours later about making her cry. You try to protect your family from the effects of your illness as best you can, try to be upbeat and lighthearted, but I've messed it up today, and I'd like to start today again so I can leave the answer machine on to deal with the calls. See what I mean about the delete button?
Melanie has been particularly unwell today. She was up throughout the night and probably has a virus. I have tried to sort the girls out, but Rosanna managed to disable the newly installed burglar alarm on her one trip to the kitchen. I have told her not to let any burglars know how to do it. I fixed it eventually when I was going round putting all the clocks back one hour. Why do we have to do this every year? It is such a chore when you have long case clocks as they won't wind backwards. So, unable to work the cooker- a personal failing I readily admit- and one which provides my darling wife with all the power in our house- I travelled to the Scottish Restaurant to 'cook' tea for them all. A Big Mac later and they were all happy, except Melanie , a veggie, who is starving her fever and refusing to eat anything I cook other than toast. You have seen Melanie holding Samara in my other post. Samara is the 6 week old baby daughter of our friends Veronica and Christopher. Melanie was desperate to visit her and delighted for our friends, although they were finding it tough when she cried day and night. She has grown up now, 9 weeks old, and has become a joy simply by sleeping through the night. I sleep through the night if not woken by a sick wife, but nobody thinks I am a joy. Anyway, Samara is much prettier than me so I thought I might put her picture here in my Blog.
Thinking ahead to December/January, the whisky will be single malt, at around £60 -£80 a bottle, sourced from a specialist shop on the South Bank near where the illusionist David Blain hung in his glass box ( or did he? ) probably at my house if I am well enough to host, with notes provided by the said shop. Needs a bit more research by me first so that the presentation can be delivered in a semi professional way. Last time the audience was around 20 men- no women invited mainly because we don't want to encourage 'that sort of thing'- and it was an enjoyable evening for those who came. We drank a few bottles and it was a good evening for not a lot of money, tasting different quality drinks that we might not have paid for otherwise individually, being that we are all poor. It is still spoken about as a good night, I thought it was last year, but apparently it wasn't, it was three years ago. Got to line up a presentationalist , someone with recent speaking experience and a sense of humour. Not necessarily a Scotsman either, as they are a bit too serious about the 'with water or ice' thing.
Anyway you will be pleased to read that, yet again, this Blog was created during the early hours without the assistance of pain relief, and that I have enjoyed writing it.
Cathartic- does this mean I have gone from the evangelical church to the Pope's all new Church of England Renegades Accepting Catholic Church?
I didn't know about these things until I began to read Quick Sketch's 'How to be an Inspiration', and enjoyed his writing. I had wanted to chat to him but found it hard to get over the wheel chair thing. I have a few friends in chairs and it hasn't effected me, but with Quick Sketch it did, however I wanted to know more about him, the man without the chair if you like. So I asked Polly, his wife, and she pointed me in the direction of his Blog. 'It's not about the bike' is a favourite book of mine for many reasons, and it showed me it shouldn't be about the illness.
I only wrote my Blog for my wife, thinking I would do one entry and that would be it, as she knew most of my news anyway. But I found you can put other stuff in there, things you don't really want to talk about, and maybe she can read it and think about it before making a comment. Sometimes it's easier to write things down than to say them, and you can get them in some order so they make sense. I don't always say the right thing, and often get in trouble with my family and friends for being tactless, but I get a chance to push the delete button with this.
Made a big mistake today when a friend from church phoned to ask me what I needed in the way of prayer support. There are people in our church who are going through tough times, a young girl - Gabriella's friend-who nearly died last week and others like me who have problems. So I spoke about the doctor saying the drug I'm on lasting on average six months, and that I was still, three weeks later, upset by this as I was led to believe it would work for longer. I went into an in-depth conversation about my options when this drug stopped working, and how it was getting me down. I asked for people to pray that it would be effective for a lot longer than he had said, for me to regain my positivity and thanked the friend for calling before putting the phone down. I honestly thought I was alone in the room when the call came through, but then I heard my 16 year old daughter Gabriella crying. She was there sitting quietly and overheard the entire conversation, and we hadn't told her what the doctor had said. I felt and still feel awful now many hours later about making her cry. You try to protect your family from the effects of your illness as best you can, try to be upbeat and lighthearted, but I've messed it up today, and I'd like to start today again so I can leave the answer machine on to deal with the calls. See what I mean about the delete button?
Melanie has been particularly unwell today. She was up throughout the night and probably has a virus. I have tried to sort the girls out, but Rosanna managed to disable the newly installed burglar alarm on her one trip to the kitchen. I have told her not to let any burglars know how to do it. I fixed it eventually when I was going round putting all the clocks back one hour. Why do we have to do this every year? It is such a chore when you have long case clocks as they won't wind backwards. So, unable to work the cooker- a personal failing I readily admit- and one which provides my darling wife with all the power in our house- I travelled to the Scottish Restaurant to 'cook' tea for them all. A Big Mac later and they were all happy, except Melanie , a veggie, who is starving her fever and refusing to eat anything I cook other than toast. You have seen Melanie holding Samara in my other post. Samara is the 6 week old baby daughter of our friends Veronica and Christopher. Melanie was desperate to visit her and delighted for our friends, although they were finding it tough when she cried day and night. She has grown up now, 9 weeks old, and has become a joy simply by sleeping through the night. I sleep through the night if not woken by a sick wife, but nobody thinks I am a joy. Anyway, Samara is much prettier than me so I thought I might put her picture here in my Blog.
Thinking ahead to December/January, the whisky will be single malt, at around £60 -£80 a bottle, sourced from a specialist shop on the South Bank near where the illusionist David Blain hung in his glass box ( or did he? ) probably at my house if I am well enough to host, with notes provided by the said shop. Needs a bit more research by me first so that the presentation can be delivered in a semi professional way. Last time the audience was around 20 men- no women invited mainly because we don't want to encourage 'that sort of thing'- and it was an enjoyable evening for those who came. We drank a few bottles and it was a good evening for not a lot of money, tasting different quality drinks that we might not have paid for otherwise individually, being that we are all poor. It is still spoken about as a good night, I thought it was last year, but apparently it wasn't, it was three years ago. Got to line up a presentationalist , someone with recent speaking experience and a sense of humour. Not necessarily a Scotsman either, as they are a bit too serious about the 'with water or ice' thing.
Anyway you will be pleased to read that, yet again, this Blog was created during the early hours without the assistance of pain relief, and that I have enjoyed writing it.
Cathartic- does this mean I have gone from the evangelical church to the Pope's all new Church of England Renegades Accepting Catholic Church?
Monday 19 October 2009
The postal strike cometh
New door bell system awoke me, a parcel being delivered. Needed signing for, so Mel did the honours. I struggled down the stairs looking vaguely like George Clooney on a bad day, to find the parcel was for me. I opened it and found it to contain Mel's birthday pressie which I had ordered well in advance to avoid the increase in prices around Xmas, and the possibility of it not being delivered by striking postal workers.
The it was off to jolly old work, with my Gabriella's laptop, in case i bump into the professor who can fix all such things.
Nice journey and a parking space on arrival, whereupon I staggered up the stairs and into the office. Two pc's and three of us in the office means I sat around for an hour chatting about social matters. Karen popped in and wanted to talk about the kidney cancer charity she is supporting with her marathons this year. She is a vertically challenged person who has already raised a large sum of money for charity, and I think she is brilliant. She is on a mission now that she has this link with me, and is really looking forward to running the London Marathon now she got in on the Kidney Cancer charity this year. We will be going up to support her with food and drink. Then another arrived and one left, and I had my pc back to use.
The it was off to jolly old work, with my Gabriella's laptop, in case i bump into the professor who can fix all such things.
Nice journey and a parking space on arrival, whereupon I staggered up the stairs and into the office. Two pc's and three of us in the office means I sat around for an hour chatting about social matters. Karen popped in and wanted to talk about the kidney cancer charity she is supporting with her marathons this year. She is a vertically challenged person who has already raised a large sum of money for charity, and I think she is brilliant. She is on a mission now that she has this link with me, and is really looking forward to running the London Marathon now she got in on the Kidney Cancer charity this year. We will be going up to support her with food and drink. Then another arrived and one left, and I had my pc back to use.
Opened an email, got an invite to the MPH show at earls court, but have to decline anything that involves a bit of walking, even if I was sorely tempted. I enjoy Jeremy Clarkson's sense of humour, and I like looking at exotic cars so it was a bit of a shame as I would have had a good time. Never mind, I am going to watch the England v Australia rugby match at Twickenham next month with my Gabriella, and that should make up for this. Not sure if she is up for a few beers yet. What's the legal age limit for beer? Is it the same as homosexuality?
Popped round to the Prof's house and he took said defective laptop with a view to rebuilding it, and dropped Gary off at the station on way. Arrived home before uni daughter Rosanna who took offence to my description of her attire, objection to bag lady being the crux of the matter. This then involved Mel, as she came down against me on this one. I have been asked not to discuss style again as my comments are not welcome. Not my finest hour, especially as Rosanna has almost finished a painting of a deceased dog as a commission for a kind lady, and I wanted to praise her up right now.
Big tree at front of house is coming down next week. Rev Will Cookson wants the fuel for his fire, so he can collect it when he comes back from Israel the week after it is felled.
All in all, a good day today, concrete lung felt a bit lighter and no pain killers were used in the writing of this blog. The picture is of Mel holding Samara at 6 days old.
Popped round to the Prof's house and he took said defective laptop with a view to rebuilding it, and dropped Gary off at the station on way. Arrived home before uni daughter Rosanna who took offence to my description of her attire, objection to bag lady being the crux of the matter. This then involved Mel, as she came down against me on this one. I have been asked not to discuss style again as my comments are not welcome. Not my finest hour, especially as Rosanna has almost finished a painting of a deceased dog as a commission for a kind lady, and I wanted to praise her up right now.
Big tree at front of house is coming down next week. Rev Will Cookson wants the fuel for his fire, so he can collect it when he comes back from Israel the week after it is felled.
All in all, a good day today, concrete lung felt a bit lighter and no pain killers were used in the writing of this blog. The picture is of Mel holding Samara at 6 days old.
Samara was crying like a banshee at the time.
Friday 9 October 2009
My First,and quite probably my last, blog
I had a good day at hospital today.
Established that the Oncologists doesn't really know what is going on inside my body, and is guessing pretty much at the moment. Anyway, his guess was that things are going well, and if I stay positive then everything will stay good for a lot longer.
Great. I sometimes have trouble staying positive, particularly when he said that the drug can keep the tumours at bay for on average 6 months. That panics me. I get a feeling inside that I want to run away from my body, just leave it there and scoot off for a holiday somewhere, anywhere else, and then pick it up later in a few years time when the cancer has passed by.
"Hey I'm home. How'd it go? Yeah great, had a lovely time, drank too much, eat too much, but nice to see you again. Course I remember you, but you look great now. How are you doing? Brilliant news. Mind if I get back in and get on with my life. No, anyway body thanks for coping without me."
But it isn't like that at all. Have gone through a lonely period where all the people I know who have cancer have died recently and it makes you think about when it is your turn. One had similar cancer to me, the others had various different types, but it can make you feel left out in a strange sort of way. I don't want to die, but it's sort of like being the only man left alive in the world. I wouldn't want that. Anyway, I have to keep going and have to keep looking up and onwards.
I saw lots more people today, and none of them look like they have a troubled life, rushing to and from work in their euroboxes. A man in a van stopped to ask me if he could cut down my trees out front. I said no, I have a gardener. Thought about my gardener as he pulled away. He only cuts grass and doesn't like heights, so my trees are safe for now. I think I heard them sigh.
Had a bit of work done to the house over the summer. Trying to complete my bucket list. Downstairs loo means no struggling to get upstairs, and new front door with video entry phone means can argue with callers without opening up. New alarm means can deafen them if they wont go away from front door. Good security means a lot to my nearest and dearest. Glad to be here to arrange it. Who calls it a bucket list? Strange name. Anyway, I always liked to plan things. Anything really, just as long as it had a plan in it. Stopped for about 18months when I thought there wasn't much point in planning anything other than my funeral. Did that, it was going to be big with lots of gnashing and wailing, and a lovely eulogy spoken by my friends, with all my old school masters listening in, and a full church weeping at my casket. Worked out what they were going to say, and told myself I was going to write it all down when I woke up properly in the morning. But come morning I was so tired from staying awake all night planning my funeral that I went to sleep.
Now 2 years on I will let them who remain write it down and speak as they find. If it happens in the next 14 months then it will all be paid for by my work and I will get a motorcycle escort, Special Escort Group, like a member of royalty or a prime minister, for my final drive.
But it wont happen in the next 14 months if I have my way. I aim to keep positive and staring at the future, planning for adventures and good things for my wife and daughters.
A new set of panels for the fence is next on the agenda. That should take me ages to complete. Last time I kept hammering my thumb.
I'll let you know how I get on.
Established that the Oncologists doesn't really know what is going on inside my body, and is guessing pretty much at the moment. Anyway, his guess was that things are going well, and if I stay positive then everything will stay good for a lot longer.
Great. I sometimes have trouble staying positive, particularly when he said that the drug can keep the tumours at bay for on average 6 months. That panics me. I get a feeling inside that I want to run away from my body, just leave it there and scoot off for a holiday somewhere, anywhere else, and then pick it up later in a few years time when the cancer has passed by.
"Hey I'm home. How'd it go? Yeah great, had a lovely time, drank too much, eat too much, but nice to see you again. Course I remember you, but you look great now. How are you doing? Brilliant news. Mind if I get back in and get on with my life. No, anyway body thanks for coping without me."
But it isn't like that at all. Have gone through a lonely period where all the people I know who have cancer have died recently and it makes you think about when it is your turn. One had similar cancer to me, the others had various different types, but it can make you feel left out in a strange sort of way. I don't want to die, but it's sort of like being the only man left alive in the world. I wouldn't want that. Anyway, I have to keep going and have to keep looking up and onwards.
I saw lots more people today, and none of them look like they have a troubled life, rushing to and from work in their euroboxes. A man in a van stopped to ask me if he could cut down my trees out front. I said no, I have a gardener. Thought about my gardener as he pulled away. He only cuts grass and doesn't like heights, so my trees are safe for now. I think I heard them sigh.
Had a bit of work done to the house over the summer. Trying to complete my bucket list. Downstairs loo means no struggling to get upstairs, and new front door with video entry phone means can argue with callers without opening up. New alarm means can deafen them if they wont go away from front door. Good security means a lot to my nearest and dearest. Glad to be here to arrange it. Who calls it a bucket list? Strange name. Anyway, I always liked to plan things. Anything really, just as long as it had a plan in it. Stopped for about 18months when I thought there wasn't much point in planning anything other than my funeral. Did that, it was going to be big with lots of gnashing and wailing, and a lovely eulogy spoken by my friends, with all my old school masters listening in, and a full church weeping at my casket. Worked out what they were going to say, and told myself I was going to write it all down when I woke up properly in the morning. But come morning I was so tired from staying awake all night planning my funeral that I went to sleep.
Now 2 years on I will let them who remain write it down and speak as they find. If it happens in the next 14 months then it will all be paid for by my work and I will get a motorcycle escort, Special Escort Group, like a member of royalty or a prime minister, for my final drive.
But it wont happen in the next 14 months if I have my way. I aim to keep positive and staring at the future, planning for adventures and good things for my wife and daughters.
A new set of panels for the fence is next on the agenda. That should take me ages to complete. Last time I kept hammering my thumb.
I'll let you know how I get on.
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