Funnylingus

My regular readers will know that I like to indulge in a a little wordplay now and then, the saucier the better - observe the gratuitous use of the word "pussy" in my post titles.

Anyhoo, a source of amusement for me was delivered this morning, quite literally, to my doorstep. It's the bill from my milkman and yes I do know it's cheaper to buy from a huge multi-national conglomerate like Tesco who are only a few hundred yards down the street but I haven't the heart to kill off yet another of our traditional trades.



Take note if you will of the circled portion. It's supposed to be detailing a charge for a small box of organic vegetables, yet it says to me and my dirty mind "Orgasmal Box".

Ooooooooh Matron! I can't wait for that delivery!

Support your local milkman!!

A pink kink in her think

As I’m sitting here writing at the kitchen table, my progress is being monitored by one of my cats. She’s sitting purring loudly and staring at me over the laptop screen. She’s on Prawn Patrol. Her hunted eyes follow my fingers’ every move just in case they should produce from behind my ears, Paul Daniels-stylee, a pink morsel.

Prawns are, you see, kitty crack and Cami’s a prawn whore who’s going cold turkey.

When Cami first came to live with us almost 5 years ago she was the smallest cutest bundle of fluff you have ever seen. She had peculiar tastes though having apparently been weaned onto Weetabix and milk rather than catfood. Her first night home she didn’t show any interest in the food we put down, she preferred to nibble on cat litter instead. She did develop more conventional tastes and now when she gets the crunchy munchies she eats ordinary cat food. And prawns.

Things have got out of hand just lately and she’s got a little too used to having them often so she’s been cut down to a few every weekend. This makes her alternately very sulky and very adorably affectionate. I like the affectionate bit and it’s hard not to reward nice behaviour with a little treat, trouble is once she gets what she wants she wants more, more, MORE!!

With hindsight I think Cami and her brother Dougal were too young to leave their mother but I also think we saved their lives by bringing them home when we did - they were infested with fleas and I believe that if they’d been left any longer without intervention that they probably would have died from anaemia. Their third litter mate had died already so I think we got them just in time.

The couple we got them from said to me as we were leaving on that fateful Saturday, “they might have one or two fleas”. One or two? Bloody hell the poor little buggers were absolutely heaving with fleas and would have to pause every couple of seconds mid-playfight to stop and have a good scratch. They were being eaten alive and I couldn’t get them into the vets until Monday.

So I sat with them on my lap and a mug of hot water beside me and combed them with a flea comb. And combed them and combed them. The fleas came off on that flea comb clustered like tiny bunches of grapes and I swiftly plunged the comb into the glass of hot water to kill them. I sat and did that for over an hour changing the water every ten minutes to ensure that it stayed hot enough to kill the fleas. When I got to the vet on the Monday night he could only find a couple of fleas on them.

I wish I’d carried on with the regular combing, they have very dense, long fur (I think they have some Maine Coon or Siberian in their genes, definitely some Husky somewhere in there) and they hate being combed now. They love being outdoors and getting muddy and matted from creeping through the undergrowth. I frequently have to extract twigs from their fur and they usually leave me something prickly after they’ve been snoozing on the bed.

kasjrdobcljasroiacjamslkdljLDLKLDJqowueojvlzn,\ c x,cxnlkgjpaswlhjegjasgdd I have to go now, she thinks I have some prawns stashed in the keyboard.

Dancing in stilettos in the snow

Saturday night was spent at our annual Dialysis Unit Christmas Party. This year’s was actually a ceilidh - we had a live 7 piece band playing Irish folk music with dancing plus of course great food and company.

Cap’n Marvel is fairly musical and was fascinated by some of the instruments used on stage. The one that most took his interest was a strange looking contraption that from where I was sitting looked like a small fat viola with a keyboard and a wind up handle. It turned out to be a hurdy gurdy and it would seem that the player was used to being asked about the instrument because when the Cap’n went up to ask questions the guy said “Here, I’ll give you a leaflet.”

A warm mince pie and a dollop of clotted cream to anyone who makes the connection between the post title and the subject.

Cold War

It's funny that Shaz should mention her microwave/convection oven in the previous post's comments because one is going to feature in today's story. It goes thusly:

The building I work in is a former aircraft hangar dating from WWII and was converted into offices just after the war. It gets pretty draughty at times due to having a huge uninsulated roof space and suspended ceilings. Heating is in the form of ancient cast iron radiators that resemble dinosaur ribcages. Unfortunately the valve that controls the one in my office wrung off many moons ago and now I have to turn it on and off with the aid of an adjustable spanner - there is no middle ground, it's either on or off. It's such a palaver that usually I don't turn it on until it gets really cold and I make do with a little fan heater to take the chill off until I can stand the cold no more.

It's the same story for my Lt's office which is a windowless, airless room just off mine and the previous occupants have never actually felt the need to have their radiator on at all. However, my new Lt was stationed in Arizona previously where it gets pretty warm most of the time and she's been feeling the cold since moving over here so when she moved in she wanted her radiator on. And mine too!

Every morning I walk into my office and exclaim "bloody 'ell it's hot in here!" and proceed to turn on my fans while the Lt proceeds to combat the draught by turning on her portable air conditioning unit that doubles as a heater. This morning was no different, I walked in, said my piece at which the Commander appeared at his door (my office is at the centre of a suite of offices for the Command Section ... it's a glorified reception area and I'm prone to a lot of through traffic and have no privacy) to see what was going on.

I explained the situation to him and he went over to my radiator to try and turn it off but for some reason turning the valve one way made the radiator so incredibly hot it was like the surface of the Sun and we could barely get close enough to it to turn the valve the other way. This didn't actually turn it off this time, merely turned the temperature down to blast furnace temperature.

Hurrumph.

Anyway, half an hour later this strange hot smell started to permeate the room and I began to worry that the heating was about to melt down like Chernobyl. The Commander came out of his office again and moaned at me for complaining about the heat and then putting on my fan heater. I told him that I hadn't at which point the Lt piped up and said that she was bakng cookies for everyone in her new microwave/convection oven. The Boss and I just looked at each other for a moment and then he went off for a meeting.

A few minutes later she emerged with a pile of cookies and said to me "Gosh I feel so bad, making you smell these baking when you aren't allowed to eat them". She swiftly flounced off to deliver said cookies to the rest of the staff.

My gast has rarely been so flabbered, how insensitive can you get? Shaz if you can tell me what you did to your oven I shall endeavour to do the same to the Lt's.

The Contaminatrix

The results of the latest swab from the line in my chest came in today. I apparently have a coliform bacterial infection. Go on and follow the link, have a good shocked gasp and get it out of your system and then come back and read the rest.

I'm devastated and at a loss for how I managed to acquire this little lurgy. Let me just state for the record that I am very careful about changing my dressings. Everyday after showering and before changing the dressing I wash my hands with hot water and antibacterial handwash, apply an alcohol hand rub, use only sterile swabs soaked in Betadine solution which is supposed to kill all pathogens.

Might as well use Domestos. Kills all germs. Dead.

So the solution is to have intravenous Gentamycin, a particularly noxious antibiotic. When the nurse looking after me asked her colleague to fetch the Gentamycin, she added "Oh and remember to bring the anaphylaxis stuff too".

Gulp.

Bloggus Interruptus

To my trio of faithful readers, yes I am still around, sorry I haven't written much lately but it's all been so blah that I haven't really wanted to share all the shitty nitty gritty itty bitty details.

Suffice it to say that I've been ill with a cold/sinus infection, I've covered about 400 miles in the last 2 weeks for numerous hospital visits for scans in preparation for my next surgery (which should be after Christmas) and my Mum ... oh my Mum is going downhill fast.

And I'm completely knackered.

Only a week and a half to go and then I have the week off before Christmas, I'll be on my own during the day so I will have some precious me (and maybe you) time.