Prince of Toads

The good Cap'n and I have tried for many years to get a population of toads and frogs living in our garden. The fact that my mother-in-law is so terrified of them that she can only refer to them as "those hoppy things" has absolutely nothing to do with it m'lud. Captain Scarlet just likes them and I want them to keep the slug population to a minimum.

A good few years ago when we first had a garden pond, we would spend many hours searching woodland ponds trying to acquire some spawn, often precariously slithering down the bank in danger of going in. We once managed to snag a pair of toads in coitus. They must have been practising tantric toad sex because we drove 10 miles home to bring them back to the pond and they didn't even seem to notice, "Did the Earth move for you darling?"

It soon became apparent why toads lay eggs in such huge numbers, the game of Toad Survivor is a tough one. To begin with our first pond had a sitting tenant - a large, belligerent looking koi carp who was rather partial to tadpoles and we would despair at watching him trawl round the pond sucking up the tadpoles and smacking his fat, pouty lips with delight.

We decided to have 2 ponds, one for fish, one for wildlife. The 2 ponds were however connected by a little waterfall made of Welsh slate - the top pond was for the fish, the bottom one for the toads & frogs. Despite our best filtering efforts we discovered that the tiny toads that had survived trial by fish were ending up in the top pond. In order to get there they actually had to travel about 15 feet along a pipe which led to a mini pumping station (so positioned because of the power supply) which pumped water through an unltraviolet filter (to keep algae at bay) and then back 15 feet into the top pond. This must have been quite an adventure for them ... but at least they got a tan on the way.

The saddest discovery was when we saw on the stone edging of the pond which got very hot in the summer sun, several tiny flattened toad bodies looking for all the world like fossils in the stone - we think they hopped out of the pond and got stuck to the hot stone.

Despite all this I am happy to announce that we still have at least one toad in the garden. I heard him calling for a mate tonight - if you don't know what that sounds like imagine the sounds of crepe soled shoes on a shiny floor. I'm chuffed to bits and can't wait to tell my mother-in-law that we might be having tadpoles soon.

Back in the saddle

I'd like to thank everyone for their kind emails and comments following my last post. I'm fine now, thank you - I don't often wallow in self-pity but when I do I tend to go for it in a big way. This gets everything out of my system and I bounce back like a weeble.

I've been tagged by DQ with this delightful 3 Things meme (which Clare should be an expert at by now).

Three Things That Scare Me:
1. Spiders - 8 legs, 8 eyes, mostly hairy - what else can I say?
2. A kidney & pancreas transplant - being cut from breastbone to hip. There go my abs of steel.
3. Politicians.

Three People Who Make Me Laugh:
1. My husband
2. Aardman Animations (a collection of people I know, but I don’t care, their films rule)
3. My cyber friend Dizzy Liz

Three Things I Love:
1. My husband
2. My cats
3. The written word

Three Things I Hate:
1. Coffee
2. Cleaning the shower
3. Poor manners

Three Things I Don't Understand:
1. Myself
2. HTML (but I’m working on it)
3. The Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle


Three Things On My Desk:
1. A beanie baby dragon wearing a pair of slippers (Old Navy keyrings)
2. 2 clementines
3. A big pile of blue folders (23 performance reports close out on the 15th April which mean they’ve just arrived to be reviewed)

Three Things I'm Doing Right Now:
1. Errrr, helloooo, this meme
2. Ploughing through the big pile of blue folders
3. Wondering what the hell I can do to make a living from home instead of being here.

Three Things I Want To Do Before I Die:
1. Publish a novel or two or three or four
2. Drop my BMI so I can get on the transplant list
3. Drive on a skid pan

Three Things I Can Do:
1. Make a mess
2. Make yummy Yorkshire Pud
3. Make beautiful greetings cards

Three Things I Can't Do:
1. Knit
2. Whistle
3. Keep houseplants alive

Three Things I Think You Should Listen To:
1. Jeff Wayne’s Musical Version of The War of The Worlds
2. Baz Luhrman - Sunscreen
3. The elderly - hardly anyone gives them the time of day yet they have such great stories to tell.

Three Things You Should Never Listen To:
1. Your inner gremlin who says you can’t do it
2. Your iPod at full volume - you only have one set of ear drums in this life
3. People talking about you

Three Things I'd Like To Learn:
1. Russian - I know a few words but it is such a beautiful, lyrical language
2. To paint in watercolours
3. Photography

Three Favourite Foods:
1. Funnel cake/freshly cooked doughnuts
2. Sundried Tomatoes in olive oil
3. Roast potatoes with rosemary

Three Shows I Watched As A Kid:
1. Battle of the Planets
2. The Clangers
3. Blue Peter

Three Wonderful People to Inflict My Meme On:
Shaz
Clare
Mrs Woman

Henry's Day

It is a cruel twist of fate that Mother's Day this year falls on 18th March which should have been my son's 14th birthday. Note the "should" in that last sentence, Henry died when he was almost 4 months old. His death left an enormous wound in my heart which never quite heals, instead it gets torn open again every time his birthday rolls around; this year it had to fall on Mothering Sunday.

Henry was born at 26 weeks gestation by emergency caesarian after a rollercoaster ride of a pregnancy - this week we're going to terminate, no we'll try for another week, this week we're going to terminate ...

He weighed just 1 lb 10 oz and had been given a 50/50 chance of survival. It was 3 whole days before I was allowed out of intensive care to see him in his own little intensive care unit. I could barely take in what I saw before I passed out. Some mother I turned out to be.

The following day was Mother's Day. Next to my bed was a card from him - it contained a Polaroid picture of him and his hand prints. Later I got another card and some flowers. Clever little lad was my boy, especially considering he was intubated on a respirator and had just undergone surgery for a collapsed lung the night before.

The day before he died we were preparing to bring him home from hospital. We'd just bought his pram and his cot - I hadn't allowed myself to buy anything when I was pregnant, but I started buying things and then he died. What's wrong with this picture? Did I tempt fate?

Early one morning we got a call from the hospital saying we had to come at once, they wouldn't say why. In my heart I knew that he was gone. He was 15 weeks old.

The only time I got to see him without tubes or tape on his face was when he was dead. My sweet boy. When I can't sleep I imagine him lying sleeping on my chest and it calms me.

That day was a a blur but 2 things stick in my mind - I saw a herd of deer in a field in the early morning mist. They were startled to see anyone out so early. I sometimes see deer on my drive to the dialysis unit and the memory stabs me in the heart.

It was still early in the morning when we drove home and we ran over a hare. It's the only time I've ever seen a hare and I have the image of its huge paws zig-zagging along in front of the car until we caught it. I screamed. Does everything we touch have to die?

My kidney failure was diagnosed when I was 7 weeks pregnant. The doctors like to say that it was the pregnancy itself that prompted my kidneys to fail but the truth of the matter is that I'd been symptomatic for over 2 years before, and despite repeated visits to doctors no-one put everything together until it was too late.

The simple fact is that Henry saved my life. If I hadn't fallen pregnant no-one would have known how dangerously high my blood pressure was and I would probably have had a stroke and died. Another irony for you.

I have to wonder what I fucked up so badly in a previous life to be given this one.

Cutting room flaw

Happy Red Nose Day everyone. At last Shaggy Blog Stories has been published so everyone should hightail it over to www.lulu.com with their flexible friends at the ready. It'll be money well spent 'cos I'm not in it. Run along now, I have a shattered ego to nurse.

The Princess and the Pea

A few years ago my mother decided to move out of the bedroom she shared with my Dad, and move in to the spare room instead. Her decision wasn’t due to marital problems, merely down to a matter of comfort – she felt she couldn’t get in and out of their double bed anymore.

The guest bed in the spare room proved to be uncomfortable so they went out and selected a replacement. When the new bed was delivered Mum was adamant that the shop had sent the wrong one so it was sent back and replaced. A few months go by and Mum starts to complain that the bed is uncomfortable again. A replacement was sought again, delivered, installed, slept in and duly condemned.

This pattern went on for almost a year – something like 5 beds were bought in one year. My parents are both pensioners so can ill afford to throw their money around but my Dad’s world revolves around my Mum, and he was willing to do anything to make her happy. He attempted some modifications – removing buttons, adding padding, adding springs, boards, planks, anything he could possibly think of. Eventually they ended up with one of those space-age foam mattresses and at last she seems reasonably settled. That is until she decided that she wanted a new chair.

We went through the whole saga again with the chair. Supposedly the wrong one kept being delivered, one particular attempt got replaced twice at considerable extra cost but the search for a comfortable seat continued. I have one of the cast offs in my living room – doesn’t match my living room but rather than throw out a perfectly good chair I took it in. My Dad now sits on another of the rejects. Mum finally accepted one chair but most of the time chooses to sit on the settee from the old suite.

My Mum has always been difficult to please so I didn’t really give it a lot of thought – I just thought that’s Mum all over. Every Christmas I have endeavored to buy her something that makes her say “Oh that’s wonderful, just what I wanted!” but every year I’m crushed by the disappointment as she primly announces "thank you". She didn’t even unwrap her Christmas presents from me last year. And I have since heard through my Dad that every single item I spent ages choosing was unsuitable in some way.

What we didn’t realise was that the bed and chair saga were part of her developing dementia due probably to Parkinson’s Disease, and in the space of about 6 months my Mum has gone from being a tad daffy to barely recognizing the people around her.

She often thinks my Dad is her mother. She asks if her father (who died 60 years ago when she was just 16) is in the other room and she cries and has tantrums every time my Dad breaks it to her that her Dad is dead, it’s as though we have killed him off.

She either calls me by my sister’s name (my sister died nearly 30 years ago in a motorcycle accident) or she thinks I’m one of her friends. Sometimes she thinks my brother and I are dead and she has to get ready for our funeral. She behaves like a child.

Mum had a brain scan recently – Dad was perversely hopeful that she had a brain tumour, his reasoning being that the doctors can do something about a brain tumour. As it turns out her brain is actually shrinking and parts are being starved of oxygen because the Parkinson’s is hardening the blood vessels. She will be given some drugs usually given to Alzheimer’s patients.

None of it is her fault of course and we don’t blame her for anything but when you have everything you do thrown back in your face as not good enough it gets a little old. It is an awful situation and I worry constantly about my Dad’s state of mind. I find it stressful visiting because I don’t know what to say to the woman who should know me better than anyone, the woman who shuffles off to her bedroom because I’m a frightening stranger. My Dad lives with it day in day out.

I get upset because I’m having a shitty time with my illnesses and it should be my Mum giving me a hug and making a fuss of me. I’m sorry this has been a bit of a self-indulgent ramble today.

Comic Relief

Here's a great idea - go over to Troubled Diva and help with the mission to assemble blog stories and publish in a book in just 7 days! The book will be called Shaggy Blog Stories. It's all in a good cause and you'll get some publicity for your site too - a double whammy.

Go on, what are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?

Hubble dubble

Captain Scarlet loves it when I'm on a diet. Our tastes in food aren't compatible at the best of times but when I'm trying to cook low fat meals he turns his nose up at them and I end up cooking him something like egg & chips. He thinks he's died and gone to heaven which has a certain irony given the food he's eating but he has nary a worry about his heart or his waistline. All this from a man who thinks butter, cheese, oil, fat on meat, etc are poison. The awkward git.

Tonight I found myself with several pints of milk lurking in the fridge, normally in that situation I would make myself a macaroni cheese but since Xenical and cheese don't mix I decided to try and make a milk-based low fat sauce instead. I was thinking something along the lines of Alfredo but t'internet kept coming up with recipes containing cream and parmesan cheese so I took things into my own hands.

I should state for the record that I am NOT a cook in any way shape or form. Do not try any of my recipes without written approval from your doctor and always have a large bowl handy. Oh and those purists who sneer at the use of purees and dried herbs can just kiss my curvaceous British arse.

I had some fat-free creme fraiche in the fridge so I thought I would mix that with some milk, bring it to the boil add some garlic puree, black pepper and some dried parsley - boom, Alfredo's your uncle, right?

Wrong. Creme fraiche and milk curdles when brought to a gentle simmer. It was like grey cottage cheese and I promptly dumped it in the sink. I had plenty more milk to play with.

Next, I began on more familiar ground by mixing some cornflour with a little milk until I had a smooth paste and then added the rest of the milk. In my more carefree days I would have made a roux with some butter and plain flour but there's a kidney and a pancreas out there with my name on it and I need to get on the list so I can get to them.

I brought the milk up to the boil to allow the mixture to thicken slightly and then I added about an inch of garlic puree, some salt and black pepper, about a dessertspoon of dried parsely.

I tasted it and it needed something. Flavour I think, but all I had left in my arsenal was some sun-dried tomato puree and a few oddments of herbs.

I added the tomato puree, still missing something. After rooting around in my little used spice rack I happened upon tarragon. Ahhhh my second favourite herb after rosemary, what the heck I'll bung in some of that, I thought. So I added about a dessertspoon of the the tarragon and took a spoonful of the sauce to taste it.

Can I have a drumroll please?!

Drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr tish!

Scrumptious!! Just add pasta for a truly unauthentic Italian meal. I'm trying to figure out what to call this little concoction of mine. Any ideas?

Wuthering slights

You know you've Arrived in blogland when you land a £70,000 book deal. It's something that most of us, if we're honest, secretly aspire to. I expect most of us who do aspire to such things didn't expect to be discoverd within the first few months of writing but that's exactly what happened to Wife in The North.

What hasn't crossed our starstruck minds, I am sure, is that we would be parodied for our efforts and successes. Whilst following links from some of Wifey's commenters, I discovered that her writing is being parodied on another blog set up to be almost identical to hers. I confess that I found Strife in The North to be rather amusing and certainly quite clever but it is one of those things that make me go hmmm.

Eat sour grapes much?

Pail Rider

Take a memo Miss Funnyfanny:

Even if you cheat and take your last Xenical at lunchtime, if you decide to have sweet & sour pork balls for supper, even if you are only having it with plain boiled rice, always carry a bucket somewhere on your person. Failure to comply will have dire consequences the following morning.

Yours truly,
The Management

iChoons

There's a first time for everything and it's Drama Queen who finally broke my duck and tagged me. Spanish Goth started it, Shaz jumped on the bandwagon, I pitched a fit at being left out and now the rest, as they say, is history.

This is apparently how it goes.

Take your iPod, you have to switch it to random and list (truthfully) the first ten songs + artists. If you don't have an iPod (like me) you will probably have to use your iMagination instead.

Answers on your blogs please and then you have to TAG another 5 peeps - let the fun begin. And that's an order.

My list (sans iPod) goes as follows:

1. Shine by Take That (playing on Radio 2 during my drive home)
2. Gangsters by Specials AKA (as above - you know you're getting old when they start playing Specials AKA on Radio 2, Terry Wogan was playing some Clash the other morning, but I digress)
3. Night Fever by the Bee Gees (from the album Saturday Night Fever; The Original Soundtrack - on the boom box at home)
4. If I Can't Have You by Yvonne Elliman (SNF-OST)
5. Disco Inferno by The Trammps (SNF -OST ... are we starting to notice a pattern here?)
6. Strict Machine by Goldfrapp from the album Black Cherry
7. Suspect Device by Stiff Little Fingers from the album Inflammable Material
8. Hung Up by Madonna from the album Confessions on a Dancefloor
9. Spirit in the Sky by Norman Greenbaum from a 70's compilation
10. Pretty Fly for a White Guy by the Offspring from an air guitar compilation

Now then, as most of my known blogonauts are already taking part in this, the only others that I've had contact with are Zoe, Sonnjea and the owner of There's Life Jim who I only know as Mr Man's Wife (although I refer to her on my blogroll as as Mrs Woman as believe she at least deserves her own identity). I hope you guys don't mind too much - I need to look like I have some friends out there.

The importance of being Kipling

A handbag (a hyandbag??) is a girl's best friend. I personally favour Kipling bags, they're not to everyone's taste I know, some of them can be downright ugly and I do find the stuffed monkey keyrings somewhat annoying but mostly they suit me and my requirements. They're rugged, roomy and not at all poncey like some designer bags and the fact that mine, black to suit my normal mood, is called Morrisey is a bonus.

I did a quick inventory today and this is what I came up with:

2 pens - you can never find a pen when you need one
1 pencil - in case the pens run out
2 pad of Post It notes - a must. A folded note also doubles as dental floss but those paper cuts are a bitch
1 RAF ID card
1 USAF ID card - see if you can figure that one out
1 mobile phone - which never rings, perhaps I should give the number here 09052 302301. Call me!
1 purse - absolutely crammed with moolah (NOT!)
3 surgical dressings
1 tape measure - in case I need to take any inside leg measurements
1 comb - so I can tidy up before offering the above service
1 lipgloss - ditto
1 perfume atomiser - sigh, ditto, I think it has Prada inside but I've rinsed and refilled it so often with different scents that it's taken on its own unique fragrance, Essence of Pussmuk as my Dad would say.
1 tourniquet - extremely useful object, perhaps I should do a 101-things-you-can-do-with-a-tourniquet post
1 pair of binoculars - handy for when something interesting passes the office window, the last cool sighting was an An-124 in this 'ere livery.
1 pair of ear plugs (see above)
1 USB 1Gb flash drive - floppy is such a bad look
1 Red Dwarf novel - I hate being caught with smeg-all to read when I'm waiting for something or someone
1 small drum of toxic waste - yup, you read that right, toxic waste. You can buy it at Woollies, I'm not sharing mine with anyone

So what's in yours?

Beachcombing

Apologies for the dearth of posts lately, I've been lazy, miserable and uninspired this last week. I started on Xenical, the weight loss wonder drug, last Saturday and have experienced a few problems but I've lost at least a pound so hurrah!

We went to Great Yarmouth today, the Blackpool of the East Anglian coast and had a stroll along the beach. I've mentioned before that I like to pick up stones and shells washed up along the shore, but just lately my interest has been taken by sea glass - tiny chunks of glass worn smooth by the action of the sea. I netted quite a haul today including 2 interesting pieces of safety glass that had the reinforcement wires running through them.

I also came across a couple of pieces of thin, white china. I like to fancy that they came from the Titanic and have been washed all this way by Poseidon and his nereids in order to bring them home. They're slightly off course as they've missed Liverpool completely but I like the thought anyway.

Brave New World

How things change. I just received the rejection notification for the job I applied for a couple of weeks ago - Freelance Features Writer for the local paper - by email. Surprisingly I'm not dejected by it, I'm rather amused ... email hah! I last applied for a different job at the turn of the last century when they send the thanks, but no thanks letters through the post. So quaint!

Shake, rattle 'n' roll

My doctor wonders why I always resist having new drugs added to my collection. He thinks it's because I believe my body is a temple, frankly it's because I lack the kitchen space. I have a whole kitchen drawer given over to storing the blessed things, that's not to mention the drawer next my bed for the nighttime drugs or the salad drawer in the fridge full of stuff that requires refrigeration.


Every morning whilst assembling my assortment of medical miracles I have a scene from The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert go through my head. It's the one where Bernadette and Mitzy are sitting having breakfast at a picnic table in the middle of the Australian outback. Something of a surreal scene anyway but then you see what's in Bernadette's bowl - it's full of pills and she's coyly downing them one by one.

Finally it has happened to me ...

The Red Planet

No-one would have believed in the early years of the 21st century that Martian affairs were being watched from the timeless worlds of space. No-one could have dreamed we were being scrutinized, as someone with a microscope studies creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water.


Interesting tidbit from BBC news http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/sci/tech/6363243.stm

A wink and a curtsey to H.G. Wells and Jeff Wayne

Driving miss crazy

What is it with motorists today? Are they hungover on cheap pink champagne? Overcome by the fumes of a googoplex of red roses? High on serotonin and feeling invincible after scoffing all those chocolates?

I have had so much bad car karma today it's unbelievable. Maybe that should read good car karma as I'm still here tapping away to tell you about it. I've been cut up on roundabouts, overtaken on bends, had motorized cherry pickers pull out in front of me at the cheek rippling speed of 3 mph and then stop dead leaving me stranded blocking a roundabout.

The dialysis unit is tacked on the back of the main hospital and is accessible down a little side road which forms a T junction with the main access road down the side of the hospital. People park down the entire length of this road which makes it rather narrow - they park there as the main car parks are run by people with wooden legs and patches over their eyes clonking about going "Arrrrgh!" all the time ... but that's the NHS for you you might get free treatment but you're gonna need a private nose job after paying through it for all the parking.

Anyway whenever I come out of the dialysis access road I always pause behind the first parked car on the main road to allow anyone coming up the road to come through. Today there was a Bedford-type van coming up and there definitely wasn't room for both of us to pass so discretion being the better part of valour I let him come up.

He indicated right to come into the little road that I had just left and stopped effectively blocking me in. Never mind a wave of thanks or anything, his mate in the passenger seat started jabbing his finger in the direction of their turn - ug ug ug ug ug ug jab jab jab jab - he evidently thought they didn't have enough room to get through but for smeg's sake they were driving a Bedford van not the frickin' QE2. Duuuuuhhh until you move I can't get out you twat.

Ooooh ripe Anglo Saxon expletives!!

Whole lotta love

I'm rather proud of the fact that my husband doesn't buy into Hallmark Day, I mean Valentine's Day. I'm rather glad that he won't be coming home tonight looking sheepish and clutching a manky bunch of roses from the garage down the road - just because he felt he had to.

He shows his affection for me in other more practical ways throughout the year. Getting up early to defrost my car, for example, when I have to leave the house an hour before he does or warming my gloves on the radiator on a frosty morning mean far more to me than a heart shaped box of chocolates.

Putting my cynicism to one side I wish you all a Happy Valentine's Day - love to all.

A little stiff

Viagra goes on sale over the counter at Boots tomorrow - 50 quid is a little hard er, to swallow.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/6351171.stm

A star is born

For all his newly acquired Dougalphiles out there (and I swore to myself that this wasn't going to be a cat blog) here's the boy and his sister on their first night home.



Getting hairier (the cats that is, not the hired help)



Relaxing on the slave's pillow



Well it does say Cat on the box

Space cadet

Dougal, call sign 'Fluffbomb', sits comfortably on his bed of CJ's unmentionables but no matter how hard he concentrates he just can't make sense of the words in this book.

Food for thought

They look after us really well at the dialysis unit, we're fed and watered regularly throughout the treatment starting with tea & toast for breakfast, tea & biscuits at 10am and then sandwiches just before we leave.

Apparently some of our sandwiches have been disappearing somewhere between the kitchen and the unit, one of the theories postulated is that the porters might be pinching them and selling them (a jokey theory, not an actual accusation I should add for fear of being sued by an angry porter!).

Just imagine, a thriving black market for NHS sandwiches - who'd'a thunk it?

The Laminator

He arrived in a blinding ball of light, naked and beautiful. He turned and saw me open mouthed in astonishment, he strode down the hall towards me giving me the chance to admire him in his birthday suit which was tailored to perfection, hugging his every curve and muscle.

“Come with me if you want to live in a home free of dust mites and fleas burrowing into your carpets” he said

“Oh you’ve come to fit the new floor in the cloakroom?” I gasped

“Affirmative”

He is The Laminator

He was bad to the bone “Er, you might want to put some pants on unless you want your John Connor getting caught in the snap ‘n’ click joints” I said helpfully, half hoping that he would stay just as he was. He thought that over for a moment and said ominously “I’ll be back”.

A few moments later he returned carrying his arsenal of Homebase antiqued oak laminate boards. He looked so dangerous in his leather trousers and his black Ray Bans and dangerous he was as he blundered about in the windowless room whilst wearing sunglasses.

“Stick around” he grinned at me. “Wrong movie" I replied, "but OK I’ll just go and put the kettle on shall I?”

I barricaded myself in the kitchen and hunkered down at the kitchen table with my Cyberdyne laptop and a mug of PG Tips – I wanted to run a virus scan, my Skynet ISP was letting through far too much malicious logic for my liking.

In the next room I could hear a colossal battle going on as The Laminator fought with corners and pedestals and pipes, the rise and fall of the machines’ motors as they clashed with medium density fibreboard.

Eventually there was silence then a dusty figure burst through door, it was done, the Laminator had once more prevailed. He smiled a toothy grin and gave me a thumbs up as he retreated back down the hall “Hasta la vista, baby”

Pistils at dawn

I need to have a word with the man in charge of the weather. What are you thinking? Giving us warm weather in January and now ultra cold conditions?!

While I was out doing my rounds yesterday I spotted a daisy blooming in the grass, the laurels have bundles of new growth pushing up and my pieris has bright red new shoots on it. The temperature here this morning was -6C - all those poor plants lulled into a false sense of spring are going to have their little botanical nuts frozen off.

It's just not cricket.

The pursuit of happiness

As I hinted yesterday, I went back to work this week. I don't know why I bothered really because apart from a couple of hundred emails of the look, raise your eyebrows in disbelief and delete variety, I had nothing to do all day.

You see the Captain, in my absence, is homesteading. For those unfamilar with the term it essentially means that she's trying to takeover. I now have half as much to do as I had before she joined us.

I'm fairly sure she thinks she's doing me a favour but she is not. I had all my programs running smoothly, I knew percisely where every document was, my tracking records were immaculate. Now I'm sharing my tracker with her and my information has holes in it. It's all gone to heck in a handbasket. Blimey I'm talking like her now. I even said at the KFC tonight, "I'll have that to go please" rather than saying "takeaway". Puhlease!!!

I'm very unhappy working on the base, apart from the boredom, the prospects and the diabolical pay I feel quite vulnerable in today's political climate and I've developed a pressing need to put some distance between myself and George Dubbya's band of merrie men

So what to do? It's time for me to spread my wings and follow my dreams. I'm considering applying for another job away from the base, away from the MOD. It would take a minor miracle for me to actually get it but Captain Marvel (who by the way is unhappy with his moniker and henceforth wishes to be referred to as Captain Scarlet) believes in me so it's time I started believing in myself.

Today has been cancelled due to lack of interest

I'm going back to work today. Ugh.

Smells like teen spirit

I need to enlist the help of all you ladies (any guys reading can consider themselves honorary ladies only without all the monthly hormone surges and all that goes with them).

You may recall from my previous post that I absolutely loathe the scent of musk. Well, by a strange coincidence, upon my return from the dialysis unit today I discovered on my doorstep a little gift box of Body Shop Musk. By a process of elimination I have concluded that it must have been left there by sister-in-law F because my mother-in-law is far too cheap to get me something like that just for being poorly, besides she brought me 2 perfectly good jigsaws from the charity shop last week, and SIL M gave me an identical gift box for Christmas.

I am at the point where I feel I really need to say something. For one thing these kind and very sweet girls are wasting their money buying me something that's going to end up down the charity shop. For another I'm fed up with my Christmas presents ending up down the charity shop.

A few years ago I confided to SIL F that I hated the smell of musk. At this point she hadn't ever bought me any, it was her mother who was the main culprit buying me Jovan Musk all the time. I fully expected word to get back to MIL if not the other SIL. Well MIL seemed to stop buying it for me but I ended up with musk from both SILs for Christmas.

One year I took a set back to the Body Shop for exchange but the assistant said it wasn't worth anything because they hadn't had that particular gift set in for a couple of years. So to add insult to injury I'm obviously getting my SIL's cast-offs because she doesn't like it either!

So, what do I do, say something or smile sweetly and quietly flog it off on Ebay?

The 39 steps

Due to the fact that I've been a recluse for the last 2 weeks or so, I have very little to write about so I thought I'd do a 39 Things About Me list - one for each birthday. I know these things are incredibly narcissist but can't you say that about all us bloggers?

1. I played the clarinet at school. One of the great regrets of my life is that I flogged mine to pay for driving lessons.
2. I bought my first house when I was 18.
3. My favourite fragrance is Van Cleef by Van Cleef and Arpels.
4. My least favourite fragrance is musk. One whiff makes me want to heave yet each Christmas my mother-in-law or one of my sisters-in-law will buy me some despite me having actually told one of my SILs that I hate it!!
5. I'm pretty good at improvisation (like what they do on Whose Line Is It Anyway?)
6. I used to be a lifeguard.
7. My favourite food is funnel cake. Freshly cooked doughnuts will do instead at a pinch.
8. I hate coffee.
9. I paid off the mortgage on my third house 2 years ago.
10. Although I love cats, every knick-knack, calendar, picture, card, mug does not have to be cat themed.
11. I'm fascinated by plants and trees but I'm a terrible gardener.
12. My best physical feature must be my eyelashes. They're very long and dark - I'm frequently asked if they're real.
13. I grew up in a house with the number 13. Never did me any harm, ahem.
14. My favourite flowers are sunflowers and lilies. Roses in my opinion are overrated.
15. I've had 12 surgical operations.
16. I consistently score highly on internet IQ tests, according to them with my IQ I must be a genius but of course I take that with a pinch of salt.
17. My other nickname is Maverick. I haven't got a clue why.
18. My favourite alcoholic drink is vodka, freshly squeezed lime juice and slimline tonic, all preferably frozen until slushy. My favourite soft drink is actually sparkling spring water.
19. I have a poster signed by all the boys at Orange County Choppers.
20. I collect russian dolls and camels. My favourite doll is only about 3.5 inches high but she has 9 others inside her with the smallest being the size of a coffee bean.
21. I can speak a little Polish, Russian, and German. I used to be very good at French at school but I've never had the opportunity to use it since.
22. I have an odd ornament on my book shelf - it's an upper engine mounting bolt from an F-15E engine.
23. The first place I ever visited outside the UK was New Zealand. We flew in a Boeing 767 and had to refuel 3 times before we got there. It took almost 36 hours and almost put me off air travel for life.
24. I've been to the US of A 7 times, twice to California, 5 times to Florida.
25. My favourite colour is purple but I've learned that it looks terrible on me and on my walls.
26. My favourite authors are Patricia Cornwell and Thomas Harris.
27. My favourite movie is Space Cowboys.
28. I've had 17 jobs - the longest time with one employer is 7 years, the shortest is 4 hours.
29. My favourite album of all time has to be Jeff Wayne's Musical Version of The War of The Worlds.
30. I almost met Richard Branson once, it was after the worst Virgin flight we'd ever had (lads behind us were beyond intoxicated and were still being given booze)and Mr Branson had been on the same flight. He scurried off (and I mean scurried) as we were trying to catch him to complain.
31. I hate watching sport and listening to people discussing it.
32. I've 'flown' in Boeing 747 and F-15 training simulators.
33. I've fed blue mau-mau on frozen peas.
34. I was in the school choir.
35. Whenever I visit the beach I have to come home with either pebbles or seashells or holy of holies, sea glass - pieces of glass worn smooth by the sea.
36. Whenever I have boiled eggs I have to puncture the empty shells to stop the witches sailing away in them.
37. I've wrestled an alligator. OK so it was only about 10" long and it wasn't really wrestling ...
38. I passed my driving test first time.
39. I rebuilt and restored a 1973 VW Beetle (not ALL by myself of course)

Today I will be mostly choosing the cactus

Just a quick cut and paste jobbie today rather than a lengthy discourse on things close to my heart ie me. Despite the fact that I chose this picture because I love sunsets and saguaro cacti, I think this actually sums me up quite accurately.

Your Personality Profile

You are funky, outdoorsy, and down to earth. While you may not be a total hippie... You're definitely one of the most free spirited people around. You are very impulsive - every day is a new adventure. However, you do put some thought behind all your actions. Still, you do tend to shock and offend people from time to time!

http://www.blogthings.com/worldsshortestpersonalitytest/">The World's Shortest Personality Test

The code seems to be cracked (ha ha) and takes you to a different page, here's the cypher (good job I test these things innit?):

http://www.blogthings.com/worldsshortestpersonalitytest/

Sad Dragon

I had my first unsupervised outing since my surgery today. I took a walk down to visit the giant who is holding the high street of our small town in a full-nelson and squeezing the life out of it ... Tesco in other words. It's only a 10 minute walk so I wrapped up well and headed off.

I only needed a couple of things, basically I only went out to stretch my legs and get some fresh air. I was queuing at the cigarette kiosk because it was quicker than going through the main tills, I looked over at the papers and was horrified to see on the front page of the local paper a news story about someone from my squadron. He's been jailed for 2 years.

I can't remember how long ago it was but I know the investigations have been running for some time, this man was involved in a car accident which left 2 people dead. It was a head on collision, from what little I know about it, he was overtaking another car when he smashed into a car coming in the opposite direction. I don't believe this was reckless driving but more a serious error in judgement by a man unfamilar with our roads while driving a lefthand drive vehicle - he had his own family in the car with him at the time and his wife was seriously injured.

I feel desperately sorry for the loss of a mother and her daughter. Nothing can mitigate that loss and I'm not sure sending a decent man to jail for 2 years balances the books.

Discuss?

PS Sad Dragon because my squadron is called the Green Dragons. Although a lot of them piss me off from time to time I am fiercely loyal to them and consider myself the Dragon Den Mother.

Worshipping at the Temple of 3BT

I promised Clare a couple of months ago that I would try harder with the 3BT concept, so here goes.

1. My house is tidy because my parents-in-law have threatened to visit. MIL does not subscribe to my housework doctrine of clean enough to be healthy, untidy enough to be happy. She hoovers every day, cleans her oven every week and I suspect that she even polishes her apples. I cleared up the clutter but didn't manage to vacuum as the vacuum cleaner was upstairs and I can't manage it down the stairs one-handed. They just had to sit in squalor.

2. My parents -in-law arrived an hour later than they said they would.

3. My parents-in-law leaving.

Book Report - Ugly

I just finished reading Ugly by Constance Briscoe. Once I picked it up I literally couldn't put it down, not so much because it was enjoyable but because it certainly was compelling. It makes for very distressing reading at times but there are occasions when I found myself smiling, even some of the unsavoury moments have a hint of comic absurdness so I just couldn't help myself.

Here's a link to a Sunday Times interview with the author which details some of the highlights of the book http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2092-1985687_1,00.html . The interview is worth a read if nothing else.

Borborygmi 'n' blues

It has been my experience that following any surgery there follows a period of depression. I'm on that slippery slope now, I'm feeling bored and miserable. Physically I feel much better than I did last week but I'm still not able to use my right hand properly yet. I'm looking forward to a proper meal, not only am I unable to cook but I have difficulty managing cutlery, to which the sofa if it could talk would attest, so I've been eating a lot of sandwiches. Bleh.

You may be wondering about the borborygmi, cool word isn't it? I think it's a word that Word Imp over at Word Imperfect might be interested in. It's quite onomatopoeic too. In my belly right now it sounds like there's a giant in there yelling :

Boooooorrrrrboooorrrrryyyyygggggmmuuuuuusssssss!!!!!!

That's right - things have started working again. I've had many weeks where there has been no tangible activity, not even a bottom burp, other than the occasional diamond studded rabbit pellet.

Unh huh, thank you very much.

On being held at needle point

When I arrived at dialysis last night there were sharp intakes of breath and much oohing and aahing all round as the nurses looked at my arm. It is a bit of a spectacle I have to admit. The back of my hand looks as though I've been dip dyed with my knuckles being darkest and the colours graduating through blue, purple and green up towards my wrist.

The hairy side of my arm is a revolting jaundiced yellow. The underside is multiple shades of purple and working back down to my palm, well that's actually quite pretty and rather like marble with the usual healthy flesh colour being shot through with pink and blue.

Of course at the centre of it all is the wound itself which is surrounded by vivid pinky-red skin because it it most definitely infected. Sister Mac said I needed to peel off the Dermabond myself so it could be swabbed.

Another sharp intake of breath but it's hard to refuse when someone's waving a 1 & a half inch large bore needle at you.

So peel it off I did and I nearly passed out in the process. Imagine trying to peel off sunburnt skin when it's about 2mm thick and stuck down with superglue. I'm seeing stars just writing about it.

A little later I was supposed to start an infusion of intravenous antibiotic. It was being administered by Nurse Blusher who was being assessed on the task by Sister Mac. Sister Mac whispered to me that I had to refuse to have the drug as a test for Nurse Blusher. I wasn't sure I'd be able to do it but remember Sister Mac is the one with the large bore needles, so I agreed.

Nurse Blusher went through her strict routine step by step and when it came to the point where she had to ask me if I agreed to receiving the drug, I just launched in to my spiel of having thought about things and really I'm already taking 2 oral antibiotics I didn't really want to take the IV one as well especially as it is so urotoxic (kills off the kidneys), blah blah blah.

The poor girl just went red (hence her code name) and asked me if I was joking. I managed to keep a straight face and kept up the charade with some input from Sister Mac until she went through the protocol that she was being tested on.

Fortunately she passed and Sister Mac said I deserved an Oscar. Who says you can't have fun when you're ill?

Puss 'n' boots

I treated myself to a new pair of boots a couple of weeks ago, Dougal thought the box was tailor made for him.

Sealed with a twist

I'm now 4 days post-op and the swelling and bruising is improving slowly. My hand is no longer the size of a small boxing glove and is now merely a subtle shade of zombie-skin grey. I can type a little better, previously I had to employ the hunt-and-peck method with the index finger on my right hand but now I'm almost back to my lightning fast touch typing speed.

The wound on my wrist however is infected. It's livid (not to mention slightly annoyed) and very sore. I rather freaked out my GP when I went to see her yesterday to ask for some antibiotics, she was worried that I was developing gangrene due to the funny colour of my hand but thankfully we established that it was just bruising.

The interesting thing about this op is that it wasn't dressed with anything afterwards. Instead they sealed it with something called Dermabond which is a clear glaze that sets hard over the incision site protecting it from contamination. It also saves you from having to pfaff around with dressings (which is great for me because the adhesives really irritate my skin) and allows you to take a shower. Supposedly it peels off after a week or so.

In this instance it appears to have sealed in an infection. Just for once it isn't my dodgy aftercare that's done it, more worryingly I could have got it from the surgeon or theatre. Even if I had the bacteria on my skin to begin with I was practically hosed down in antiseptic before the surgery began. However it happened, now I have it it'll be a bugger to get rid of. Diabetics are human sized petri dishes for bacteria to thrive on.

I expect to have the Dermabond removed this afternoon at dialysis because I need to swabbed in order to establish what kind of infection is going on. I'm not looking forward to that as I strongly suspect it will be painful.

Incisive wit

Picture this: you're lying there on the narrow surgical table, draped and prepped for surgery. Your arm, out of sight behind the drapes, is flooded with local anaesthetic (which incidentally hurts like !*$& as it goes in) , the theatre assistants are surfing Match.com and soft music is playing in the background.

Feeling a little anxious you desperately search for something to focus on other than what's going on on the other side of the drapes. Your mind tunes in to what's actually playing in the CD player.

Ooh goody, a collection from the 70's ... Roberta Flack and Killing Me Softly ... The 3 Degrees and When Will I See You Again? ... Boston with More Than A Feeling ... Blue Oyster Cult and Don't Fear The Reaper ...

Eeeeek!!

Count Fistula; The Reawakening

Tomorrow morning I go in for more surgery, on my right wrist this time. Hopefully this fistula will be a success. I'm worried that a. it's not going to work just like the one in my left wrist and b. it will bugger up my hand.

Nothing much more to say. Keep your fingers crossed, let's hope I'm still able to do that myself after tomorrow :-).

Taking the piss

Until last week I was an Ebay virgin, never had an account, never bid on anything, never sold anything. Cap'n Marvel opened an account in 2005 but had never used it himself either. I decided to go on Ebay to search for a boardgame from my childhood - Take The Brain (Zoe I hope this little farce brings a smile to your sad lips). I apologise for the profanity but I'm a tad miffed.

It all started at Christmas., bored with TV I started a jigsaw one night and really enjoyed the peaceful time in the kitchen, Cap'n M joined me after a while and we just spent a pleasant evening working and chatting together. I wanted to do another one but didn't have any in stock so we started playing our meagre collection of boardgames instead.

Finding games that just 2 people can play is a bit of a trial. There's Scrabble of course but I'm completely pants at it and always get royally thrashed by the Cap'n which I find annoying because here I am a relatively articulate, well-read, bloggist with a huge vocabulary while he buys newspapers only for the cartoons and has never willingly read a book that has a bigger word to picture ratio in it.

We have a lovely set of wooden board games like Ludo, draughts, chess, snakes & ladders but I wanted something a bit more fun and started to reminisce about Take The Brain which I used to play for hours with my brother. To be fair it's quite similar to chess but the pieces have more wacky names like Ninnies and Numskulls making it more appealing. I've wanted this game again for years but had given it up for dead long ago, my parents must have given away our games before I left home - little did they know they were sitting on a goldmine.

Anyhoo the Cap'n suggested I do a search on the the internet which had never occurred to me (I know, duhhhhh which way did he go George ...) and lo and behold there were 3 or 4 for sale on Ebay! I went for the one with the lowest bid and longest time left because it looked to be the one in best condition.

For about 2 days I was the highest bidder and was pretty chuffed to be getting it even if £8 was a little steep for a 36-year old boardgame.

And then a bunch of complete wankers came along and suddenly the price shot up to £30!

Little did I know that I was engaged in a battle of wits with a bunch of twats who I envision to look like Comic Book Guy from The Simpsons and we're fighting for what is evidently the Holy Grail of boardgames.

To make things more interesting someone also posted that they were selling another Take The Brain for the buy it now price of £34.99. I was torn, the buy it now copy was quite tatty - and 35 quid - but I could end the suspense.

I really wanted to get the better game (nothing like a bit of competition to sharpen your desires - kerrang, I've fallen into the Ebay trap) so I decided to wait until the last minute so I could get my final bid in. I had until about 6:50 pm on Saturday, if I could get the winning bid submitted at the very last moment, Take The Brain would be mine!! Unfortunately we usually go out to do our food shopping on Saturdays at about 6pm so I couldn't see my plan through - instead I took a gamble that normal people aren't sitting in front of a computer screen at that time on a Saturday night so I plugged in my final max bid of, wait for it, £40!

Boy was I ever wrong.

As soon as we got back I rushed to my laptop to find that the other bidder had beat me by 1 penny! That fucker, within a minute of my final bid, had started plugging in figure after figure until he revealed what my final bid had been. In less than a minute he beat me by a lousy penny. To add insult to injury the buy it now version had also been snapped up. Grrrrrr!

If anyone has this game please let me know - I'll make it worth your while :-)

Bingo Fuel

I’ve had to concede defeat and give in to the fact that I’ve gained weight over Christmas and the New Year. Of course for most people that’s nothing exceptional but as I am trying desperately to lose weight in order to be activated on the transplant list it is something of a blow.

I dropped my "dry weight" a couple of weeks ago and ever since I’ve been struggling to take off the extra fluid that computer thinks that I’ve gained between sessions. On 2nd January the computer reckoned that I had gained 4½ kilos which equates to 4½ litres of fluid – to put things into perspective that’s almost 8 pints. Not only did I not drink that much fluid over the weekend but I still have enough kidney function to pee a little bit therefore making me able expel some of what I take in the way nature intended.

Needless to say losing 8 pints of fluid in 3½ hours to restore me to my dry weight is hard going. Consequently I’ve been restricting my fluid intake more and more in order to keep up and it’s making me ill and miserable. Amongst other things this has had a catastrophic effect on my bowel, my poor fluid starved body is sucking out the moisture of the umm, number 2’s, making it impossible for them to pass through.

Ergo I must have gained good old fashioned lard.

I don’t deserve to be as heavy as I am. It’s not like I eat crap all day long, I never have. OK I have a few glasses of wine and a packet of crisps every couple of days, I’m not a saint for crying out loud but what I survive on and still not lose weight is ridiculous.

It drives me nuts when I read those sappy success stories in the Sunday papers of people who suddenly have an epiphany over their weight and by simply cutting out fish & chips, pies, chocolate, curries and pints of beer and eating a healthy diet instead they lose 8 stone – if it was that effin’ simple I’d be giving Posh Spice a run for her money by now, I've been on a low calorie, low fat, low sugar diet since I was 11 years old!

My next step now is medication. I’m going to be taking a drug called Xenical which prevents the body from absorbing fat. Instead the fats within your food just pass through your system undigested so if you have too much ie more than 3-5% you run the risk of such delights as oily diarrhoea or even anal leakage. Niiiice.

You call this progress

Has anyone else experienced difficulty in accessing blogs with a blogspot.com address lately? Since I switched over to the new version of Blogger I have extreme difficulty connecting to them, including my own site!

While I was sleeping

Woohooo! The site meter tripped over to 1000 today ... I was in fact the 1000th visitor myself. Thanks for pushing up that counter with me - it gives an old girl an awful lot of satisfaction.

Break in transmission

Happy New Year everyone!

It's funny how things go sometimes, I had 2 weeks off work and thought that I would have ooooooodles of time for writing, customising, etc. The reality, obviously as I haven't been anywhere near this blog for over 2 weeks, was very different. Forgive the essay version of the recap but I shall try to keep it as snappy as possible.

Monday 18 Dec - The Gas Man Cometh

I spent day 1 of my precious leave cleaning like a woman possessed. The gas man was coming to service the boiler and central heating system at noon and as I don't do housework as often as I should, this was probably a good thing because it forced me to tidy up. He arrived promptly, was here for approximately 32 minutes and left £45 richer. Nice work if you can get it. He didn't even comment on how shiny everything was.

I spent the afternoon attempting to make gingerbread. I was following an American recipe that I found online, I was lucky enough to have been given some American measures for cups, etc. which was fortunate as my kitchen scales have gone kaput, however you know what everyone says, everything's bigger in America and that applies to recipes too. The dry ingredients were far too much for my puny little Masterchef so I had t0 halve everything as best I could. Half of the dough made about 30 gingerbread men & gingerbread trees, which I promptly overbaked into rock hard little table decorations.

Tuesday 19 Dec - Essex Girls go round the outside

Tuesday morning was spent as usual at the dialysis unit. After treatment I spent a few hours Christmas shopping trying to bag the final perfect gifts for the parents-who-have-everything. I think I managed to find the very last parking space in all of Christendom and was acutely aware whilst walking back to the car with my bulky first purchase, of other motorists cruising along behind me like great white sharks prowling the shallows. It felt rather good to load the boot of the car and walk off back in the direction of the town leaving the parking predators fuming behind me.

When finished I drove home and crashed in the recliner for 20 minutes before being whisked away by the good Cap'n to visit his brother and his family in Essex, an hour & a half''s drive from where we live. I love these relations to bits but it is always a bit of a trial as they are so different from us country bumpkins in Suffolk, I always feel so square in their presence as they are so damn trendy and I am so damn not.

The house is always filled with smoke and they have an enormous German Shepherd who insists on greeting visitors personally with a paw on each shoulder and looking them squarely in the eye. He's soft as muck but due to his sheer size he can do some damage (particularly to chest catheters) if you don't have your wits about you.

We drove home at about 9pm as we both needed to be up early in the morning.

Wednesday 20 Dec - Promoting a good image

I still can't believe that I agreed to attend the Lt's promotion to Captain at 08:00 am on a day when I was on leave. Somehow I managed to drag myself out of bed to arrive early for the 2 minute ceremony which was followed by a breakfast most of which I can't currently eat.

I arrived home at about 10:00 and set about wrapping presents. This is the part of Christmas I dread the most because I can't wrap for toffee ... I I I I said that I I I I can't rap for to-o-o-o-ffee, mo fo.

Anyway 4 hours, several rolls of sellotape and 2 dozen yards of curling ribbon later I stopped for lunch and then I remembered that I had to get some small gifts and sweets for the kids who might turn up for the staff Christmas luncheon on Friday. We have a Secret Santa gift exchange and I like to do a little raffle-type game so any kids who turn up get something to unwrap too. Ain't I sweet.

I set off into town and bought a dozen suitable little things and brought them home for another marathon wrapping session.

After that I decorated the previously mentioned jawbreakers, I mean gingerbread.

Thursday 21 Dec - It's worse than that, he's dead Jim

Dialysis as usual. On the way back I pulled up to some traffic lights which were on red. A car pulled up behind me and as is my custom I examined the occupants in my rear view mirror.

I was intrigued by the passenger as it looked like he was fast asleep, head back on the back of the seat. With my second look I concluded that he didn't look very healthy at all, in fact Omigodddd! He's dead!!

With a further look (the lights take a long time to change) I realised that he was in fact a shop mannequin but I have to say I'm baffled by why he might need to be driven around in a Mini-Metro.

I then had to make a quick stop off to work again to drop off the kids' parcels and the Secret Santa stuff so no-one would see me arrive with them the next day and thus give away who gave those gifts.

In the afternoon I had an appointment to talk to my GP about my mother. The Parkinsons is affecting her brain and giving her some kind of dementia. She thinks that her parents still live at home and that all her own kids have died. It's all very upsetting and I needed to talk to someone about it. Dear old doc was great and instantly made room on her schedule to see my parents together in the New Year

Friday 22 Dec - How not to be a domestic goddess

I couldn't sleep Friday morning so I was up around 4 am, just in time for the milkman to deliver my long awaited orgasmal box. Pfft is all can say. Any orgasm derived from that measly collection would definitely have been faked. It contained:

a tiny bag of Brussels sprouts
4 parnsips, each about the size of my thumb
2 apples
2 carrots
2 potatoes
a vacuum pack of beetroot
2 satsumas
2 tiny onions

I was somewhat perplexed by what exactly I was supposed to do with such a minute quantity of stuff. Size matters to a girl no matter what they tell you.

And so, on to the the piece de resistance of my "relaxing" week before Christmas. I blew up my hob with 3 days to go until Christmas.

I was following a Nigella Lawson recipe for cola baked ham. It's very simple, you simmer your joint of gammon in cola for a couple of hours and then you bake it in a very hot oven for a few minutes with a few extra ingredients until you have a succulent crisp coated joint.

I was actually cooking 2 joints as I couldn't find one big enough to feed 25 hungry Americans. I had turned up the heat ever so slightly on one of the pans and then left the kitchen for a couple of minutes to make a fuss of Dougal in the living room. I heard a muted pop and went back in to the kitchen to investigate.

The Real Thing was oozing in a thin syrpy puddle all over the hob and the work top but the pans had stopped simmering - yup not only can you melt teeth and clean your toilets with it but you can also short electrical circuits and totally mess up hobs with it.

I had to finish the ham by casseroling it in the oven and then baking it off.

Fortunately it turned out to be the best ham anyone has ever tasted. Certainly the most expensive.

I'm not going to cover the week after Christmas as it was extremely boring but tiring with not much time being spent at home. I apologise if I've kept you in suspenders for such a long time, I'll try and make it up to you this year.

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.

Per ardua ad astra

I was lucky enough today to arrive back from lunch just as a couple of incentive rides were taking off. An incentive ride is essentially a prize for doing something really special like winning the Wing Airman of the Quarter Award and it involves a flight in a fighter jet - Boeing F-15Es in this case.

It's quite something to watch and hear as they're taking off but it must be something else to actually be inside the jet because once the jet has lifted off the runway the pilot throttles forward the engines to full afterburner and climbs vertically about 60,000 feet into the sky. I've been told it's virtually impossible for the passenger to breathe even with a g-suit.

From the ground it's amazing, a friend of mine got a ride a few years ago and I was allowed to watch him take off right from the end of the runway. Even with double hearing protection the sound was deafening and with those twin Pratt & Whitney F100-229 engines at full throttle you can feel each one of your internal organs vibrating.

On a clear day you can watch the jets until they're just a tiny speck way up above you. Today was cloudy so the cloud ceiling was low and they disappeared pretty quickly but this was offset by being able to see the stripey twin cones of the afterburner flame against the dark grey of the clouds, you just can't see them on a bright day.

As you can probably tell I'm a bit of an anorak when it comes to planes.

I almost got to have an ride myself once, not in an F-15 but in a KC-135 refueling tanker belonging to the Alabama Air National Guard. Unfortunately some bureaucrat decided that they didn't want to take a "foreign national" ie me so my friend Dave got to take the flight instead. He smuggled on board a Union Flag as a protest against the decision which was later presented to me with a lot of ridiculous pomp and ceremony by my squadron commander!

Here's a picture of the flag and a certificate, you might be able to make out the text, maybe not, but trust me every time I read it I have to giggle as it's all so ahem, serious

Pussy Galore

According to Scary Duck (not scary and not a duck but pretty freakin' funny) and someone he can't remember the name of, starting a new blog is "like getting a kitten. You either lavish your undying love on it for the rest of its natural life; or you get bored of it after a fews days, brain it with a rock and leave it for carrion."

How true. If my blog were a kitten it would be stuffed full of tuna and tuckered out from chasing the feather-and-jingly-bell-on-a-fishing-rod toy one day and shut in the porch with nothing but the litter tray and a manky spider-plant for company the next.

Poor wee thing.

There's a rat in me kitchen

Well actually it's either a shrew or a vole, hard to tell which as its head has been gnawed off by one of my cats. Typical really they catch something and then bring it indoors and drop it in front of their food bowl while they have a nibble of Go-Cat. Still I should be grateful that they haven't brought in another bat and let it loose to fly around the house.

Little darlings.

Count Fistula

Looks like I shall be having more surgery just before Christmas which will be difficult to say the least especially as I was supposed to be cooking the Christmas dinner this year. Cap'n Marvel (my pet name for my husband) may have to do the catering instead ... he can just about manage beans on toast or mashed potato.

The surgery will be to either fix my existing fistula or to create a new one in my other arm. The current one clotted and collapsed following a procedure I had yesterday to X-ray the blood vessel. I'm fairly depressed not only because of the surgery but also because it means that I have to have this blessed tube in my chest for at least another 3 months.

I've spent 18 months trying to get a functioning fistula in use, I've had 3 operations so far - first to create one in my left wrist (it never worked), the next in my left elbow (it developed a kink that narrowed the blood flow) and finally I had surgery to remove the kink.

But it's not all doom and gloom, I'm finally starting to lose some weight - 1.5 kgs in the last month! Only another 20 or so and I can finally get on the transplant list and then life will get really interesting!

Frozen Cherryrita

I like a little tipple, me, so when I discovered a new item in Tesco's alchie alley called Sourz Cherry and what with it being a. cherry flavour, b. sour and c. ahem alcoholic I just had to try it.

YUM!!!

Neat it's quite nice, a little syrupy, maybe a bit like cough medicine. I also mixed with some diet tonic and it made a lovely drink.

Considering it's only 15% alcohol I got tipsy quite quickly (it happens with kidney disease, I've always been a lightweight when it comes to how much I can take but it's worse since I started dialysis) and I couldn't finish the second (or maybe the third? hic) drink that I made up last night so I decided to freeze it.

Tonight I retrieved it from the freezer and found that it wasn't quite frozen solid and with a little help from a fork I managed to break it up in to fairly slushy crystals. Now that's good stuff - very refreshing and fun to eat/drink - a kind of cross between a granita and a frozen Margarita.

Apparently also available in Pineapple (can't wait to try that one) or Apple (meh).

Kaboom-cha

Over the last year or so I've become addicted to butternut squash, I absolutely love it - roasted, boiled, microwaved, mashed, souped - it's all good.

Jamie Oliver seems to have caught on to it too but I feel rather smug knowing that I started eating it before it became trendy. Ol' wubber lipsth wrote a recipe for it recently in our Sunday magazine, it was a variation on Pumpkin Pie and he used the seeds as a topping by roasting them off and sprinkling them over the top.

It got me thinking that I might try and do something with the seeds the next time I got a squash rather than just chucking them in the compost bin. It just so happened that instead of a butternut squash I bought a Kabocha which looks like a small green version of your standard Jack O' Lantern type pumpkin.

I scooped out said seeds and set about washing the pulp off them (which was revolting as it felt like dense, slimy, matted hair). I then dried them off, put them on a baking tray and drizzled over some oil, some salt and smoked paprika. Then I put then in the oven where I was roasting the flesh along with some other veggies and a turkey breast.

After they had been in the oven for about 15 minutes I tried a couple of them - and found them somewhat crunchy - the seeds were considerably thicker than in a butternut squash. Still I thought I would persevere with them, perhaps they would be better if cooked a little longer.

After the seeds had been back in the oven for a while I was busy washing up when I started to hear strange noises coming from the oven. Kerpow! Pop! Kerpow! Ping! I rushed over and looked through the glass door only to the seeds dancing in the oven and exploding. I got the tray out of the oven and almost lost an eye as the damn things were cracking open all over the place.

I could see inside the cracked shells that there was a brown kernel but it was impossible to get out whole so I gave up in the end. Sigh, another cooking calamity ... the salt and paprika was an inspired combination though, it smelled gorgeous while coooking so I shall give it one more try with butternut squash seeds before I write-off the experiment completely. Stay tuned.

My God, it's full of stars!

I took a week off last week and spent the time mostly on Christmas shopping. One of my favourite shops to visit is Lush. I don't in all honesty buy much there, I often tend to go in and drink in all the delicious scents and being unable to decide which lovely thing to buy I often just walk out again.

This time however I took the plunge and bought some black licorice soap which is supposed to be great for the complexion, an exfoliating bar for spotty botties (not mine I hasten to add) and a big bar of Angel's Delight soap which smells heavenly (boom boom).

I first used the Angel's Delight at the weekend and I was rather disconcerted to learn that it contains little gold foil stars like table confetti. I hadn't noticed them when I bought it and I was a little miffed to have to fish them out of my delicate bits as they were rather sharp!

Big Bang Theory

Hands up everyone who remembers Space Hoppers! My Space Hopper was my favourite toy when I was a kid. I spent many happy hours bouncing round the garden pretending that I was riding Black Beauty or Champion The Wonderhorse. I have a picture somewhere of me sitting on it in an extraordinarily short dress with my own coltish legs on display (God, how I wish I still had those legs).

I don't know what happened to the original but I am now, at the tender age of 39, the proud owner of another Space Hopper courtesy of Hawkin's Bazaar. It's not as big or as sturdy as I recall and I'm a little concerned that it might burst under my not inconsiderable weight, but all the same I spent the evening bouncing round my living room like a complete maniac. It was truly liberating and I can heartily recommend it as a supreme method of stress relief.

Oh yeah it's best to wear a pair of Tigger ears for full effect. Bounce, bounce, bounce!

Moonstruck

For as long as I can remember I have been fascinated by the Moon. If I ever get my finger out and write this novel that I've been mooning over for years, it will probably be set on the Moon.

At the top of my Christmas list every year for the last umpteen years has been "Moon Globe". So far I have received an array of Earth globes in styles ranging from antique schoolroom (which is intriguing to pore over and look at how the country names and boundaries have changed) to inlaid with semi-precious stones. I even have a globe with the constellations on it. But alas, no Moon Globe. I know they exist, people just aren't looking hard enough.

For instance, last night as we were driving home from a day out at about 5pm, the sky over my home was a beautiful dusky lavender and set into this sky was one of the largest full moons I have ever seen. It was stunning, golden yellow and looked as though it was illuminated from within. The man in the Moon was perfectly visible too. It wasn't just a disc in the sky, it was 3 dimensional, you could tell it was a globe.

That's not too much to ask for is it?

Rubber Bullets

I recently took the probably unprecedented step of actually forwarding the link for my blog to my boss. I needed him to know what caused my near-breakdown last week especially as the Shirt had wrongly indicated that it might have been the new Lieutenant who had stirred up the trouble; I couldn't adequately express what the problem was in person so I wanted him to read it instead.

He's a good egg and we had a heart to heart the next day and everything is fine now. He also seems to have taken on board the fact that I'm neither happy nor challenged in my present job and asked me was there anything else that I could take on. I told him that I fancied having a go at maintaining the squadron website to which he agreed and said that any training the squadron could fund I could go for.

I am now thinking that I might have bitten off more than I can chew after my first HTML lesson with the squadron's resident pointy headed computer whizkid, Codename: Tigger. A week ago I couldn't even spell HTML never mind would have considered writing my own code.

Now I know a little about code, and you know what they say a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Well I'm armed and dangerous, luckily I'm armed with blanks but I have to tell you when you shoot yourself in the foot with a blank it still frickin' hurts!

Fortunately the only casualty so far has been my own blog. I had recently attempted to post images by clicking on the image button in the Blogger editor but each time my pictures have disappeared into the ether. I've tried troubleshooting with the Blogger Help files but have actually found them spectacularly unhelpful.

Today I decided to try writing an HTML tag (giggle, check out the techno speak) and after writing several broken tags I finally managed to get a picture of my husband uploaded (yes he's sitting in the cockpit of a Boeing 747 simulator, but that's another post). However, the picture takes up most of the screen and as much as I love the guy I figured my profile and all the links to archives, hit counter, etc, probably would be useful to have on display - he was obscuring the lot. So I moved him to the bottom of the page instead but my stuff is still missing in action.

Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks!

Oh well back to the drawing board. Now where did I put that 'HTML For Dummies'?

Mission Improbable

Today is my 17th wedding anniversary. We lived together for 5 years before we eventually made it legal, aside from my few spells in hospital over the years we have never spent more than 2 nights apart. I've known my lovely husband for more than half my life and I cannot happily visualise life without him.

We met a month before my 17th birthday in a pub called The Forest which sadly is no longer a pub but a large private house. On that fateful day we had both been dragged up there by our respective best friends against our wills. His best mate had wanted to introduce him to my best mate but fate intervened.

He was (and still is) a biker, not the grubby grebo kind of biker, instead he was a cleancut lad who happened to only have one mode of transport - a Honda 250 Superdream. I loved his cheeky grin and twinkly blue eyes framed by gorgeous long eyelashes. He still has the blue eyes of course but the cheeky grin with its slightly crooked teeth has been replaced by some dodgy crowns of which he is very self-conscious and now he rarely smiles.

I don't know what he liked about me. I was wearing some white trousers which used to be my karate trousers but I managed to convert them into day wear. As it was the mid 80s I was also wearing my New Romantic navy blue boots that had zips that curved from the front of the foot round to the outside of the calf - I had used some pink ribbon to make little bows and tied them to the zip-pull. I thought it looked cool but probably I looked like a dork. On top I was wearing an almost backless teal sweater. Like I said, it was the 80s - no-one ever made fashion sense in the 80's.

My 'friend' did her best to distract his attention and wore his leather jacket and basically draped herself over him as often as she could while I contented myself with squirting a soda siphon into a little gremlin charity money box, convinced that I was going to be left on the shelf again. But apparently he only had eyes for me.

When it was time to go home we didn't exchange phone numbers or make plans to see each other again and I thought that was that. However, the next night I was on my way up to my friend's house when I heard a bike pull up next to me and it was him!! We stood and chatted for over an hour in the pouring rain - all the time he kept his helmet on because he'd been down at the burger van eating burgers with raw onion and he didn't want me to smell his breath. He told me he was on his way home to watch, wait for it, Dynasty! Once again we parted company without making any plans.

The next day I decided to look up his phone number and give him a call but he wasn't in when I called. I went out for a jog in the woods feeling like an idiot for calling and when I was on my way back I saw in the distance someone walking up the road with a Golden Labrador. Thinking it was my unpleasant next door neighbour I started walking away as fast as I could but fortunately not fast enough because it turned out to be my future soulmate walking his boss' dog, Solomon, trying to find my house. He came home with me so I could wash and change and then we went out for a walk together. The rest as they say is history.

I cannot fathom how we have managed to stay together so long because we are so different. He's a leg man, I have limbs that can only loosely be described as legs. I like tall men, he's the same height as me. I like kissing, he likes to get right on down to business. He's a clean & tidy freak, I'm the world's worst housekeeper. I like to cook hearty meals from scratch, he likes something frozen and out of a packet. He is Yin to my Yang, Crockett to my Columbo, Beano to my Beckett, Captain Birdseye to my Nigella Lawson, Jimmy Osmond to my Jimi Hendrix.

Somehow by a miracle we have stayed together through more differences than sames, through happiness and tragedy and my love for him grows stronger every day.