When the boat comes in

The Cap'n & I took a long awaited holiday the week before last - I might fiddle with the photo layout later but it's taken me this long to crank out the post - sheesh some writer I turned out to be.

We spent a week in Co. Durham, it was our first holiday in this country for years and it proved to be a major logisitical challenge since surprisingly it is more difficult to get holiday dialyis in the UK than it is to get it in Europe (we normally go to the States but couldn't afford upwards of £250 per dialysis treatment). We had wanted to holiday in the Whitby area but that would have meant dialysing at York or Scarborough and one needs to book at least a year in advance for either of those! Darlington was much easier to get in to although they wanted the address of where we were staying before they would commit themselves and I wanted a definite place before I booked somewhere to stay. A veritable Catch 22 - guess who backed down first? Yup, moi meme.

The cottage I booked in the end was absolutely gorgeous, it was a converted cow byre with almost 2 feet thick stone walls, huge kitchen, roomy bedrooms, log fire, chickens on the doorstep, horses in the field - all the mod cons.







We started on Sunday with a quick visit to Consett and then went on to Tanfield Lea where my Dad was born. We then went on to the Tanfield Railway which is the world's oldest railway still in use today. It's a short stretch of track that operates a couple of locomotives and passenger carriages. In its heydey it transported coal and workers from the local colliery. These days the locomotives regularly get dressed up with smiley faces a la Thomas The Tank Engine to transport sticky kids and tired parents on special kids' days. Unfortunately the day we went happened to be one of these days so we were crammed in a small carriage up to our ears in pushchairs, buns and baby wipes.



Later in the day we drove to High Pittington where my Dad was raised by his grandmother. We managed to find the actual house where she lived but I failed in my mission to find where she was buried. My Dad suffered an industrial accident that deprived him of 4 of his toes when he was 15, his Granny died while he was in a convalescent home from what he always believed to be shock and grief over her precious boy's accident. He was whisked away by his Dad to live in Gibraltar and Gran was buried without my Dad ever having the chance to say goodbye.

On Monday we had planned to go to the seaside, Cap'n S had found a booklet for Sunderland that appeared to have been written by one of Tony Bliar's spin doctors and they did such a good job that we were pencilled in, for oh about 5 minutes, to visit. Now forgive me anyone from Sunderland who happens to be reading but I'm sure you will understand where I'm coming from if I say that when you want to go to the beach you don't immediately think of Sunderland. Fortunately the good Cap'n detected my hesitation and he opted for Whitby instead.

It's a long drive to get to Whitby from Durham but it was well worth it. The weather was fantastic and the town and beach were every bit as I remembered. Actually I dodn't remember the Captain Cook Pimped My Ride Experience but then again it was a long time ago.



Sadly we only had a couple of hours there before we had to leave to make the trek across to Darlington for my treatment that night.

Tuesday dawned bright and clear, that day we were off into Durham city centre so I could conduct my first ever blogmeet with the lovely Shaz. When we had been in the planning stages we were trying to figure out a suitable place to meet - now I'm not that familiar with Durham so all I could think of was to meet at the Cathedral. Little did I realise that although you can see the cathedral from most places in the city, getting there involves a short hike up extremely steep and twisty streets. I later learnt that if you use the Park & Ride you can hop on a little bus that takes you all the way to the cathedral ... don't kill me Shaz I didn't know!




Anyway meeting Shaz was like meeting an old friend, we repaired to a little coffee shop and spent a good hour chinwagging until the lunchtime crowd of sightseers started to pressure us for our table.

We set off to do some shopping but didn't get very far before our tummies rumbled in unison and we decided to rendezvous with the Cap'n. After almost eating at a Thai restaurant suggested by the Cap'n (dropped because I knew he wouldn't enjoy it) we ended up in a fish & chip cafe and sat and talked for a long time again before we thought we'd better move along.

Now poor Shaz, I think she had come along with the intention of doing some serious retail therapy but instead we ended up back at at the Cathedral to have a look round inside where I actually managed to pull. We were walking round minding our business when this nice old chap stopped me and insisted that I check out the elevation on his bell tower (the bellth, the BELLTH!!). He also tried to show me his hidden flying buttresses but we managed to make our excuses and moved on.

Following a stroll around the cloister on a pilgrimage to find the loos we posed outside for each other's photo albums and then Sharon & I parted ways with a new friendship forged and promises to see each other again. Ahhhhh.

By Wednesday I was starting to feel somewhat under the weather, we were supposed to go to a place called Diggerland where you can drive JCBs and such (woo) but thankfully for my brand new white Reeboks they were closed. We went to Barnard Castle instead and strolled around a nice shopping area in the centre of town, had a mediocre lunch in an overpriced poncey little restaurant, and then walked around the castle ruins. I had dialysis later in the evening which I wasn't looking forward to and had a little strop on the way before being delivered to the waiting room for a 2½ hour wait before being hooked up to the machine.

The worst day weatherwise was Thursday. We went up to look at the Roman ruins at Corbridge. There is quite an impressive ruined fort up there along with a small but very good museum. I had really wanted to visit Hadrian's Wall and was disappointed to find that the fort wasn't by the Wall, several miles south in fact. I was windswept and cranky by the time we left there and headed for Newcastle where the Cap'n was intent on finding the Metro Centre which we did eventually. Unfortunately my heart really wasn't in traipsing round a giant mall, no matter how impressive so I just did a circuit of the ground floor and headed back to the car.

We checked out of the cottage on Friday and planned to go home via Scarborough! The journey took over 2 hours but took us through some lovely scenery. I spent several holidays in Scarborough as a kid and had very fond memories but somehow this time round it just didn't seem to measure up - it all seemed smaller and dingier than I remembered. We walked along the front and took the little hillside tram up into town. Although we didn't make it to Peasholme Park I did manage to strike one more thing off my nostalgia list - I bought some curd cheesecakes, enough for my parents and me. I've never been able to get these anywhere else in the country apart from Yorkshire and was desperate to have some again.

We then drove down through Hull and across the Humber Bridge the building of which forms a large part of my childhood memory cache - Granny lived in Hull and every time we went to visit her we would have to go and view the progress on the bridge until eventually it opened in 1981 and I got to walk across it.

Finally we arrived home weary and looking forward to a cuddle from our furry family. I shall miss this view from my bed every morning.

Beautiful as Aphrodite, wise as Athena

That's a lot to live up to if you opt to dress as Wonder Woman for a fancy dress party. Needless to say I fell slightly short of the standard set by the delectable Lynda Carter but I did have fun (and I got to sleep with Captain Scarlet at the end of the day).



Black hair is definitely something I should avoid - makes me look washed out because my skin & brows are so fair. We made our costumes virtually from scratch - I made the cape and the skirt (unfortunately I forgot to press the skirt's seams and hems flat) and modified a swimsuit. The boots were a great find on Ebay, not authentic but I couldn't find anything suitable. Captain Scarlet modified a ladies' jacket to make his tunic - I think he did a pretty good job. Here's a close up of the man who's hopefully going to give me a kidney - he's a keeper isn't he?



The photos were taken by a friend who is a professional photographer and the files are so huge I've uploaded a few to Flickr rather than put them here, it's the first time I've attempted to do this so hopefully you can see them here, let me know if you can't and I'll see what I can do to fix it.

It was a long day, I had to prepare all the food because I was too tight to pay around £16.50 a head for a caterer with over 100 people invited. In the end only 30 or so turned up out of the 60 who had RSVP to say they'd come. I got some bullshit excuses such as "I went to sleep and didn't wake up until it was too late to come" which made me feel really special. But hey ho, they missed some good food and a fun night.

I was on the go all day, I didn't sit down, drink or eat for pretty much the entire day, even at the party I only had a couple of drinks. I guess I was running on adrenaline which contributed to my illness the following day. With hindsight, if I'd known so few would grace me with their presence I would have booked the bliffin' caterer!

Enter the Dragon

BOYOYOYOYOYOYONNNNNNNGGGGGG!!!! That was a gong in case you didn't notice, not that tinny little thing your Granny used to tap to summon you to your boiled eggs and soldiers, a massive 6 foot diameter, beaten bronze masterpiece. Yes I'm back!

Firstly, my thanks to everyone who expressed concern over my whereabouts, your comments and emails were very much appreciated. I can't adequately put into words why I stopped posting except to say that I was taken over by some kind of inertia, and boy when that inertia stuff gets holds of you it sure is hard to get ert again.

As you may remember up until my last post I was busily preparing for my 40th birthday party which was to be held a week or so before my actual birthday. I will post pictures and go into more detail another time but just a swift recap for now.

The party went very well. I prepared all the food and my neighbours manned the barbecue for me. Since I did all the choppng and mixing and was the hostess I didn't sit down all day or night so I was absolutely knackered by the time I finally managed to crawl into bed.

The next day I started throwing up (not due to a hangover since I barely had a chance to drink the night before) and later in the day started getting chills too. I was running a nasty fever and as I'm of such a delicate disposition my doctor referred me to the hospital where I stayed for a week. I had a suspected urinary tract infection but there never was any actual evidence of it apart from sickness and fever and some funny stuff going on with blood test results.

My stay in hospital was an absolute nightmare and I thought I would either go mad or drop dead from the stress - more on that in another post - but eventually I told them that they either discharge me or I would discharge myself. I was not going to spend my 40th birthday in hospital and finally managed to escape the evening before my birthday.

Tha whole episode seems to have put me in a real downer because I haven't wanted to do anything. I have just about managed to go to work and go to dialysis but that's it. I've been housesitting the black dog.

However, I'm starting to get back to normal and feeling a bit more positive. Not only have I managed to book some holiday dialysis so I can go away for a week and squeeze in a blogmeet with the wonderful croc-shod Shaz but, and this is a doozy, I've been given a tentative green light to have kidney transplant from a living donor ... none other than Captain Scarlet! My hero!! We need to get his blood tested, etc., but one of the surgeons has at least agreed in principle to the surgery without me having to lose loads of weight first!

222

I've been tagged with this easy little meme by the eminently employable Shaz. Essentially all you need to do is raid Wikipedia for information pertaining to your birth date - enter your day and month of birth into the search feature on the left of their main page. Then add this list, chop the top person off (apologies to Last Minute Lyn) and insinuate your blog's name on the bottom. Then list 3 events, 2 births and 1 holiday that happen/ed on your birthdate. Finally tag 5 other people.

Useless piece of information for you, on a non leap year my birthday is day number 222.

Are We There Yet??
Sarge Charlie
Comedy Plus
Us Danes
Medication Time

Three Events:

1. 1519 - Ferdinand Magellan's five ships set sail from Seville to circumnavigate the globe. They had to turn back after reaching Bermuda because Seaman Staines remembered that he'd left the gas on and Roger the Cabin Boy was suffering from severe piles.

2. 1990 - The Magellan space probe reaches Venus. Apparently upon resuming their voyage they took a wrong turn and instead of circumnavigating the globe they shot off into space.

3. 2006 - Scotland Yard disrupts major terrorist plot to destroy aircraft travelling from the United Kingdom to the United States. Wankers.

Two Births:

1. 1489 - Jacob Sturm von Sturmeck, German statesman and reformer (d. 1553)

2. 1939 - Kate O'Mara, British actress

One Holiday:
Independence Day in Ecuador -- Movement began in Quito in 1809. Independence not achieved till May 1822.

The lucky tagees are:

Bob T Bear Esq
Echomouse
Amy
Ruth
Leanne

Boots of a feather flock together

Not a whole lot going on, on the thinking blogger front but the footwear is conspiring to take over the world.

Cogito ergo blog

Goodness me, I've been nominated for a Thinking Blogger Award - thank you Ruth, I'm right chuffed! As I can't think of anything else to say I'll just get on with naming my nominees to carry the torch forward:

Zoe - Dear Zoe was the first person to ever find me on the blogosphere or at least the first to say hello. She's a thinker with a capital T, I'm sure she won't mind me saying that some of her writing goes right over my head but I like to visit her site anyway because she makes me think (and she often posts stuff that appeals to the latent geek in me).

Glamourpuss - What can I say about Chez Glamour? It does what it says on the tin. Puss writes about her life as the glamourous-pole-dance-instructor-about-town, her highly entertaining memoirs are delivered in a razor sharp, distinctly cerebral fashion.

Goth - No-one could accuse our lad of posting any old tat on his blog. It's definitely a blog for thinkers, why I often sit and think, 'Goth, what the hell are you smoking?' :-)

DQ - Between you and me, I think DQ thinks too much sometimes but then again she is a drama queen and she's had an unsettling few months. Que sera sera honey - everything will all work out for the best.

Claire - Claire's 3 Beautiful Things concept is a lovely thing to behold, no rants, no tears, just serenity. It takes some thought in this day and age to carry that off and she does it err, beautifully.

Postcards from the hedge

Blimey! She's like the No. 27 bus, you don't see one for ages and then 6 come along all at once!

Sorry Clam fans (Clam, thanks Glam) I've been a busy bee but hopefully this pile of posts should make up for it - yup look further than this entry and you'll find several more.

I had today off - happy 4th of July to our colonial friends - which gave me the chance to catch up. I did procrastinate though, tidied the house, washed the net curtains, scrubbed the kitchen floor, I would have worked through my paperwork intray too (ugh) but there was a cat asleep in it and I didn't want to disturb him. So there we have it. I'm all caught up - in blogland that is.

I'll list the highlights and you can follow links to your heart's delight.

I've told you about the building work, my health news, something frivolous, my forthcoming birthday party and you even get some close encounters of the furred kind. Enjoy!

All creatures ... and a few plants

Some pictures for y'all. They're a bit small, click on them for a larger image.

My lovely fuchsias:



Even more impressive when seen from below!



I planted sugar snap peas this year and they all germinated giving me about 12 plants which I put in pots due to the building work going on. For the last 3 weeks we've been getting pods from them regularly which are yummy to eat raw. I've also got a few straggly strawberry plants in a window box which yield about 2 ripe fruits every couple of days.




I also planted round carrots in a trough. They're doing really well although I need to thin them out - I haven't go the heart to do that though.



Tumbling tomatoes in hanging baskets. Flowering beautifully and I saw some fruit set this morning.



Bullrushes in the pond ... not planted intentionally, they're far too big for a small pond! If you look in the background you'll see a heap of ballast, I have to climb on this to water and harvest my strawberries!



Site Foreman, Dougal, is puzzled by the arrival of part of the lunar landing module at the building site.



And finally, Cami looking cute in a rare patch of sunlight

Stayin' alive

It's been raining too much for building so we at Calamity Towers are occupying ourselves by preparing for my impending 40th birthday party. I'm unabashed in telling you that I have called it by the rather pretentious name of The Glitter Ball. It's taking place in a village hall, ha ha, The Glitter Ball.

It's a 70's theme fancy dress party and I'm going as Wonder Woman. That is to say Wonder Woman of the 21st Century (I know, I'm cheating ... it's my party!), the one where she's post marriage, post childbirth, pre menopausal. She no longer wears the star spangled girdle instead she wears boots with good arch support, control top tights and a cape to conceal those batwing triceps.

Capt Scarlet is going as himself. Pictures to follow after the event.

We're also having a barbecue and I'm doing the food. My next door neighbour will be in charge of the grill (which we don't have yet). I've never even thrown a small backyard BBQ before so it remains to be seen how I'll manage with 100+ people. Fingers and toes crossed everyone!

A shed too far

As promised many moons ago I shall give you the story of the building work going on in my back garden.


About 10 years ago Captain Scarlet built this workshop, with a greenhouse attached for me to play in.

At the same time we laid a new patio. I say at the same time but in truth the patio took several months to lay because Capt S handmade every single slab. Yup, 1 to 2 slabs a day cast from a mould made by our next door neighbour. Sigh. They were handmade because he wanted to shape them to go round the edge of our very curvy pond and because I had curvy flower beds that needed edging.


I hand painted every single slab in an attempt to make them look like worn old bricks rather than new grey concrete. Yuh huh. To be fair the colour looks brighter in the photo than in reality.

The Cap'n had been toying with building a new workshop for himself ever since he took himself off to a bricklaying evening class and then got a little practice by building a 36ft x 6ft (in places) garden wall.

Oh by the way, I mixed and poured the concrete for the foundations which were nearly 3ft deep.

Over time the old workshop and greenhouse were rotting and falling to pieces while he hummed and hahed about building something. The incident with the greenhouse roof forced the issue somewhat, so we decided to demolish and build.

Coping with the disruption while it goes on is pretty much what has been keeping me away from the keyboard lately. Plus I'm the builder's mate - mix this, dig that. I've moved about 7 tonnes of bricks which were stored in someone's garden and infested with spiders. I was VERY brave I can tell you. The puzzling thing was that bricks have a recess on the top for the mortar - it's called a frog dont'cha know - and I would find snails inside the frogs where there was clearly not enough room for the the pesky varmints to get inside.

I've moved about 10 tons of sand and ballast from the front of the house to the back. I've made all the concrete for the footings and the floor. I've been busy!

I only have a small garden, maybe 40ft wide by 36ft long. The new building itself occupies nearly a quarter of that space, we have a pond in the middle of the garden so the non-planted area has been taken up by the spoil heap from the foundations plus the materials for the building. I barely have room to walk round some of the piles of stuff but I've been determined to preserve everything living.

It should have been been finished by now but unfortunately the wet weather we've had lately has put paid to all that. Here's where we're up to so far. The bit to left is my new greenhouse. And yes I stacked every one of those bricks onto little pallets from big pallets so we could get them round the back! I need a massage just thinking about it.

Lion in a den of Daniels

A couple of weeks ago I had my first transplant clinic appointment which was traumatic to say the least. I had to sit in the middle of the room surrounded by medical professionals on all sides where I had to undergo an assessment of my fitness for transplant. To cut a very long story short I'm still not on the list, despite the fact that I'm fit and healthy and that I have the rare AB blood group which goes with almost any tissue type. I am considered too fat for transplant.

I had to endure a virtual interrogation of my lifestyle. I tried valiantly to defend myself but I ended up in tears. I have had huge issues with my weight in the past - I was a normal sized kid with normal appetites until Type 1 diabetes struck me when I was 11. From that point on, in rebellion of the strict diabetic diet, I became a compulsive eater.

I almost gave my poor Mum a nervous breakdown because I would steal food from the cupboard and replace it at a later time. It was bizarre stuff too like Steak & Kidney pudding, dry porridge oats, Oxo cubes, basically anything I could get my hands on. I became an expert at knowing where in town I could buy certain brands of food. I would even have to steal money from my parents to buy the food to put back in the cupboard.

I wasn't hugely obese then despite the extra food, being tall you can get a way with a lot of extra poundage, but as I got into my early teens I became more aware of my body image. I discovered that by not taking my insulin I could lose weight. It has essentially the same effect as Atkins, it is why I plead with people not to do Atkins.

Your body's preferred energy source is carbohydrate, sugar basically - doesn't matter what kind, white & crystalline, brown & wholesome, your body doesn't care because it all gets broken down into monosaccharides which pass easily through into your bloodstream and then insulin unlocks the energy. If there's no insulin then your body can't use the sugar so it passes out into your urine.

But the body still needs energy to function so it releases chemicals called ketones which break down stored energy ... fat ... into a usable product. Trouble is these ketones aren't good for you on a sustained basis, they do all kinds of nasty things to your internal organs, especially your kidneys.

Anyway I regularly omitted to take my insulin in order to lose weight. Naturally I made myself ill by doing so and was in and out of hospital to be restabilised. It's essentially why I have kidney disease now. I killed 'em off with stupidity.

But there's more, I experimented with purging - using laxatives, diuretics and vomiting. It used to send my diabetes out of kilter too quickly to have any effect. I must be the only bulimic never to lose any weight.

At one point I was exercising like mad - I would do the full Jane Fonda Workout before going to work, walk briskly for an hour at lunchtime and then come home and cycle 20 miles on my exercise bike. I got extremely fit but I never got any thinner than a UK size 16.

I got so depressed and aggravated with myself for not being able to control this one tiny aspect of my life that once I even overdosed on insulin in an attmept to end it all. I couldn't even see that through properly - I confessed to Mum what I'd done and I was packed off to hospital again.

I've been to Weight Watchers, I've done Slimfast but to no avail. A few years ago I was referred for Cognitive Behavioural Therapy for another reason but the CBT helped me get my whole life into perspective. I swore I would never diet again because it makes me feel worthless and all that guilt if I eat something I'm not supposed t,o is so damaging.

I have finally learned not to punish myself for not being perfect, I'm happier in my own skin than I've ever been. I can actually sometimes think of myself as reasonably attractive, nice hair, good skin, pretty eyes. What's more inmportant is that I know it's what's inside that matters, how you live your life not what you look like.

The transplant team want me to go into that dark place again. I'm afraid.

That's hot ...

While surfing the blogsphere the other day I came across a link on someone's site (I apologize, I can't remember which one) that took me to a site where you could uncover your 'bloglebrity' status. I was gratified to note that mine isn't the lowest, I love my select band of loyal readers with the exquisite taste to stick it out where the pickin's are really slim and I think I would have a panic attack if I had to entertain hundreds of people every day.




Here's the blurb

Groupings Explained:
The Low Authority Group [D-List Bloggers]
(3-9 blogs linking in the last 6 months)
The average blog age (the number of days that the blog has been in existence) is about 228 days, which shows a real commitment to blogging. However, bloggers of this type average only 12 posts per month, meaning that their posting habits are generally dedicated but infrequent.

The Middle Authority Group [C-List Bloggers]
(10-99 blogs linking in the last 6 months)
This contrasts somewhat with the second group, which enjoys an average age not much older than the first at 260 days and which posts 50% more frequently than the first. There is a clear correlation between posting volume and Technorati authority ranking.

The High Authority Group [B-List Bloggers]
(100-499 blogs linking in the last 6 months)
The third group represents a decided shift in blog age while not blogging much more frequently than the last. In keeping with the theme of the maturation of the blogosphere, it seems evident that many of these bloggers were previously in category two and have grown in authority organically over time. In other words, sheer dedication pays off over time.

The Very High Authority Group [A-List Bloggers]
(500 or more blogs linking in the last 6 months)
In the final group we see what might be considered the blogging elite. This group, which represents more than 4,000 blogs, exhibits a radical shift in post frequency as well as blog age. Bloggers of this type have been at it longer – a year and a half on average – and post nearly twice a day, an increase in posting volume of over 100% from the previous group. Many of the blogs in this category, in fact, are about as old as Technorati and we’ve grown up together. Some of these are full-fledge professional enterprises that post many, many times per day and behave increasingly like our friends in the mainstream media. As has been widely reported, the impact of these bloggers on our cultures and democracies is increasingly dramatic.

Entre nous

I should have blogged about this months ago when it happened but as you know I haven’t written much of anything in the last few weeks so I never got round to it . I was also concerned that Captain Scarlet might read it as it is a confessional of a sort but it transpires that he doesn’t bother to tune in to read about my exploits anymore - I suppose having a ringside seat is enough for him.

This tale takes place on Tuesday 20th March, 2 days after my apocalyptic post regarding my son’s birthday. His birthday sucked the life out of me for several days, compounded by dialysis treatment not going too well and coming home to a pamphlet sent by the hospital asking me if I, as a diabetic, was considering having a baby in the future because if I was there were “complications associated with pregnancy and diabetes”. Hmmm no shit Sherlock.

As I was driving back from dialysis on the Tuesday morning I made up my mind that I was going to buy some cigarettes. I haven’t smoked for a long time but some internal demon convinced me that to start again today would soothe my frazzled nerves. So I made quick pitstop to Tesco.

Unfortunately, I neglected to buy anything to light the smokes with thinking I would use the matches that we have knocking around at home to use for candles, barbecues, etc. D’oh. The matches weren’t in the drawer where they’re usually kept. No problem I thought - they must be in the garage so I unlocked the back door (think Fort Knox and you might be close) and then the back door of the garage. It was pissing down with rain at the time and I was drenched before even setting foot in there.

I had quick search in all the hidey holes, being mindful of crack assassin spiders waiting to jump out to kill me. Nothing. Right. Down to the workshop at the bottom of the garden to have a look. A quick look around there but nothing.

Bollocks. Back to the house for another frantic scrabble through drawers and cupboards. Out to the garage again. Nope. Down to the workshop again, desire for a secret stinky fag building to fever pitch. A closer inspection of the workshop including drawers this time - fuck the crack assassin spiders. Still nothing.

I squelched back to the house fuming and almost at the point of ringing Captain Scarlet to demand that he reveals the location of the matches. Fortunately my logic bus hadn’t blown out yet and I stopped short of dialing.

I considered lighting from my ceramic hob but wasn’t sure if it would work and I didn’t want to make a mess that I would have to explain. And so it dawned on me to use the cigarette lighter in the car. This presented its own set of problems - namely I didn’t want to stink out the car with cigarette smoke which would take some creative explaining and I didn’t want the neighbours to see me smoking in case they mentioned it to the Cap‘n.

I decided to light up, run through the house and out to the back since the rain had ceased. Everything went smoothly until I set foot outside when the heavens opened up again and it started to rain cats and dogs, I think it was even hailing taxis. I sloshed over to the greenhouse which is attached to the workshop, opened the door and stood inside in the dry finally sucking down that nicotine and benzene. Aahhhh.

Suddenly a gust of wind ripped off half the roof of the greenhouse. The side I was standing under. Fucking brilliant! I looked to the heavens expecting to see God pointing his index finger and booming “YOU!! I DID EVERYTHING I COULD TO STOP YOU FROM LIGHTING THAT STUPID LITTLE CANCER STICK!!!” but all I could see was grey skies and dots of rain hurtling down towards me. All I could hear was the wind howling and a gentle sizzle as my cigarette went out. And maybe some satisfied laughter too.

Camiknickers

To my immense relief Cami was found today - in a neighbour's garage. The funny thing is that this was one of the garages that was actually opened for me on Thursday night when we realised she was missing and I started canvassing the neighbours. Most of the people I asked didn't bother opening up for me (b'stards) but this guy was only too happy to help.

When he went in there to start up the car today he saw a cat, wasn't sure where she went so he shut the garage up again and came to get me.

She was holed up behind a load of junk and took some coaxing to come out so I was worried she was ill or injured. She was simply terrified and wouldn't come out until the guy and his wife left me to it. She must have been so frightened that each time the door was opened instead of bolting for freedom she hid.

She spent the rest of the day on the bed snuggled in a nest of clean undies which were waiting to be sorted ... bless her, I didn't have the heart to disturb her.

Happy, happy CJ!!

Cami come home

One of my cats has been missing for 2 days so I'm too distraught to write anything even slightly amusing today. I feel like an idiot, grieving over a lost cat but she's my family.

When my previous pair of cats died within 6 months of each other at the ripe old age of 17 it took me literally years to talk about them without weeping - they helped me through the loss of my son so they were more than mere pets, they were my surrogate children. This is going to put me back a long way if she doesn't turn up soon.

What a burden for a pair of furry little airheads to carry.

Listen to the voice of Buddha

I christened my left big toe Phil Oakey today. Not you understand because it's being getting any love action of course, it's because somehow during a freak accident with the toenail clippers I managed to cut it so one side is a good quarter of an inch lower than the other side. I'm really bummed over this as I have a really hot pink nail polish that looks terrific on toenails. Maybe I should plant a story in Heat! magazine that wonky toenails are de rigeur in WAGland.

Anyway it was a fitting end to a week that started with me committing a quadruple murder (I really must find out how to add sound effects to this page, in my head the Deadwood Saloon's tinny pianny that plays when I'm here just stopped playing when I wrote that). Muhrrdah!

I arrived at the dialysis unit last Saturday to discover that a guy who I shall refer to as Private Joe Walker after the spiv in Dad's Army, had acquired 30 live lobsters and was selling them - 3 for a tenner. I hummed & hahed for a couple of hours before deciding that I would buy some. I've never tried lobster as it's always been too expensive so this seemed like a good opportunity.

Anyway Pvt Walker was finished before me so he bagged up the lobsters and one of the nurses stowed them in my car for me.

All the way home there was an agitated rustling coming from the back seat and when I arrived home I discovered that he'd given me 4 of the little blighters. Or should I say big blighters. Big lively blighters.

Gulp! I don't think I'll be able to go through with this!

I gave myself a stern talking to and decided that I wouldn't jump in the car again and drive off to Cromer to set them free - dammit I was going to cook them. All the same I felt so sorry for those cute little chaps - Claude, Klaus, Claudette & Claudia - I decided that while the water was boiling I would make them comfortable in a big bucket of rain water that was in the back garden. I even added some salt and played some Benjamin Britten to try and make them feel at home.

Apparently that was the worst thing I could have done for them (the rainwater not the Britten); it hastened their demise so I was spared the horror of lowering wriggling creatures into scalding water while bawling my eyes out and screeching "I'M SOOOO SOOORRRY!!!!" as each one went in.

I will never be the same again, I didn't think I had the capacity to deliberately kill something. Now I know I do ...

Trade test transmission

Stay tuned, normal service will be resumed as soon as possible. Meanwhile I've become a murdress and there's what looks like a lunar landing module in the back garden.

To the point

I just realised that my 100th post came and went unnoticed, I've also remembered that I haven't done a medical update for some time - this is Medication Time after all.

The big news is that I've been getting dialysed through needles in my arm a lot more often than through the catheter in my chest. This is great for me as it means I'm that much closer to getting the wretched catheter out of my chest. Once that happens and the hole heals up I can go swimming again or even go away on a beach holiday!

It also means that I don't need to have more surgery to create a different fistula - the one created in January appears to be going very well although the blood vessels are still small and deep, but with more needling they will eventually grow and come closer to the surface. It's a Catch 22 situation - you need to get the needles in to make the vessels grow, yet the vessels are too small for a needle.

Apologies to the squeamish, but ... tough shit. If I have to deal with this then so do you. Ooh I could crush a grape I feel that assertive.

Vindicated

Yup. Now there's documentary proof that Captain Scarlet's birthday treat is bad for my health. Ptooey!

http://uk.news.yahoo.com/afp/20070509/thl-us-heatlh-cancer-0b0437e.html

7 Random Things

I've been tagged by my dear cyber pal Shaz (does that count as a random thing?)

1. I used to work in a public library. Great place apart from the fusty old WI crowd who also worked there who looked down their noses at me.

2. I handpainted every single paving slab in my garden. I sought the services of an osteopath soon after.

3. I've never seen Dirty Dancing and have no desire to do so.

4. My most cherished ambition next to seeing the Earth from space or to drive a double decker bus at Silverstone is to be a published (read paid) writer.

5. I adore Tommy Lee Jones and Ed Harris. You can keep Brad Pitt.

6. I have a Teach Yourself Conversational Klingon book and the technical specifications manual of the USS Enterprise (the starship not the aircraft carrier).

7. I've already made my will and bought my burial plot.


I hereby tag, ummm, I haven't sown my cyber oats as far as some so it looks like it will be ... DQ and Kai

They're he-ere!

I found myself with an extra half hour on my hands this morning so rather than blog about the construction project ie the garden, which will take too much time (sorry Shaz - maybe later today), I will tell you about the odd goings on in my kitchen at night.

About a week ago just after midnight, I woke to find that I was having a hypo - low blood sugar - so I staggered downstairs to have something to eat to bring my blood sugar back up. As I sat at the table sleepily dunking biscuits in a glass of milk, one of Captain Scarlet's watches started to beep. He keeps at least 3 digital watches on top of the microwave at any one time so I had to paw through them to find the right one to shut it off. When I told him about it in the morning he was adamant that he hadn't set the alarm.

A couple of days later I was again sitting at the kitchen table, this time testing my blood sugar before going to bed at about 10:30. Another watch started alarming, a different one this time. Again I asked Capt S if he had set the alarm and again he said no.

On Friday night Capt S walked into the kitchen and a completely different watch started to alarm. I'd made a point of checking that all the watches were set not to alarm yet it happened again! WTF is going on? Do we have a poltergeist? It's all very spooky.

Ground rules

I wish to apologise to my faithful band of readers who log in daily to see what I've written only to discover that I haven't written a bloody thing. Sorry.

I have a life that precludes regular dispatches on the old blogarama thing. In fact I have gone to such lengths as to draw up a plan for every waking hour to assist with the management of said busy, but ultimately dull life. Unfortunately I drew up this plan in winter and the slot I reserved for blogging fell between 5.50 pm and 6.30 pm which now the weather has been brilliant and the evenings longer, I have pinched for gardening.

I feel most at peace with myself when I'm pottering around in the garden. That's not to say that I have a great garden because I don't. Actually it's like a bomb site at the moment because Captain Scarlet has ripped out his old wooden workshop with my greenhouse attached and is in the process of digging the footings for a new improved brick workshop and brick-base greenhouse.

But I digress. Gardens, plants, wildlife - I love it out there. I'm actually considering starting a Royal Horticultural Society course in Garden Design and then I will work towards a Diploma in Horticulture.

Now I just need to work that into the schedule somehow, something's gotta give - will it be the exercise slot or the weekend blogging spot ... hmmm, tough choice.

Rebel yell(ow)

Gardeners of a delicate disposition should turn away now. Go on, toddle off to your potting shed.

I love dandelions. I love their shaggy yellow heads which are the harbingers of spring, I love the leaves which give the plant its name - dents de lion ... lion's teeth, and I love the fluffy pom-pom seed heads most of all. As a child I launched countless thousands of tiny parachutes towards unsuspecting neighbourhood lawns as I counted off the time.

Did you know you can make an ersatz coffee from the roots?

I know I'm a disgrace to my green-fingered sisterhood, I should hate dandelions, eradicate them, wrench them wriggling and screaming from between the genetically modified delicate specimens that we choose to put in the garden.

But I don't. I'm doing my bit for conservation, I'm saving the planet one weed at a time.

Meep meep

Can I have a big round of applause for Staff Nurse Spill Me, one of my nurses who ran the London Marathon for the first time - she finished in 5 hours 57 minutes. She's an absolute star, one of my favourites; she's only been training since Christmas but has never really run much prior to this and was running to raise money for MacMillan Nurses and for the dialysis unit.

Knights of the Road

Definitely not Knights Who Say Ni, but some jolly nice ambulance driver chaps and I believe some chapesses who are raising money for the Richard House Trust - the children's hospice in London.

Read more about the mission on Tom Reynolds' blog here or click on this widget (keep your fingers crossed that it works as this is my first time with a widget - yes I truly am a widget virgin). Oh yes and please spread the word.

Size matters

I now have an official fluid restriction of 800 mls (or just over a pint and a half) per day because quite frankly I don't pee very much these days. This allowance includes drinks and fluid found in foods such as fruit, rice, pasta, yoghurt, etc. A bit stingy isn't it and needless to say almost impossible to stick to whilst maintaining some kind of quality of life, so I tend to aim for it but overshoot by about 50%.

One of the tricks I have found useful is to use smaller cups and glasses - sounds obvious but psychologically a full small cup is more satisfying that half a large cup - not to mention more accurate. So to that end I have commenced a quest for dinky cups that hold no more than 150 mls, preferably less.

I have some glasses that are 100 ml or to put it into some kind of perspective, 20 teaspoons full. I've had them for years and countless times they been on the verge of being chucked out but saved such ignominy due to the fact that they were given to me by my Granny which curiously enough is also the reason for them potentially being thrown out in the first place. Hmmm, my life is full of such conundrums (or is that conundra?).

Another little trick I discovered is to suck ice chips. Not being in possession of an ice-chip maker I armed myself with an icecube tray and a hammer at work and if I'm feeling thirsty I will pop out a couple of ice cubes, smash them to pieces and scoop them into one of said tiny glasses just to ensure that I'm not having too much. Sucking 100 mls of ice is almost as satisfyig as chugging 500 mls of water. Almost.

On a related note I have lost 3 kgs or almost half a stone. I've given up that dratted Xenical so it's all down to me not some stupid drug that gives you diahorrea. I'm so frustrated because I'm losing weight from my boobs, ribs and waist but not my hips or thighs. My trousers droop down over my hips but I can't get into a smaller size yet.

Oh yes size matters, on so many levels it matters.

Jane's addiction

I'm on a high. There's white powder everywhere - all over my trousers, all over the laptop. There was a hole in the bottom of the packet. I'm going to go over everything with a clean bag in the vacuum cleaner to retrieve what I've lost.

Later though, I need to delay the gratification for a while otherwise I'll be wanting my fixes more often.

They've started selling it in Budgen's in the next town over. Tesco despite their desire to rule the world haven't yet figured out how lucrative the local market can be.

The cashier looked askance at me when I paid for my precious - 5 packets all in one go. I found myself having to justify myself to her, "It's for the kids" I stuttered, "it's half-term" - she nodded knowingly, thinking "Suuure, it's for the kids".

I haven't got any kids.

That was 3 days ago and I've just had my last pack. I've broken out in a sweat just thinking about not having any. I don't know what I will do, it's ages until we go over there again!

I'm going mad! I know I shouldn't be having the stuff but I can't help myself. The yellow tubes, the licorice straw, the white fizzy yumminess of Bassett's Sherbet Fountains just keeps calling my name "... Jane ... Jane ... Jane"

Re-entry in 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 ...

Cooee - I'm back in the blogosphere. I'd like to say that I've been quiet 'cos I had a kidney transplant but the truth is I've been floating around in another dimension - you know the one I mean, the one where you have to go to work, the one where Dull Stuff Happens.

Unfortunately in that dimension fathers-in-law fall off ladders and have heart attacks, internet connections fail, work and hospital treatments absorb all the hours in the day, Easter eggs have to be hand delivered to distant relatives.

It's a scary place and I'd much rather be in the company of pole dancers, drama queens, goths, Dane lovers and geekettes.

My email server appears to have found a worm hole and gone off on its own little adventure somewhere - I can neither send nor receive anything and am stuck with a Yahoo account, for which no-one appears to have been able to decipher the address.

Now you know what's been happening. Sort of.

Feed me Seymour!

The weekend before last was spent planting seeds. It's an annual event for me, even if the seeds germinate they are doomed to an early death in my excuse for a garden, but I get a kick out of it all the same. The fact that a 10 foot tall sunflower can grow from such a tiny seed just blows my mind.

This year's contenders for East Anglian Roulette, chosen primarily due to the poorness of my sandy soil and therefore standing a fighting chance of survival, are:

Red sunflowers
Yellow dwarf sunflowers
Garlic chives
Red Basil
Lime Basil
Nasturtiums in 4 varieties
Tomatoes
French Tarragon
Catmint
Lemon Balm

The shoots started to appear at the end of last week on some of the trays and when I saw that the nasturtiums and sunflowers which normally have sturdy shoots like beansprouts, were sending up spindly, thin, red-stemmed shoots I concluded that something was amiss.

My seed compost was contaminated! A pox on you Mr Innes and your demon seed!

I have no idea what I'm growing but I'm assured by an expert that at least it isn't cannabis. I shall keep them going just for the sake of curiosity but I sincerely hope that I'm not going to be eaten out of house and home by a bunch of Audreys.

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.