Met up with Mum today as it's Mother's Day, so we could have some lunch.
I'm still sporting a great cough/sore throat/croaky voice/cold combo and feel a lot like crap, so I entertained Mum with my Kermit/walrus impressions.
So we get our lunch, I had a super quorn cobbler, I've never had quorn cooked like that and it was really lovely. Vegetarian food is so hit and miss, frequently painfully unimaginative so it's nice to be surprised!
There used to be this incredible little day cafe in the Lincolnshire town of Louth, I used to get excited about going there because the menu was so incredible for vegetarians. Actually the whole menu was incredible.
Then the last time I went it had been sold to new owners and the vegetarian menu was all but gone, just the standard single option.
I almost wept. I'm still sad about it!
Anyway....Mum & I get to the till and all Mums are being given a free cupcake!
How lovely!
"Are you both Mums?" asks the lady at the till.
We indicate that Mum is the only Mum.
"I'm only Mum to a cat" I tell her.
She chuckles.
I'm mildly affronted that it doesn't actually count.
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Sunday, 30 March 2014
Tuesday, 25 March 2014
Further Farce
It is, I think, commonly understood that my life is pretty huge farce. Today was no different, just another ride on the farce train.
I didn't sleep well, so rolled out of bed and decided to head into town.
A spot of shopping later and a couple of huge bags of fruit & veg in the car I made my way home, as I drove down my street I noticed something in the road, just a short distance from my home. I parked up and wandered back to find a collared dove sitting in the gutter.
It made no effort to fly away so I gathered it up in my cardigan and carried it home.
As I got to my front door, I noticed a large box - I'd been sent flowers!
I love being sent flowers and it doesn't happen nearly often enough sadly!
So there I am, dove under one arm, trying to unlock the door with the other hand and then also trying to take in the flowers, with my tennis elbow screaming that I've made a poor decision.
I make it inside, I thank goodness that I happen to have an empty box in the conservatory from a delivery yesterday and in goes the dove to recuperate.
I carry the flowers through into the house, make it to the lounge where Kini has decorated the carpet with partially digested cat biscuits.
Awesome.
There's nothing I like more than when my cat has guffed everywhere.
On top of this, Kini was apparently livid that I'd had the audacity to leave the house and thus leave her alone, so she yelled at me almost continually until I fussed her (after I'd sternly advised her that if she hadn't guffed everywhere then I wouldn't be still ignoring her!)
Cheese on toast with mushrooms and pickle for lunch, before popping off to the doctor to get my beloved injection of Vitamin B12.
I love my B12 injection so much, it's like coming back to life after being utterly exhausted.
After that...I went and collected my Dad, who's finally home after his accident on December 23rd.
He still has memory loss and needs carers to visit thrice daily, but hopefully his being back in his own home will give him his confidence back and he'll get his brain working again!
It'll take time, but he's just thrilled to be sleeping in his own bed tonight.
I didn't sleep well, so rolled out of bed and decided to head into town.
A spot of shopping later and a couple of huge bags of fruit & veg in the car I made my way home, as I drove down my street I noticed something in the road, just a short distance from my home. I parked up and wandered back to find a collared dove sitting in the gutter.
It made no effort to fly away so I gathered it up in my cardigan and carried it home.
As I got to my front door, I noticed a large box - I'd been sent flowers!
I love being sent flowers and it doesn't happen nearly often enough sadly!
So there I am, dove under one arm, trying to unlock the door with the other hand and then also trying to take in the flowers, with my tennis elbow screaming that I've made a poor decision.
I make it inside, I thank goodness that I happen to have an empty box in the conservatory from a delivery yesterday and in goes the dove to recuperate.
I carry the flowers through into the house, make it to the lounge where Kini has decorated the carpet with partially digested cat biscuits.
Awesome.
There's nothing I like more than when my cat has guffed everywhere.
On top of this, Kini was apparently livid that I'd had the audacity to leave the house and thus leave her alone, so she yelled at me almost continually until I fussed her (after I'd sternly advised her that if she hadn't guffed everywhere then I wouldn't be still ignoring her!)
Cheese on toast with mushrooms and pickle for lunch, before popping off to the doctor to get my beloved injection of Vitamin B12.
I love my B12 injection so much, it's like coming back to life after being utterly exhausted.
After that...I went and collected my Dad, who's finally home after his accident on December 23rd.
He still has memory loss and needs carers to visit thrice daily, but hopefully his being back in his own home will give him his confidence back and he'll get his brain working again!
It'll take time, but he's just thrilled to be sleeping in his own bed tonight.
Monday, 17 March 2014
Annus Horribilis
2014 did not start in the best way possible and in fact only now is it appearing to be shaping up and turning into a better year, I have high hopes for April.
On December 23rd at 3am I was in a deep sleep, a little later, around 3.30am I dreamt that someone was trying to steal my duvet and I was desperately trying to hang on to it. I started to wake up and my Mum was standing over me pulling on my duvet and saying "Stephanie, come and help me with your Dad, he's fallen down the stairs".
Each Christmas my Mum, Step-Dad Tim, Dad, sister Siobhan & brother-in-law Aaron go away to a cottage. As we're scattered around England and France usually, it makes it easier to all get together.
I jumped out of bed and followed Mum to where Dad was laying, on his side, under the Christmas tree. After talking to him briefly, Mum & I decided the best thing was to move him, so as we turned him over I saw the bump on his head and struggled to contain the shock on my face as I saw a bloody lump the size of a lemon on the side of his forehead.
I sat myself behind me, in a way reminiscent of the way people sat on the floor to do the 'Oops upside your head' dance way back when, supporting him. Mum dashed off to dial 999.
I sat with Dad, reassuring him it was all going to be okay, as he was obviously very distressed. His pyjamas were soaked with blood and it was impossible to tell if he had further injuries.
A short while later and the initial paramedic arrived, she chatted away with us, then peeled away the towels we had on Dad's head wound. She gasped and light-heartedly commented on what a sizeable bump it was. I felt my stomach turn.
Mum asked if I was okay and I nodded.
The paramedic called for a further ambulance to transport Dad to the hospital and carried on treating Dad, talking to him all the time, cutting off his pyjamas to check for further injuries.
As she worked I started to feel a little faint.
Mum asked again if I was okay or did I want Tim to sit behind me and prop me up?
I voted for being propped up.
On carried the paramedic, we'd got Dad covered in a blanket to keep him warm as the next ambulance was going to be a while.
Mum asked again if I was okay.
I gently shook my head.
I was hastily removed from behind Dad and he was propped up on pillows.
I crawled on my hands & knees to the nearby lounge, laid on the floor with my feet in the air, feeling utterly ridiculous, there was Dad with a serious injury and there's me on the verge of passing out.
Mum came into the lounge and in my fuzzy vision I saw her moving and tried to move out of the way, but instead very skilfully tripped her up instead and she fell forward, saving herself.
I think the paramedic thought we were just a family of disasters.
When I'd recovered, knowing Dad was in good hands, I ran to fling on some clothes so I could accompany Dad in the ambulance and a while later three more paramedics arrived.
They'd have to get Dad onto a back board to move him onto the ambulance bed, so they split the backboard in two, sliding them in a half at a time. As they joined the two halves were joined together Dad started shouting "Ow! Ow! Ow!"
I start to worry that his hip, pelvis, legs, something is broken.
"Where does it hurt?" they ask him.
"You've trapped my bloody foot!" replies Dad
We all chuckle.
A paramedic leans over to free Dad's foot and as he does so his radio falls from his pocket onto Dad's leg.
His foot free the paramedic asks if it feels okay.
"Well it felt fine until some bugger dropped stuff on it!" Dad exclaims.
More chuckles.
We're loaded into the ambulance after a debate about which hospital is best and start to head over to Shrewsbury. It's a 50 minute drive, which we make with blue lights flashing and occasional siren. Even so, we are overtaken by a car! I wished bad things on that person let me tell you and the driving paramedic half-shouted "pillock!"
After arriving at the hospital, I wait in the relatives room for so long, hours roll by, Dad is being treated and x-rayed. When I eventually see him, he's so relieved, confused about where he is and what's happening.
Eventually he gets settled, and many hours Mum & Tim come to pick me up & take me back to the cottage.
Where I see that Dad hit the wall so hard with his head that he punched a hole in the wall, knocking off the plaster in the adjacent room.
On Christmas Day he doesn't know who I am, isn't responding to pain stimuli and I become convinced that this is it. The end.
I'm thankfully wrong, but Dad does have multiple bleeds around his brain.
Weeks pass, I travel the miles between home and Shrewsbury, eventually at the end of January he's transferred to Stoke as it's become obvious that he needs surgery. Some of his bleeds have resolved, some have worsened and need treatment. A few days after that he's transferred to Lincoln, much nearer to home, making visiting a whole lot easier.
He continues to make progress but experiences confusion.
Sometimes he says inadvertently hilarious things. Which I really shouldn't have laughed at, but it was impossible not to.
My personal favourite: "I was pecked to death by birds last night" says Dad.
"You were?" I reply.
"Yes, it was horrible, I begged them to stop, but they told me they wouldn't, because I was too delicious".
Last Tuesday he was discharged to a care home, since arriving there he's made incredible progress, although he still has substantial memory loss, he is getting better at forming memories. His short term memory is improved and in one week he'll be leaving the care home to go back to his bungalow. It's extraordinary how far he's come from that initial horrific fall.
He and I are going to start April with a
On December 23rd at 3am I was in a deep sleep, a little later, around 3.30am I dreamt that someone was trying to steal my duvet and I was desperately trying to hang on to it. I started to wake up and my Mum was standing over me pulling on my duvet and saying "Stephanie, come and help me with your Dad, he's fallen down the stairs".
Each Christmas my Mum, Step-Dad Tim, Dad, sister Siobhan & brother-in-law Aaron go away to a cottage. As we're scattered around England and France usually, it makes it easier to all get together.
I jumped out of bed and followed Mum to where Dad was laying, on his side, under the Christmas tree. After talking to him briefly, Mum & I decided the best thing was to move him, so as we turned him over I saw the bump on his head and struggled to contain the shock on my face as I saw a bloody lump the size of a lemon on the side of his forehead.
I sat myself behind me, in a way reminiscent of the way people sat on the floor to do the 'Oops upside your head' dance way back when, supporting him. Mum dashed off to dial 999.
I sat with Dad, reassuring him it was all going to be okay, as he was obviously very distressed. His pyjamas were soaked with blood and it was impossible to tell if he had further injuries.
A short while later and the initial paramedic arrived, she chatted away with us, then peeled away the towels we had on Dad's head wound. She gasped and light-heartedly commented on what a sizeable bump it was. I felt my stomach turn.
Mum asked if I was okay and I nodded.
The paramedic called for a further ambulance to transport Dad to the hospital and carried on treating Dad, talking to him all the time, cutting off his pyjamas to check for further injuries.
As she worked I started to feel a little faint.
Mum asked again if I was okay or did I want Tim to sit behind me and prop me up?
I voted for being propped up.
On carried the paramedic, we'd got Dad covered in a blanket to keep him warm as the next ambulance was going to be a while.
Mum asked again if I was okay.
I gently shook my head.
I was hastily removed from behind Dad and he was propped up on pillows.
I crawled on my hands & knees to the nearby lounge, laid on the floor with my feet in the air, feeling utterly ridiculous, there was Dad with a serious injury and there's me on the verge of passing out.
Mum came into the lounge and in my fuzzy vision I saw her moving and tried to move out of the way, but instead very skilfully tripped her up instead and she fell forward, saving herself.
I think the paramedic thought we were just a family of disasters.
When I'd recovered, knowing Dad was in good hands, I ran to fling on some clothes so I could accompany Dad in the ambulance and a while later three more paramedics arrived.
They'd have to get Dad onto a back board to move him onto the ambulance bed, so they split the backboard in two, sliding them in a half at a time. As they joined the two halves were joined together Dad started shouting "Ow! Ow! Ow!"
I start to worry that his hip, pelvis, legs, something is broken.
"Where does it hurt?" they ask him.
"You've trapped my bloody foot!" replies Dad
We all chuckle.
A paramedic leans over to free Dad's foot and as he does so his radio falls from his pocket onto Dad's leg.
His foot free the paramedic asks if it feels okay.
"Well it felt fine until some bugger dropped stuff on it!" Dad exclaims.
More chuckles.
We're loaded into the ambulance after a debate about which hospital is best and start to head over to Shrewsbury. It's a 50 minute drive, which we make with blue lights flashing and occasional siren. Even so, we are overtaken by a car! I wished bad things on that person let me tell you and the driving paramedic half-shouted "pillock!"
After arriving at the hospital, I wait in the relatives room for so long, hours roll by, Dad is being treated and x-rayed. When I eventually see him, he's so relieved, confused about where he is and what's happening.
Eventually he gets settled, and many hours Mum & Tim come to pick me up & take me back to the cottage.
Where I see that Dad hit the wall so hard with his head that he punched a hole in the wall, knocking off the plaster in the adjacent room.
On Christmas Day he doesn't know who I am, isn't responding to pain stimuli and I become convinced that this is it. The end.
I'm thankfully wrong, but Dad does have multiple bleeds around his brain.
Weeks pass, I travel the miles between home and Shrewsbury, eventually at the end of January he's transferred to Stoke as it's become obvious that he needs surgery. Some of his bleeds have resolved, some have worsened and need treatment. A few days after that he's transferred to Lincoln, much nearer to home, making visiting a whole lot easier.
He continues to make progress but experiences confusion.
Sometimes he says inadvertently hilarious things. Which I really shouldn't have laughed at, but it was impossible not to.
My personal favourite: "I was pecked to death by birds last night" says Dad.
"You were?" I reply.
"Yes, it was horrible, I begged them to stop, but they told me they wouldn't, because I was too delicious".
Last Tuesday he was discharged to a care home, since arriving there he's made incredible progress, although he still has substantial memory loss, he is getting better at forming memories. His short term memory is improved and in one week he'll be leaving the care home to go back to his bungalow. It's extraordinary how far he's come from that initial horrific fall.
He and I are going to start April with a
Monday, 10 March 2014
Paying It Forward
I've spent all of this year travelling back & forth to hospital visiting my Dad after he had an accident a couple of days before Christmas.
It's £3 to park each time at the hospital, or you can get a 10 day parking pass which works out at about half the price, so I've been working my way through parking passes.
After having used my newest pass just twice it turns out that my Dad is being discharged and I have no need of the new pass any longer.
The other visitors I'd seen around the ward weren't about when I left so I couldn't pass it on to them so I resigned myself to carrying it around for the foreseeable future until I'd had cause to visit the hospital a further eight times.
When you have a pass you have to have your parking validated at main entrance, so as I queued for this I overheard that the couple in front of me had exhausted their pass & would need a new one the following day.
I waited, got my validated ticket and chased after the couple and called to them, when they turned I handed them my pass.
They looked suitably confused and I explained my father was being discharged tomorrow and I no longer needed my pass.
"But you've only used it twice!" said the lady "you could use it again!"
I explained "it'll take me forever to use up the remaining 8 allowances".
"Well would you like me to give you some money for it?" she asked, going for her purse.
"Absolutely not, I know what a long slog it is going back & forth, that's my third pass here and I've been travelling back & forth to various hospitals since just before Christmas, so I know how expensive it is too".
She looks at me and says "I'll be sure to pay this goodwill forward, thank you so much"
I tell her that she's very welcome and she replies that she's very moved and is clearly a little tearful.
I wish them both well and say that I hope whoever they're visiting is soon feeling improved.
She thanks me over and over and tells me that they're visiting her father, which seems wonderfully serendipitous to me.
It was such a tiny gesture, but it left me feeling really good.
I walked back to my car with a spring in my step!
It's £3 to park each time at the hospital, or you can get a 10 day parking pass which works out at about half the price, so I've been working my way through parking passes.
After having used my newest pass just twice it turns out that my Dad is being discharged and I have no need of the new pass any longer.
The other visitors I'd seen around the ward weren't about when I left so I couldn't pass it on to them so I resigned myself to carrying it around for the foreseeable future until I'd had cause to visit the hospital a further eight times.
When you have a pass you have to have your parking validated at main entrance, so as I queued for this I overheard that the couple in front of me had exhausted their pass & would need a new one the following day.
I waited, got my validated ticket and chased after the couple and called to them, when they turned I handed them my pass.
They looked suitably confused and I explained my father was being discharged tomorrow and I no longer needed my pass.
"But you've only used it twice!" said the lady "you could use it again!"
I explained "it'll take me forever to use up the remaining 8 allowances".
"Well would you like me to give you some money for it?" she asked, going for her purse.
"Absolutely not, I know what a long slog it is going back & forth, that's my third pass here and I've been travelling back & forth to various hospitals since just before Christmas, so I know how expensive it is too".
She looks at me and says "I'll be sure to pay this goodwill forward, thank you so much"
I tell her that she's very welcome and she replies that she's very moved and is clearly a little tearful.
I wish them both well and say that I hope whoever they're visiting is soon feeling improved.
She thanks me over and over and tells me that they're visiting her father, which seems wonderfully serendipitous to me.
It was such a tiny gesture, but it left me feeling really good.
I walked back to my car with a spring in my step!
Tuesday, 28 July 2009
When To Defrost?
On Sunday I helped my niece move house.
As we put her stuff away in the kitchen I pointed at the freezer and commented that it was the same make as mine and opened it to see if it was the same inside.
It was rather iced up and I chuckled about it, commenting that it was a good job that my niece was going to swap that freezer for hers.
She looked at me and said I hadn't seen anything yet.
Reaching for the fridge door she opened it and what I saw inside made me literally speechless.
I have never, never seen an icebox that is actually just ice. Or rather like the world's biggest snowball.
I mean really, this deserves a place in the Guinness Book of Records, right?
Holy Moly that's the mother of all ice balls.
I like the way it seems to be glowing.
Even in the desert that sucker would take the best part of a year to defrost!
As we put her stuff away in the kitchen I pointed at the freezer and commented that it was the same make as mine and opened it to see if it was the same inside.
It was rather iced up and I chuckled about it, commenting that it was a good job that my niece was going to swap that freezer for hers.
She looked at me and said I hadn't seen anything yet.
Reaching for the fridge door she opened it and what I saw inside made me literally speechless.
I have never, never seen an icebox that is actually just ice. Or rather like the world's biggest snowball.
I mean really, this deserves a place in the Guinness Book of Records, right?
Holy Moly that's the mother of all ice balls. I like the way it seems to be glowing.
Even in the desert that sucker would take the best part of a year to defrost!
Monday, 6 July 2009
Cats & Ducks
Thursday last week, I made my way down to Bristol to watch The Cat Empire. Always superb live and great high energy fun.
With the exception of missing one junction - which I will continue to blame on poor road signs - I made it without a problem, even driving into the city centre and finding my destination without a wrong turn. Without sat nav. Not half bad!
Met up with Siobhan and Aaron and we went for a pizza dinner, trying out the one of the new Leggera pizzas. God, just the word pizza makes me hungry.
Afterwards we headed to the venue and made our way in, taking up my traditional spot towards the front.
The support came on and were pretty good.
I told Siobhan that Felix in the Cat Empire was beautiful. She asked whether he was really beautiful, or just my idea of beautiful.
I think she might be trying to infer that I have occasionally unusual taste in men.
I assured her he really was very beautiful.
The band took to the stage, I pointed at the stage and said "That's Felix".
"Oh my God, that's like a real life Patrick Dempsey" she said, then turned to Aaron and continued "I'm sorry, but I might have to leave you".
Look how beautiful he is:
That man was standing just feet from me and I was able to contain myself. That's self control I tell you.
And for your viewing pleasure, here they are live, doing one of my favourite songs, in fact the chorus is my ringtone on my phone.
Oh, and check out the dude in black on the trumpet. That's Harry. I wouldn't be turning him down either! Plus that Harry, he can really scat.
A little bit of the lovely Harry (I'm generous today eh?):
So, after they came on stage the crowd got a little, well crowded, a lot of pushing and shoving commenced. After a song or two Aaron decided to bow out and during the next song, Siobhan and I nearly ended up getting pushed over. I grabbed her wrist and despite her declarations that she was fine I insisted it wasn't safe and we made an exit. Or rather I shoved a number of people and trampled on a lot of feet. We headed upwards and watched the gig from tv screens and where I was free to dance like a dervish, as is my wont.
Despite the crush at the front I had a splendid time.
When they did The Chariot (the first video) it went to an instrumental in the middle before suddenly morphing into Billie Jean, which was awesome. None of the band sang the verses but as it moved into the chorus the whole crowd started singing. I sorely missed someone doing a moonwalk but it was just brilliant, as they morphed back into The Chariot, Felix said they felt he deserved a tribute and it was an excellent one.
Post gig we headed back to Siobhan & Aaron's place where I kipped for the night, before heading home at lunchtime.
I again missed the damn junction, for the exact same road, but this time, brilliantly, I managed to not only miss the junction but then get caught up in the tailback following a small pile-up. And thus welcomed an extra couple of hours on to my journey.
Finally made it home in time for tea and started preparations for the picnic I'd arranged for Saturday. Only a small affair, but as it was the annual Dunston Duck Races I thought it would be a laugh for some of my mates to come over and bet on a duck or two.
So, at 11pm on Friday night, I was busy whipping up a couple of batches of cupcakes. I'll be uploading the recipe for the cupcakes with mascarpone & fruit on my cookery blog soon and you must try them, find any excuse you can, they were just so very, very good.
Saturday rolled around and it was picnic time, I took a sack trolley and made my way up to the green, laid out blankets and started to feast. To begin with it wash just Rachael and I as it was also a massive airshow just down the road and traffic was rather heaving. I suspect we looked quite funny with this enormous amount of food and just the pair of us, bit by bit other folks showed up. The kids ran up and down the beck, slowly getting wetter and wetter, but it was so warm that they seemed to dry almost as quickly. There's something about kids just jumping around in water, free fun and they make seemingly endless games out of it!
A little while later the races commenced. I bet on races 4 and 5.
Below is my duck, number 43. It's safe to say that this little grouping of ducks is towards the rear. I was in no danger of winning.
With the exception of missing one junction - which I will continue to blame on poor road signs - I made it without a problem, even driving into the city centre and finding my destination without a wrong turn. Without sat nav. Not half bad!
Met up with Siobhan and Aaron and we went for a pizza dinner, trying out the one of the new Leggera pizzas. God, just the word pizza makes me hungry.
Afterwards we headed to the venue and made our way in, taking up my traditional spot towards the front.
The support came on and were pretty good.
I told Siobhan that Felix in the Cat Empire was beautiful. She asked whether he was really beautiful, or just my idea of beautiful.
I think she might be trying to infer that I have occasionally unusual taste in men.
I assured her he really was very beautiful.
The band took to the stage, I pointed at the stage and said "That's Felix".
"Oh my God, that's like a real life Patrick Dempsey" she said, then turned to Aaron and continued "I'm sorry, but I might have to leave you".
Look how beautiful he is:
That man was standing just feet from me and I was able to contain myself. That's self control I tell you.And for your viewing pleasure, here they are live, doing one of my favourite songs, in fact the chorus is my ringtone on my phone.
Oh, and check out the dude in black on the trumpet. That's Harry. I wouldn't be turning him down either! Plus that Harry, he can really scat.
A little bit of the lovely Harry (I'm generous today eh?):
So, after they came on stage the crowd got a little, well crowded, a lot of pushing and shoving commenced. After a song or two Aaron decided to bow out and during the next song, Siobhan and I nearly ended up getting pushed over. I grabbed her wrist and despite her declarations that she was fine I insisted it wasn't safe and we made an exit. Or rather I shoved a number of people and trampled on a lot of feet. We headed upwards and watched the gig from tv screens and where I was free to dance like a dervish, as is my wont.
Despite the crush at the front I had a splendid time.
When they did The Chariot (the first video) it went to an instrumental in the middle before suddenly morphing into Billie Jean, which was awesome. None of the band sang the verses but as it moved into the chorus the whole crowd started singing. I sorely missed someone doing a moonwalk but it was just brilliant, as they morphed back into The Chariot, Felix said they felt he deserved a tribute and it was an excellent one.
Post gig we headed back to Siobhan & Aaron's place where I kipped for the night, before heading home at lunchtime.
I again missed the damn junction, for the exact same road, but this time, brilliantly, I managed to not only miss the junction but then get caught up in the tailback following a small pile-up. And thus welcomed an extra couple of hours on to my journey.
Finally made it home in time for tea and started preparations for the picnic I'd arranged for Saturday. Only a small affair, but as it was the annual Dunston Duck Races I thought it would be a laugh for some of my mates to come over and bet on a duck or two.
So, at 11pm on Friday night, I was busy whipping up a couple of batches of cupcakes. I'll be uploading the recipe for the cupcakes with mascarpone & fruit on my cookery blog soon and you must try them, find any excuse you can, they were just so very, very good.
Saturday rolled around and it was picnic time, I took a sack trolley and made my way up to the green, laid out blankets and started to feast. To begin with it wash just Rachael and I as it was also a massive airshow just down the road and traffic was rather heaving. I suspect we looked quite funny with this enormous amount of food and just the pair of us, bit by bit other folks showed up. The kids ran up and down the beck, slowly getting wetter and wetter, but it was so warm that they seemed to dry almost as quickly. There's something about kids just jumping around in water, free fun and they make seemingly endless games out of it!
A little while later the races commenced. I bet on races 4 and 5.
Below is my duck, number 43. It's safe to say that this little grouping of ducks is towards the rear. I was in no danger of winning.
These would be the ducks making it under the finish line. Mine was still feasting on weeds or stuck behind an obstacle. Quite frankly number 43 let me down.
Truth be told, my bet on number 7 didn't go any better either. Ah well, it's a good job I'm not a gambler.
I managed to get a wonderful circular spot of sunburn on my back, having not thought through the keyhole part of my top very well. I just can't reach there with suncream!
Everyone but Rachael made their way home after the racing had finished. Rachael and I headed to my garden where we reopened the picnic leftovers. There was more feasting. I had made fresh lemonade and some elderflower cordial but Mifford wasn't allowed any, so as not to be outdone, she found her own sweet nectar:
Got to love a bit of watering can water, although that might only apply if you are a cat, or Mifford.
Once the sun started to cool, we headed in and watched Transporter 3, which I enjoyed. I know it's not a good movie, but I do like the Transporter movies, they make me laugh and the violence is just so wonderfully choreographed!
A final couple of notes. I totally ran over the big toe on my left foot with the sack trolley, I cannot tell you how that smarted. I did well not to curse in a number of different languages.
So, on Sunday my big toe was clearly swollen and I therefore decided that the ideal way to proceed would be to stub my little toe and hard. So hard it went a purple/black shade and I wondered for some time if I'd actually broken it.
It's a talent.
That's all for now folks, I have to go pick tea from the garden.
Oooh, it's raining and the sun is out, I also have to go see the rainbow.
I'm easily excited, me.
Tuesday, 2 June 2009
Flat
It's been a while, things have been rather chaotic with my Dad so I just don't seem to have had the energy to get online and write.
Dad lives alone and the only family here is my good self as his sister lives down in London, a few hours drive.
It got to the point when Dad was feeling terrible every single day, ringing me in a state of panic because he was absolutely terrified he was having another heart attack. At this point, I had to try and figure out - over the phone - if he was indeed having a heart attack and needed an ambulance or if that he just needed to calm down and stay home.
He'd ring me several times, every day, with chest pains. The absolute terror that you feel that you might be giving the wrong advice is something I can't even describe. It's life and death, but on one hand I know he desperately doesn't want to go back to hospital, but on the other hand knowing that he needs some help.
What the hell do you do?
In the space of around 10 days, Dad ended up being admitted to hospital four times.
The first three times he was sent home within a couple of days, but this last time they seem to have started some real investigation and he remains in hospital, having been there nearly a week now.
Honestly, I'm pleased, it keeps him calmer, he knows if he gets pain there is someone there, on hand to help him immediately.
The stress of those daily life or death calls has lifted.
I still have to find the time to get to the hospital to visit him and make sure he's got everything he needs, but that's so much easier than worrying about him being at home alone.
He said last week that he is petrified he will die alone in that flat.
I can't even imagine how that must be. Especially when you accompany that fear with daily severe chest pains, each time wondering what it means.
Over the weekend and beginning of last week I'd run flat, all of my personal little batteries were seemingly beyond repair and I was exhausted. That kind of tired when you start to cry over everything.
You've run out of washing up liquid. Tears.
You've just got out of the shower and realised your towel is in the bedroom. Tears.
The website you need to access won't work. Tears.
The bank balance isn't as much in the black as you'd like it to be. Tears.
You don't have any chocolate in the house. Tears.
My friend Harriet got married last Saturday and I was in charge of music. I'd made the CD, she and I had played it to make sure it was exactly right.
We all arrived at the castle where she was to be married, I was pointed in the direction of the sound system. After a bit of faffing around it was established that the machine did not like my home-made CD. I was about ready to degenerate into hysteria. Minutes later we decided that we'd change the CD into one of the other slots and see how that worked. Hurray, it started to play, except there was no sound and no visible volume control.
At this point, my mobile, which was on silent started buzzing atop the sound system. I looked, it was my Dad's sister, Rosemary. I checked the message, advising me Dad had been rushed into hospital. My head started to expand, I swear it, I just can't deal with that many thoughts.
Must fix music.
Must watch wedding.
Must ring hospital.
Must get to hospital.
Etc, etc, etc.
I finally got the music started, the wedding got underway, it was beautiful and it went off without any further hitches. I must ask permission to post a photo!
So, we all headed out, to meet up for a picnic at a huge reservoir nearby. All our cars were scattered around the small town and I was dropped off at mine, to head off to the picnic site on my own.
I rang the hospital first and was told in no uncertain terms by the nurse that answered that she was unable to answer a single question about my Dad's health as it was against policy, even if I was family. Christ, I just want to know if he's bloody dead or alive. At this point she deigned to say he'd seemed ok when she'd chatted to him before, but if I wanted to know more I'd have to go in. Bitch.
I then realise I have no memory of where the picnic is being held and how to get there. I drive around, getting gradually more lost and started to do that self-pitying weeping, desperately not wanting to interrupt the picnic with a phone call to admit I'm an idiot and am completely lost.
Harriet then rings to see if I'm ok and where am I. I confess to being lost, obtain better directions and make my way to where they're all parked. I sit in the car and cry. I can't even say why, because I feel foolish for being lost, because I'm so completely stressed about my Dad's health, because I don't want to cry on Harriet's day.
Bless her heart, Harriet comes over and tells me to go home, having spotted me and knowing I wouldn't want to join the picnic alone. This is why I love her.
I decline and stay, hoping no one will notice how terribly late I am, at which point her son Finlay turns to me and says "Stephanie, where WERE you?!" I think they noticed!
Post-picnic I make my way to the hospital, I find out how Dad is doing, make sure he's as settled and finally head home for the night.
As I drive up the hill towards home a squirrel sits by the roadside, he looks both ways and darts into the road, I've slowed and he sprints across in front of me with plenty of room, but runs straight into the oncoming car on the other side of the road. His little body is thrown into the air and I see him hit the ground with a thud.
It about broke my heart, I cried all the way home and I don't think I stopped for several days.
So, Dad still sits in the hospital, they're still not able to give a proper diagnosis as to what the pains are. The best they have been able to come up with is that he's becoming older, at 70 he has to expect he will have aches and pains and will have to live with them. Doesn't seem right or fair somehow, that they can't manage it better than that.
I think one of the hardest things is being so completely alone in it. As there's just me, no other family around to talk about it to, none of my friends have parents that are either of a similar age or alone and of that age. It's hard to appreciate how exhausting it is to be so very responsible for a parents wellbeing and solely responsible. I didn't expect it.
My heart goes out to everyone else in similar situations, it's a big old job.
But, with all that said, I'd rather Dad rang me every day and told me everything he's worried about than sit and be afraid on his own. That's much, much worse.
I'm also incredibly grateful to a couple of my friends who text or call me frequently to ask how I am and to ask after my Dad. I guess it's the circle, I'm there for Dad and my friends are there for me, knowing I'm there for them too.
I've had Mum staying too for a week so she's been cracking the whip and keeping me super busy, which is a pretty good thing. Stops you talking to yourself so much for sure!
Dad lives alone and the only family here is my good self as his sister lives down in London, a few hours drive.
It got to the point when Dad was feeling terrible every single day, ringing me in a state of panic because he was absolutely terrified he was having another heart attack. At this point, I had to try and figure out - over the phone - if he was indeed having a heart attack and needed an ambulance or if that he just needed to calm down and stay home.
He'd ring me several times, every day, with chest pains. The absolute terror that you feel that you might be giving the wrong advice is something I can't even describe. It's life and death, but on one hand I know he desperately doesn't want to go back to hospital, but on the other hand knowing that he needs some help.
What the hell do you do?
In the space of around 10 days, Dad ended up being admitted to hospital four times.
The first three times he was sent home within a couple of days, but this last time they seem to have started some real investigation and he remains in hospital, having been there nearly a week now.
Honestly, I'm pleased, it keeps him calmer, he knows if he gets pain there is someone there, on hand to help him immediately.
The stress of those daily life or death calls has lifted.
I still have to find the time to get to the hospital to visit him and make sure he's got everything he needs, but that's so much easier than worrying about him being at home alone.
He said last week that he is petrified he will die alone in that flat.
I can't even imagine how that must be. Especially when you accompany that fear with daily severe chest pains, each time wondering what it means.
Over the weekend and beginning of last week I'd run flat, all of my personal little batteries were seemingly beyond repair and I was exhausted. That kind of tired when you start to cry over everything.
You've run out of washing up liquid. Tears.
You've just got out of the shower and realised your towel is in the bedroom. Tears.
The website you need to access won't work. Tears.
The bank balance isn't as much in the black as you'd like it to be. Tears.
You don't have any chocolate in the house. Tears.
My friend Harriet got married last Saturday and I was in charge of music. I'd made the CD, she and I had played it to make sure it was exactly right.
We all arrived at the castle where she was to be married, I was pointed in the direction of the sound system. After a bit of faffing around it was established that the machine did not like my home-made CD. I was about ready to degenerate into hysteria. Minutes later we decided that we'd change the CD into one of the other slots and see how that worked. Hurray, it started to play, except there was no sound and no visible volume control.
At this point, my mobile, which was on silent started buzzing atop the sound system. I looked, it was my Dad's sister, Rosemary. I checked the message, advising me Dad had been rushed into hospital. My head started to expand, I swear it, I just can't deal with that many thoughts.
Must fix music.
Must watch wedding.
Must ring hospital.
Must get to hospital.
Etc, etc, etc.
I finally got the music started, the wedding got underway, it was beautiful and it went off without any further hitches. I must ask permission to post a photo!
So, we all headed out, to meet up for a picnic at a huge reservoir nearby. All our cars were scattered around the small town and I was dropped off at mine, to head off to the picnic site on my own.
I rang the hospital first and was told in no uncertain terms by the nurse that answered that she was unable to answer a single question about my Dad's health as it was against policy, even if I was family. Christ, I just want to know if he's bloody dead or alive. At this point she deigned to say he'd seemed ok when she'd chatted to him before, but if I wanted to know more I'd have to go in. Bitch.
I then realise I have no memory of where the picnic is being held and how to get there. I drive around, getting gradually more lost and started to do that self-pitying weeping, desperately not wanting to interrupt the picnic with a phone call to admit I'm an idiot and am completely lost.
Harriet then rings to see if I'm ok and where am I. I confess to being lost, obtain better directions and make my way to where they're all parked. I sit in the car and cry. I can't even say why, because I feel foolish for being lost, because I'm so completely stressed about my Dad's health, because I don't want to cry on Harriet's day.
Bless her heart, Harriet comes over and tells me to go home, having spotted me and knowing I wouldn't want to join the picnic alone. This is why I love her.
I decline and stay, hoping no one will notice how terribly late I am, at which point her son Finlay turns to me and says "Stephanie, where WERE you?!" I think they noticed!
Post-picnic I make my way to the hospital, I find out how Dad is doing, make sure he's as settled and finally head home for the night.
As I drive up the hill towards home a squirrel sits by the roadside, he looks both ways and darts into the road, I've slowed and he sprints across in front of me with plenty of room, but runs straight into the oncoming car on the other side of the road. His little body is thrown into the air and I see him hit the ground with a thud.
It about broke my heart, I cried all the way home and I don't think I stopped for several days.
So, Dad still sits in the hospital, they're still not able to give a proper diagnosis as to what the pains are. The best they have been able to come up with is that he's becoming older, at 70 he has to expect he will have aches and pains and will have to live with them. Doesn't seem right or fair somehow, that they can't manage it better than that.
I think one of the hardest things is being so completely alone in it. As there's just me, no other family around to talk about it to, none of my friends have parents that are either of a similar age or alone and of that age. It's hard to appreciate how exhausting it is to be so very responsible for a parents wellbeing and solely responsible. I didn't expect it.
My heart goes out to everyone else in similar situations, it's a big old job.
But, with all that said, I'd rather Dad rang me every day and told me everything he's worried about than sit and be afraid on his own. That's much, much worse.
I'm also incredibly grateful to a couple of my friends who text or call me frequently to ask how I am and to ask after my Dad. I guess it's the circle, I'm there for Dad and my friends are there for me, knowing I'm there for them too.
I've had Mum staying too for a week so she's been cracking the whip and keeping me super busy, which is a pretty good thing. Stops you talking to yourself so much for sure!
Sunday, 17 May 2009
Walking The Wolds
The Lincolnshire Wolds Walking Festival is on again and I did the first walk of a few planned for this year yesterday. I headed out with Rachael for a 10am start at Binbrook with fingers crossed that the weather would hold.
It was just a 6 mile walk, nothing too strenuous but there were a few hills, the majority of them of the steep variety, but one was of the long and winding variety that went on and on and on. There's something disheartening about climbing a hill that has no visible end.
We toured round deserted medieval villages, of which little remains but small mounds, but it's still fascinating to think of people living in these places, especially as evidence suggests that we were tramping along the exact same paths that they would have travelled.
The walk leader, a retired history teacher, was relating her feelings that it was a shame that none of this area had been subject to any excavation. She then went on to say that as far as she was able to ascertain no excavation had ever been done of any nunneries. Apparently it was believed we had 153 nunneries and of those, the exact location of 100 are known. But out of that 100 absolutely none have been excavated. It would seem that the archaeological/scientific worlds see no interest in sites which relate only to women.
I'm actually a little appalled that this is the case.
The records of those years aren't even able to state how many nuns were living in the nunneries, it would seem the same is not true for the monks.
What a great shame.
We stopped off at a couple of the small churches along the way, in the second one it was decided to have a snack. I'd eaten most of my flask of soup at lunch, when I'd realised most of my lentils appeared to have jammed themselves immovably into the flask, but when we stopped in the church I thought I'd have a go and shaking them loose. Rachael held the mug and I shook the flask. Result! Lentil evacuation!
I started upon my lentils and promptly started to choke. I was in a church, I was down a pew, there was no swift exit to go cough quietly outside. I tried to cough quietly but realised this was not dislodging damn lentil. I motioned to Rachael and only managed to utter the word "water" whilst waving my hand to try and indicate my water bottle was empty. She dove into my bad, held up my bottle and told me it was empty. I nodded furiously, coughing copiously and the gentleman in the pew behind said "easy, love". Which didn't help.
Rachael finally handed me water, my eyes were streaming, my throat burning. After a swallow of water I managed to say that I needed to get out of the church so I could really cough.
I might be an atheist, but a coughing fit still seems really inappropriate in a church!
It's safe to say I did not need the heimlich, but my goodness my throat was sore right through till when I went to bed!
This morning Rachael and I headed out to Wragby to walk another 6 miles around the Lincolnshire Limewoods and out to Goltho which is the site of another medieval village - in fact in the overhead photo in the link, you can clearly see the outlines of the village near the chapel in the centre of the picture.
I somehow managed to hurt my back yesterday, the ground was uneven and I think I twisted it, so it was really nice to have a walk on the flat today, although I hadn't anticipated the level of mud! At one point my feet were cloaked in it!
This was another walk with plenty of stops for information on the area. The Limewoods project is working with ancient woodlands and has actually purchased land and planted enormous numbers of trees in an effort to join the patches of woodland together. They are planting only native species and also making sure they are native to the area as well as the country.
There is something gratifying in seeing so much green land and not just that, but green land which is solely for the growth of trees. When it seems that so much land is being taken over by the need for housing I'm awed to see acre upon acre given totally to nature. Absolutely wonderful!
Less wonderful is the sunkissed neck I am currently sporting. It was windy so I tied up my hair, neglecting to realise this would leave my neck mighty naked and now it is a shade that matches the scarlet of my hair.
Speaking of which, I discovered that my car, Jeff, had a flat tyre this morning, so after the walk, I rang for the breakdown fellow to come and help me. It's not that I'm not capable of changing a tyre, but I was parked right up against the kerb and I actually had no idea how I was supposed to release the spare tyre from underneath the car as I'm completely without a manual! Anyway, the lovely man from the RAC arrived, rang me to say he was outside and I popped out to meet him. He climbed out of his van, pointed at me and said "Fantastic hair!" How very kind! Naturally he's right of course!
Whilst I was wandering around the woodlands I got a call from Dad to say he was being readmitted to the hospital, bless him. His sister, Rosemary, is staying at the moment and was able to sit with him as I was out in the middle of a field/wood, so once Jeff had a new wheel and the old tyre was declared ruined by the nail within it, I headed up to the hospital. Dad seems to be doing ok, but mightily fed up. I can't say I blame him, I'd hate the constant toing and froing, so hopefully, hopefully, hopefully this will be the last trip and they'll finally establish what is causing him to live with pain every day...
It was just a 6 mile walk, nothing too strenuous but there were a few hills, the majority of them of the steep variety, but one was of the long and winding variety that went on and on and on. There's something disheartening about climbing a hill that has no visible end.
We toured round deserted medieval villages, of which little remains but small mounds, but it's still fascinating to think of people living in these places, especially as evidence suggests that we were tramping along the exact same paths that they would have travelled.
The walk leader, a retired history teacher, was relating her feelings that it was a shame that none of this area had been subject to any excavation. She then went on to say that as far as she was able to ascertain no excavation had ever been done of any nunneries. Apparently it was believed we had 153 nunneries and of those, the exact location of 100 are known. But out of that 100 absolutely none have been excavated. It would seem that the archaeological/scientific worlds see no interest in sites which relate only to women.
I'm actually a little appalled that this is the case.
The records of those years aren't even able to state how many nuns were living in the nunneries, it would seem the same is not true for the monks.
What a great shame.
We stopped off at a couple of the small churches along the way, in the second one it was decided to have a snack. I'd eaten most of my flask of soup at lunch, when I'd realised most of my lentils appeared to have jammed themselves immovably into the flask, but when we stopped in the church I thought I'd have a go and shaking them loose. Rachael held the mug and I shook the flask. Result! Lentil evacuation!
I started upon my lentils and promptly started to choke. I was in a church, I was down a pew, there was no swift exit to go cough quietly outside. I tried to cough quietly but realised this was not dislodging damn lentil. I motioned to Rachael and only managed to utter the word "water" whilst waving my hand to try and indicate my water bottle was empty. She dove into my bad, held up my bottle and told me it was empty. I nodded furiously, coughing copiously and the gentleman in the pew behind said "easy, love". Which didn't help.
Rachael finally handed me water, my eyes were streaming, my throat burning. After a swallow of water I managed to say that I needed to get out of the church so I could really cough.
I might be an atheist, but a coughing fit still seems really inappropriate in a church!
It's safe to say I did not need the heimlich, but my goodness my throat was sore right through till when I went to bed!
This morning Rachael and I headed out to Wragby to walk another 6 miles around the Lincolnshire Limewoods and out to Goltho which is the site of another medieval village - in fact in the overhead photo in the link, you can clearly see the outlines of the village near the chapel in the centre of the picture.
I somehow managed to hurt my back yesterday, the ground was uneven and I think I twisted it, so it was really nice to have a walk on the flat today, although I hadn't anticipated the level of mud! At one point my feet were cloaked in it!
This was another walk with plenty of stops for information on the area. The Limewoods project is working with ancient woodlands and has actually purchased land and planted enormous numbers of trees in an effort to join the patches of woodland together. They are planting only native species and also making sure they are native to the area as well as the country.
There is something gratifying in seeing so much green land and not just that, but green land which is solely for the growth of trees. When it seems that so much land is being taken over by the need for housing I'm awed to see acre upon acre given totally to nature. Absolutely wonderful!
Less wonderful is the sunkissed neck I am currently sporting. It was windy so I tied up my hair, neglecting to realise this would leave my neck mighty naked and now it is a shade that matches the scarlet of my hair.
Speaking of which, I discovered that my car, Jeff, had a flat tyre this morning, so after the walk, I rang for the breakdown fellow to come and help me. It's not that I'm not capable of changing a tyre, but I was parked right up against the kerb and I actually had no idea how I was supposed to release the spare tyre from underneath the car as I'm completely without a manual! Anyway, the lovely man from the RAC arrived, rang me to say he was outside and I popped out to meet him. He climbed out of his van, pointed at me and said "Fantastic hair!" How very kind! Naturally he's right of course!
Whilst I was wandering around the woodlands I got a call from Dad to say he was being readmitted to the hospital, bless him. His sister, Rosemary, is staying at the moment and was able to sit with him as I was out in the middle of a field/wood, so once Jeff had a new wheel and the old tyre was declared ruined by the nail within it, I headed up to the hospital. Dad seems to be doing ok, but mightily fed up. I can't say I blame him, I'd hate the constant toing and froing, so hopefully, hopefully, hopefully this will be the last trip and they'll finally establish what is causing him to live with pain every day...
Monday, 4 May 2009
Lincoln County Hospital
I got a call from my Dad yesterday to say he'd been having chest pains, had rung the Out of Hours service who had in turn rung an ambulance for him.
Unsure of what was going to happen and assured he didn't want me to meet him at the hospital, I waited a while and rang the hospital.
They'd decided to keep him overnight and do some tests, getting ill on a weekend is one thing, but getting ill on a Bank Holiday weekend is a different adventure. Doctors? Few and far between.
Everything slows to a halt.
Dad informed me today that the pharmacy was closed. In a hospital. Where they never need any kind of pharmaceuticals. I'm lost for words.
Anyway, I popped in to see Dad, find out what had been said and just keep him company for a little while.
We sat and chatted and after a little a strange noise started from behind the curtains of the patient across the ward.
It was like two glasses touching and the table on which they were sitting was being repeatedly shaken. After a few minutes I started to become concerned, the noise wasn't abating and there were no nurses heading in his direction.
I squinted across the ward, trying to see through the small gap in the curtain, becoming concerned that whoever was in there was convulsing or something.
Eventually I made out that they were sitting upright, but still the shaking noise continued.
Several minutes later a voice came from behind the curtain "Nurse!"
It was clear something was wrong.
His bed was maybe 12 feet from the nurses station. They were all standing and talking, they had to have heard him, but no-one responded.
Half a minute later he shouted again.
Still no-one responded.
At this point I'm wondering if I should interfere, does this make me a nosy old bat?
He shouted again for a nurse.
He was ignored again.
Finally, after another minute he shouted for the fourth time for help.
This time he got a response. A barely concealed angry response of "You'll have to bear with us for a minute!"
At this point it's probably a good ten minutes since the noise of shaking started.
No-one has been anywhere near him.
Minutes pass. At what point, do you interfere?
He shouts again and someone new has entered the ward, she pulls back the curtain in response to his shout.
The gentleman is leaning against the table, his whole body shaking violently as if frozen to the bone.
A shout goes out for help, another shout goes out for an ECG, they ask him if he's had a heart attack before. Maybe he's having a heart attack. The only word he can get out is "cold".
So there he has been, shouting for help, for at least ten minutes, and now they're worried he's having a heart attack.
When they're helping him, finally, it's not an appropriate time to go and smash their heads together, but damn they need it.
This was the Emergency Assessment Unit, which means they have been admitted, as emergencies to be assessed as to what the cause of their complaint is. As such, when you don't know what's wrong, is it appropriate to ignore not one, or two, but four pleas for help?
After the abysmal care I witnessed in the weeks I spent in hospital, working my way round, seemingly, most of the wards there, I don't know how I manage to remain surprised. But I am. Sometimes I just don't understand the choice of career.
I can honestly say, that in all the time, in all the wards, I can count on one hand the number of good nurses I came across. And I don't even need to use all the fingers on that hand.
I spent time on a ward where the nurses kept patients waiting up to 80 minutes for morphine. Morphine, not paracetamol. Morphine. People dealing with serious pain, barely able to move or speak and denied pain relief because nurses had a bed to make.
I'm grateful that the NHS exists, I truly am, but the standard of care saddens me more often than I'd like.
Hopefully I'll get to take Dad home tomorrow, once the Bank Holiday is over and the world returns to normal, he'll be able to get some answers and get out of there and finally make a full recovery.
I just hope his biggest concern tonight is whether there's a snorer on his ward or not.
Unsure of what was going to happen and assured he didn't want me to meet him at the hospital, I waited a while and rang the hospital.
They'd decided to keep him overnight and do some tests, getting ill on a weekend is one thing, but getting ill on a Bank Holiday weekend is a different adventure. Doctors? Few and far between.
Everything slows to a halt.
Dad informed me today that the pharmacy was closed. In a hospital. Where they never need any kind of pharmaceuticals. I'm lost for words.
Anyway, I popped in to see Dad, find out what had been said and just keep him company for a little while.
We sat and chatted and after a little a strange noise started from behind the curtains of the patient across the ward.
It was like two glasses touching and the table on which they were sitting was being repeatedly shaken. After a few minutes I started to become concerned, the noise wasn't abating and there were no nurses heading in his direction.
I squinted across the ward, trying to see through the small gap in the curtain, becoming concerned that whoever was in there was convulsing or something.
Eventually I made out that they were sitting upright, but still the shaking noise continued.
Several minutes later a voice came from behind the curtain "Nurse!"
It was clear something was wrong.
His bed was maybe 12 feet from the nurses station. They were all standing and talking, they had to have heard him, but no-one responded.
Half a minute later he shouted again.
Still no-one responded.
At this point I'm wondering if I should interfere, does this make me a nosy old bat?
He shouted again for a nurse.
He was ignored again.
Finally, after another minute he shouted for the fourth time for help.
This time he got a response. A barely concealed angry response of "You'll have to bear with us for a minute!"
At this point it's probably a good ten minutes since the noise of shaking started.
No-one has been anywhere near him.
Minutes pass. At what point, do you interfere?
He shouts again and someone new has entered the ward, she pulls back the curtain in response to his shout.
The gentleman is leaning against the table, his whole body shaking violently as if frozen to the bone.
A shout goes out for help, another shout goes out for an ECG, they ask him if he's had a heart attack before. Maybe he's having a heart attack. The only word he can get out is "cold".
So there he has been, shouting for help, for at least ten minutes, and now they're worried he's having a heart attack.
When they're helping him, finally, it's not an appropriate time to go and smash their heads together, but damn they need it.
This was the Emergency Assessment Unit, which means they have been admitted, as emergencies to be assessed as to what the cause of their complaint is. As such, when you don't know what's wrong, is it appropriate to ignore not one, or two, but four pleas for help?
After the abysmal care I witnessed in the weeks I spent in hospital, working my way round, seemingly, most of the wards there, I don't know how I manage to remain surprised. But I am. Sometimes I just don't understand the choice of career.
I can honestly say, that in all the time, in all the wards, I can count on one hand the number of good nurses I came across. And I don't even need to use all the fingers on that hand.
I spent time on a ward where the nurses kept patients waiting up to 80 minutes for morphine. Morphine, not paracetamol. Morphine. People dealing with serious pain, barely able to move or speak and denied pain relief because nurses had a bed to make.
I'm grateful that the NHS exists, I truly am, but the standard of care saddens me more often than I'd like.
Hopefully I'll get to take Dad home tomorrow, once the Bank Holiday is over and the world returns to normal, he'll be able to get some answers and get out of there and finally make a full recovery.
I just hope his biggest concern tonight is whether there's a snorer on his ward or not.
Monday, 20 April 2009
Brrm Brrrm
I've had my Mum and Step-Dad Tim staying with me for a week, it's so strange going from a house of two with Mifford & I to a house of five, including their dog Louis.
I had to remember to close the bathroom door!
Am I alone in this, but I just never bother as I'm living alone, am I weird?
Am I alone in this, but I just never bother as I'm living alone, am I weird?
Well, I know I am, but still...
The really cool thing was that I got to try out lots of different recipes. As a single girl, I don't really bother to cook much for myself, so many recipes make family sized portions and you can't really get a quarter of an egg, you know?
So, I've updated my Food Blog with the lovely things I made, like Lemon & Asparagus Risotto, Blueberry Bagels, Pavlova Roulade with Rose Water Mascarpone, Pak Choi with Cashews, and more...
I think I'll be back to the old cup a soup and pasta from now on.
So, I've updated my Food Blog with the lovely things I made, like Lemon & Asparagus Risotto, Blueberry Bagels, Pavlova Roulade with Rose Water Mascarpone, Pak Choi with Cashews, and more...
I think I'll be back to the old cup a soup and pasta from now on.
I also finally managed to find a new car. It was so much harder than I ever anticipated it would be.
Tim & I went browsing for cars last Monday. All day we drove around and I spent many a minute berating this vehicle:
It's not a pretty thing is it? It's an ugly car said I. I'd never have one of those said I.
We arrived at about the last garage of the day and one sat in the forecourt. Once again I reiterated how ugly it was, but joined Tim in his peering in through the window.
"It has three seats in the front!" I squealed.
"Yes" says Tim.
"But that means there's room for me, my handbag AND a passenger upfront! I think I want one! How much is it?"
Tim looks at me and I realise I have done nothing but whine about this car for most of the day.
I have been swayed by the fact it has a seat for my handbag. It's not even that big of a handbag.
But not only that, it's huge, it's basically a van with seating.
Then I discover that the back of the middle front seat folds flat and provides you with a tray and drinks holders. I am smitten. Gone are my loathings for its ugly exterior.
It has a tray! And room for a handbag!
I didn't buy one. It was bloody expensive on the old insurance. Damn shame.
Anyway, I collect Jeff tomorrow, that's the name of my new car.
I'm not sure why I called her Jeff, it just suits her. Even though she's a she and Jeff's clearly the name of a he.
I am suffering with a combination of excitement and sadness.
I am excited to share some adventures with Jeff and to experiment exactly how much stuff I can fit into her spacious interior, but I am sad that the Beastie and I will have to part ways. Tomorrow is the last day I will be able to drive her and I am going to miss her terribly. I enjoyed driving out of town earlier today, in the outside lane, zooming up the hill, engine revving, aware this might be the last time I'm able to win a race up that hill. Dropping from a 2 litre engine to a 1.4 is going to sting a little. I am telling myself that Jeff is lighter than Beastie and will be able to attain a similar level of speed.
Harriet sent me a text to say she'd seen a Jeff-a-like on the motorway, going very fast. She also seems to be excited by the spacious, van-like interior. We are going to be dangerous.
Speaking of Harriet, I went with her today to an ultrasound scan. I totally saw that little, very little, baby of hers put up a hand for a high five. It's true, there's even a photograph.
The garden is full of seedlings. I am beyond excited. Well, with the exception of the Ambassador Pea which is either really lazy or completely useless. Everything else is pushing its way through the soil in an effort to please me.
Also while Mum & Tim were here, my garden got a bit of a facelift, the lawn was edged and, once the lawn becomes lawn, rather than a home for all weeds, it'll be complete.
Oh! My finger didn't drop off! I attack it with a blender and still it remains strong! It also remains bloody sore, but heck, shove a blade through any part of you and it's likely to smart for a while. I think the fact that I sliced right through the nail and nail bed is what's most sore, it's like having a horrible bruise right under my nail. Nice.
That's all folks.... I won't leave it so long next time... honest!
Tuesday, 7 April 2009
Try As I Might, Sometimes I Just Never Learn...
So, I think I've mentioned before that I'm really squeamish. Forgive me if I'm repeating myself, I did a bit of a search through my blog and I hope I'm not.
Anyway, this is my life. I've always struggled with blood and injury and that light headed feeling I instantly get which means I usually have to lay down for a bit.
Some time ago I got a call from my nephew, he'd fallen from his bike and felt he needed to go to A & E, so I hopped in the car, picked him up and we went on our way. We hung around for a bit until the doctor was free. Finally they called his name and we trotted through to be seen. Well I walked and he hobbled. He explained to the doctor how he had pain in both his knee and his wrist. I felt myself starting to get warm. Which is the first warning sign. The doctor started to manipulate his wrist and my nephew winced. Let's bear in mind, that there's no blood. Not a single droplet, just an invisible injury.
I said I'd just step outside of the curtain and wait for him.
I can't have looked good as I leant against a nearby wall as a nurse appeared and asked if I was ok. She had me sit down and I realised my hearing and vision were both a little fuzzy. A short while later my nephew reappeared, no serious injury having been sustained, he was just going to be pretty sore for a bit.
So now, let's remember that I have brought my nephew to the hospital because he is injured. I have no illness or injury.
So with this in mind the doctor suggests my nephew go and collect a wheelchair, in which to push me back to the car.
I'm ashamed.
I did, however, walk very slowly to the car on my own two feet.
What's weird is this. Many years ago I lived in a, shall we say, less savoury area. Personally, I didn't really have any serious problems, but there were some rough elements. I'd had a neighbour move in and she wasn't really the kind of neighbour you dream of and on this particular occasion there was some serious partying going on. The music was loud, I'd banged on the wall at midnight or sometime thereafter, needing to be at work in the morning it was getting more and more frustrating. Finally at some hour more like morning than night, the party still showed no sign of abating and I called the police. I had to almost plead for them to come out but they finally arrived and told them that the noise really had to quieten down. I could hear my neighbour screaming and calling me names through the wall and wasn't entirely looking forward to the next day.
The music died down and I sat in my lounge just trying to calm down before going to bed. There was still a lot of shouting going on next door and suddenly a door slammed, I looked out the window, saw a man stumble down the drive then lay down in the road. I debated what to do, deciding he was clearly very drunk and couldn't be left in the road when I heard, very clearly, through the wall "I can't believe you've stabbed him".
Shit.
I thrust my feet into trainers, ran into the street in my snowman pyjamas and discovered he was gone from the road. I looked down the street and he was stumbling along. I cautiously approached from behind, making sure no one else was coming from the party. He stopped, turned round and looked at me. Blood had soaked through his t-shirt and shirt and was dripping to the floor. It clearly wasn't good.
I uttered the immortal words "Are you ok?" (I mean obviously he had to be feeling great right?)
He looked at me and said "I've been stabbed. Have you got a light?"
I think he was committed to his cigarettes.
A random stranger had arrived, rung for the police and an ambulance. I made the guy sit down and told the stranger not to let him move while I ran home, grabbed tea-towels and ran back and did that whole applying pressure to a wound thing. But it's different when it's not just a tissue to a spot you picked.
That's a shit load of blood from a stabbing.
Weird thing though, not once did I feel faint. It never fails to amaze me how the human body will block out a normal reaction. It floods you with adrenaline and you feel like you can do anything. Until it's over, then it's one hell of a come down. I remember standing there in the street as he was driven off in the ambulance and the police took away the girl that had stabbed him, I was exhausted and suddenly alone. And really quite lost. I had no idea what to even do with what had just happened.
As an addendum to that, I later found out she'd taken a large kitchen knife and gone right through one of his lungs.
I saw him again, spoke to him and said how good it was to see him up and about, he looked down his nose at me and didn't even bother to speak. Nice guy. I felt a brief, insincere moment of regret for having helped him.
A second addendum would be that some time later there was a serious hammering on my front door, I ran down and came face to face with someone I didn't know, but someone that had clearly taken a bit of a beating. She begged me to call the police, the guy that had been stabbed had come back, and was currently next door beating up my neighbour.
I don't miss living there.
Anyway, it is clear that in times of trouble I am able to cope with injury. Given time to think about it I don't cope at all well. Which is unfortunate as I suffer so very many injuries myself.
Which leads me to this weekend.
I had some carrots and parsnips in the fridge that were borderline, so I decided to whizz them up into a soup and freeze portions of it. I'm working on being frugal, it feels good.
I let the carrots and parsnips simmer away and when they were ready I took out my hand blender and whizzed away with it, I love how the texture of the soup changes, as it becomes more velvety as the vegetables are liquidised.
Some time ago, I made soup and very foolishly didn't remove the pan from the stove before whizzing it with the hand blender, this meant the plastic got pretty soft and a little deformed.
As I was liquidising the carrots and parsnips I found myself wondering if the plastic was soft again and if I could pull it back into shape.
I pulled it out of the soup, placed my thumb and forefinger against it and pulled. Unfortunately, the thumb of my other hand was still resting against the on switch and the movement of pulling on the base pressed the switch against my thumb. The blender whizzed into action.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
I felt it hit against my finger.
No pain, just that feeling of impact. I pulled my hand away, dropped the blender and looked away.
Had I chopped my finger off? I really didn't want to know.
I braved a glance. Finger red, but in place.
Here's a question, why is it our first instinct to stick that in our mouth?
I ran upstairs to grab a plaster, hoping that was all I'd need. Sadly as soon as I removed my finger from my mouth it started to drip. This couldn't be good.
I am, at times, my mothers daughter and knew I had to have sterile gauze swabs somewhere.
I flung a gauze swab around it, applied pressure and went to lay on the sofa before I fell down. I just can't cope, but strangely, if anyone else had been around I would have been as bad. Since I was small I've hated and squeaked anytime anyone came near an injury.
I'm sure my Mum will read this at some point and it's safe to say that if she ever said she promised she wouldn't rip the plaster off, she'd go ahead and rip the plaster off. If she said she wouldn't touch, that pretty much meant she was going to touch. I remember many occasions.
"I've got a splinter"
"Let me see..."
"You'll touch it"
"I won't"
"Do you promise you won't touch it?"
"I won't touch it"
"Okayyyyyyy, but don't touch it, just look"
Then before you know it, your finger is in a stranglehold and the tweezers are upon you. You know it's true, Mum!
Still, it was quicker than the extraction of a splinter in my current life, which involves having a poke, feeling faint, needing a lay down, having another prod with tweezers, feeling nauseous. I'm really that pathetic. I am shamed by it, really I am.
"You live and learn or you don't live very long."
Anyway, this is my life. I've always struggled with blood and injury and that light headed feeling I instantly get which means I usually have to lay down for a bit.
Some time ago I got a call from my nephew, he'd fallen from his bike and felt he needed to go to A & E, so I hopped in the car, picked him up and we went on our way. We hung around for a bit until the doctor was free. Finally they called his name and we trotted through to be seen. Well I walked and he hobbled. He explained to the doctor how he had pain in both his knee and his wrist. I felt myself starting to get warm. Which is the first warning sign. The doctor started to manipulate his wrist and my nephew winced. Let's bear in mind, that there's no blood. Not a single droplet, just an invisible injury.
I said I'd just step outside of the curtain and wait for him.
I can't have looked good as I leant against a nearby wall as a nurse appeared and asked if I was ok. She had me sit down and I realised my hearing and vision were both a little fuzzy. A short while later my nephew reappeared, no serious injury having been sustained, he was just going to be pretty sore for a bit.
So now, let's remember that I have brought my nephew to the hospital because he is injured. I have no illness or injury.
So with this in mind the doctor suggests my nephew go and collect a wheelchair, in which to push me back to the car.
I'm ashamed.
I did, however, walk very slowly to the car on my own two feet.
What's weird is this. Many years ago I lived in a, shall we say, less savoury area. Personally, I didn't really have any serious problems, but there were some rough elements. I'd had a neighbour move in and she wasn't really the kind of neighbour you dream of and on this particular occasion there was some serious partying going on. The music was loud, I'd banged on the wall at midnight or sometime thereafter, needing to be at work in the morning it was getting more and more frustrating. Finally at some hour more like morning than night, the party still showed no sign of abating and I called the police. I had to almost plead for them to come out but they finally arrived and told them that the noise really had to quieten down. I could hear my neighbour screaming and calling me names through the wall and wasn't entirely looking forward to the next day.
The music died down and I sat in my lounge just trying to calm down before going to bed. There was still a lot of shouting going on next door and suddenly a door slammed, I looked out the window, saw a man stumble down the drive then lay down in the road. I debated what to do, deciding he was clearly very drunk and couldn't be left in the road when I heard, very clearly, through the wall "I can't believe you've stabbed him".
Shit.
I thrust my feet into trainers, ran into the street in my snowman pyjamas and discovered he was gone from the road. I looked down the street and he was stumbling along. I cautiously approached from behind, making sure no one else was coming from the party. He stopped, turned round and looked at me. Blood had soaked through his t-shirt and shirt and was dripping to the floor. It clearly wasn't good.
I uttered the immortal words "Are you ok?" (I mean obviously he had to be feeling great right?)
He looked at me and said "I've been stabbed. Have you got a light?"
I think he was committed to his cigarettes.
A random stranger had arrived, rung for the police and an ambulance. I made the guy sit down and told the stranger not to let him move while I ran home, grabbed tea-towels and ran back and did that whole applying pressure to a wound thing. But it's different when it's not just a tissue to a spot you picked.
That's a shit load of blood from a stabbing.
Weird thing though, not once did I feel faint. It never fails to amaze me how the human body will block out a normal reaction. It floods you with adrenaline and you feel like you can do anything. Until it's over, then it's one hell of a come down. I remember standing there in the street as he was driven off in the ambulance and the police took away the girl that had stabbed him, I was exhausted and suddenly alone. And really quite lost. I had no idea what to even do with what had just happened.
As an addendum to that, I later found out she'd taken a large kitchen knife and gone right through one of his lungs.
I saw him again, spoke to him and said how good it was to see him up and about, he looked down his nose at me and didn't even bother to speak. Nice guy. I felt a brief, insincere moment of regret for having helped him.
A second addendum would be that some time later there was a serious hammering on my front door, I ran down and came face to face with someone I didn't know, but someone that had clearly taken a bit of a beating. She begged me to call the police, the guy that had been stabbed had come back, and was currently next door beating up my neighbour.
I don't miss living there.
Anyway, it is clear that in times of trouble I am able to cope with injury. Given time to think about it I don't cope at all well. Which is unfortunate as I suffer so very many injuries myself.
Which leads me to this weekend.
I had some carrots and parsnips in the fridge that were borderline, so I decided to whizz them up into a soup and freeze portions of it. I'm working on being frugal, it feels good.
I let the carrots and parsnips simmer away and when they were ready I took out my hand blender and whizzed away with it, I love how the texture of the soup changes, as it becomes more velvety as the vegetables are liquidised.
Some time ago, I made soup and very foolishly didn't remove the pan from the stove before whizzing it with the hand blender, this meant the plastic got pretty soft and a little deformed.
As I was liquidising the carrots and parsnips I found myself wondering if the plastic was soft again and if I could pull it back into shape.
I pulled it out of the soup, placed my thumb and forefinger against it and pulled. Unfortunately, the thumb of my other hand was still resting against the on switch and the movement of pulling on the base pressed the switch against my thumb. The blender whizzed into action.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
I felt it hit against my finger.
No pain, just that feeling of impact. I pulled my hand away, dropped the blender and looked away.
Had I chopped my finger off? I really didn't want to know.
I braved a glance. Finger red, but in place.
Here's a question, why is it our first instinct to stick that in our mouth?
I ran upstairs to grab a plaster, hoping that was all I'd need. Sadly as soon as I removed my finger from my mouth it started to drip. This couldn't be good.
I am, at times, my mothers daughter and knew I had to have sterile gauze swabs somewhere.
I flung a gauze swab around it, applied pressure and went to lay on the sofa before I fell down. I just can't cope, but strangely, if anyone else had been around I would have been as bad. Since I was small I've hated and squeaked anytime anyone came near an injury.
I'm sure my Mum will read this at some point and it's safe to say that if she ever said she promised she wouldn't rip the plaster off, she'd go ahead and rip the plaster off. If she said she wouldn't touch, that pretty much meant she was going to touch. I remember many occasions.
"I've got a splinter"
"Let me see..."
"You'll touch it"
"I won't"
"Do you promise you won't touch it?"
"I won't touch it"
"Okayyyyyyy, but don't touch it, just look"
Then before you know it, your finger is in a stranglehold and the tweezers are upon you. You know it's true, Mum!
Still, it was quicker than the extraction of a splinter in my current life, which involves having a poke, feeling faint, needing a lay down, having another prod with tweezers, feeling nauseous. I'm really that pathetic. I am shamed by it, really I am.
I read a quote the other day, I didn't catch the author of it but I think I might be the exception that proves the rule:
"You live and learn or you don't live very long."
Friday, 6 March 2009
A Lot To Say
I'm feeling in an organised sort of mood today so I'm putting my thoughts out there in an organised manner. Tomorrow I'll be back to flitting, hell it might be this afternoon. I'm an unpredictable sort.
So:
So:
- Mum and Tim are in New Zealand. They're vacationing. And they're blogging it here. Just to make sure you feel the envy. Although, the sun is shining and the sky is blue here. It's just that if you were to try flip-flops you'd risk frostbite. Damn it.
- I'm going to a ceilidh tonight. I've never been or seen a ceilidh where there hasn't also been an injury. To date the injured person has not been me, which in itself is a minor miracle, so I'm wondering if my time has come.
- I went in a chatroom last week, for the first time in years and years. I'm regularly complaining about the world of txtspk, I do loathe it so, but anyway, so there I am in the chatroom, receiving a few private messages. To be honest, over the course of the evening I probably had about 30 guys contact me to say hello. No wait, with just a couple of exceptions they contacted me to say ASL. Some of them didn't bother to say hello. Just straight in there with the Age/Sex/Location. Personally I'd have thought that the 'Lady' part of the moniker I was using would have given the middle part of that set of questions away. But it seems not. I pointed out that I thought it was generally considered bad manners to ask a lady her age, to which one responded that he had to check I wasn't underage. Which is a fair point, but it doesn't really excuse it, unless he also believes that each and every person on the planet tells the truth all the time. Hmm, I think not. Seriously though, what's up with that? No small talk? No, Hi, how are you, have you had a good day? Do they approach people in the real world and say "How old are you, are you really a chick and where do you live?" No, they would get short shrift. (I just looked up shrift and it wasn't a definition I expected). There's something about the 'virtual world' that makes people feel they can be less polite, that it's ok to just say "Hi, what are you wearing?" It's weird, because real world or virtual world, I'm not telling someone I don't know the colour of my underwear. I guess I'm just old-fashioned.
- Or not. I did go and get another tattoo after all. I am having difficulties obtaining a photograph. I used an assistant last night and his photographic abilities sucked. I have been outskilled in the blurry photo ability. On the upside, I do love my tattoo, which is a bonus really as it's never going away!
- I have a question about smelly people. Why do they always stand so close to you? I like my personal space, I do, I hate it when you're in a queue and they're almost pressed against you, but when they also smell bad it's just dreadful. The other day I stood in a local shop waiting to be served and a lady joined the queue behind me, almost immediately I smelt her and took a step forward, slightly turning to place my basket between her and I, to better protect my poor nose. This didn't help, I assumed the usual posture, free hand moved to just below the nose as you pretend to stroke/play with your lip and try not to breathe. I glanced behind me and saw that the lady behind the smelly one had assumed an identical posture. The people being served were taking a while, I toyed with the idea of leaving the queue, feigning having forgotten something, but maybe I'd be served any second, did I have time to stand again at the end of a queue of increasing length?
The thing is, the smell is so often of unwashed clothes and unwashed body. It's not a smell of exercise just completed, it's a smell that has accumulated for days and I hesitate to say weeks, and it saddens me. Do they know? Do they care? I think most of us would be horrified to discover that people around us thought we smelt bad. - One more thing about people. The TV channel Living have been screening the original CSI, beginning from Season One every night of the week, it's not on till late evening so I prefer to record it. As a result when I sit down to grab some lunch or just chill out for half an hour and turn on the TV, it is set to Living, daytime Living shows a lot of Jerry Springer and Maury. I want to know, is any of it real? It is all fictional? Because honestly, some of those stories, they just don't compute. One chick: "Hi Maury, I'm here for the third time to test three more men, because I'm sure one of them HAS to be the father of my child." On this occasion, it was taking her tried total to 7. Seven men that could potentially be the father of her child. I mean, she's been wrong four times already, what if she's wrong three more times, exactly how high a number can she even achieve? It gives me the fear. I need soothing and reassuring they're all actors.
- I think I have an addiction to store loyalty cards. No really. My friend Harriet, my niece Chloe and I compare how many Dividend Points we have on our Co-Op cards. When I got my letter from the Co-Op telling me what I'd earned and how much of a bonus they were going to give me, I was genuinely excited. It has become like a competition. Harriet sent me a text to tell me she'd broken the £15 mark and was irrationally excited. I'm just pence away from hitting £30. I'm a terrible saver, but these points, which are, in essence, free money, well I take pride in them. I can't bring myself to spend them. I must hoard them, see how high I can make that figure. When the offers come out I'm there, getting my 5X points on local produce or fair trade, just so I can see how much more I've accumulated. Yesterday I got an email, telling me about my Nectar card - which I use in Sainsburys - saying I could sign up for more points, just spend £5 on fruit & veg and 100 extra points would be mine. There was also a link to show me what I could spend my points on. Now I have a Nectar card obsession, I have to choose what I can save for! I have gone beyond sad, to lands undiscovered. I'd say I needed to get a life, but I actually quite like the one I have. Even with its loyalty card addiction.
- This weekend is one of Lincoln's Free Weekends. It's a brilliant idea, you can visit the tourist attractions and get free entry. So, I'm heading to Doddington Hall with Rachael. Despite it being almost on my doorstep and driving past it regularly, I've never visited the actual hall. I was even there this week at the farm shop & cafe with Harriet.
She and I went to have lunch there, when we arrived it was a bit pricey so we weren't sure if we should stay, both of us being short of cash, but we thought we'd brave it. I ordered a Jerusalem artichoke risotto and was told it was gone but I could have mushroom risotto instead. As the only veggie option on the menu I couldn't argue. Harriet had a burger and when they came both meals were lovely, but we both felt overpriced. Our table was near the till which meant we could be surrounded by customers at times, so it wasn't a private dining situation. We're both cake fiends so we opted for dessert which was beautifully presented. We went to pay, Harriet handed over her card and I handed her half of the bill in cash. As we left Harriet swept ahead of me, I'd been intending to meander through the farm shop and have a browse but Harriet seemed to be in a hurry. She turned back to me and hurried me a little. We got to the car and she explained. I hadn't realised but we'd thought the meals were overpriced, then they undercharged us, so she'd been in a hurry to make a swift exit. Are we terrible? Sometimes I like to believe Karma bites you in the ass and sometimes it smiles on you.
Monday, 2 March 2009
Song Of The Week XLIX
I love lovefilm, I have so many movies on my list that half the time I have no idea what I've actually put on there and when the movies arrive I'm always a little surprised.
I don't remember adding this movie to my list but I must have done and I'm pleased I did, it was totally bonkers and really made me laugh and I found myself absolutely in love with this track from the movie.
Please Mr Jailer - From the movie Cry Baby
On the note of movies I went to see Helvetica last week. It was part of a World Cinema Season that I've mentioned before that's showing at a local venue. It's about the font Helvetica. I know right, how interesting can a movie about a font really be? Honestly? It was excellent. I'm really sorry that more people haven't seen this. It was funny and interesting, without once making me feel bored, or making me shuffle in my seat.
I really, really recommend it.
It also gave me a quote that I have fallen in love with:
Here I flit.
More flitting.
Further flitting.
Penultimate flit.
Last flit.
I'm asking for lots of good vibes to be sent to my little sister, Siobhan. She got hit by a van. While she was on her bike. This was not a fair fight. She's relatively ok, no broken bones and thanks to her helmet, no head injury. I believe she is sporting a number of bruises as well as a sprained wrist. So a few healing vibes would be great. Thanks!
I don't remember adding this movie to my list but I must have done and I'm pleased I did, it was totally bonkers and really made me laugh and I found myself absolutely in love with this track from the movie.
Please Mr Jailer - From the movie Cry Baby
On the note of movies I went to see Helvetica last week. It was part of a World Cinema Season that I've mentioned before that's showing at a local venue. It's about the font Helvetica. I know right, how interesting can a movie about a font really be? Honestly? It was excellent. I'm really sorry that more people haven't seen this. It was funny and interesting, without once making me feel bored, or making me shuffle in my seat.
I really, really recommend it.
It also gave me a quote that I have fallen in love with:
"Trying to look good limits my life."
How often is that true?
One guy in the movie had a wall of framed quotes behind him and I admit to being a bit distracted trying to read them all. I may have permanently damaged my vision by squinting so hard.
So, you may possibly have noticed, I have a butterfly brain, flitting from here to there and back again.
Here I flit.
I was in traffic, waiting at a red light, when I noticed the number plate of the car in front of me. It was on a car which was advertising a local dairy.
The plate was: MO0 4 You.
Really. Every time I think about it I smile. It's absolutely the best plate I've ever seen in my life.
More flitting.
I bought some books recently and I was chatting to the gentleman from whom I purchased them, he asked me about old bibles and what to do with them. I had no idea so he went and spoke to the local vicar, who advised him that bibles should be buried on consecrated ground. I had never heard of that. I'm wondering if that has always been the case. They had a funeral the next day, so the gravedigger also buried the bibles.
It quite fascinated me. I don't have a religion and it had never occurred to me there would be a proper way to dispose of bibles.
Further flitting.
I had an email recently, from a woman who complained that a book she had bought was a bit dusty. To be fair, if I were over 100 years old, I'd probably be a bit dusty too. I mean, really? Do you purchase something that is a century old and expect it to be as new?
Penultimate flit.
I'm going for another tattoo tomorrow. My friend Gary asked if I was planning to join the circus. That would be no. Not this week.
Although, that does lead me to wonder what my circus act would be.....
Last flit.
I'm asking for lots of good vibes to be sent to my little sister, Siobhan. She got hit by a van. While she was on her bike. This was not a fair fight. She's relatively ok, no broken bones and thanks to her helmet, no head injury. I believe she is sporting a number of bruises as well as a sprained wrist. So a few healing vibes would be great. Thanks!
Wednesday, 25 February 2009
Interviewed
Where does the time go?
Seriously?
It does more than fly, it moves at some sort of Star Trek warp speed.
I have no idea what that means, I've never seen Star Trek, but I think it's quite fast....
Anyway, I have a cold. I'm happy to share it around if anyone would like one. It comes complete with my usual hacking cough and I'm willing to also pass that on. My generosity is a weakness.
So, the last time I was here I got my interview questions from Sleepydumpling and now that I have a moment to breathe I'm going to answer them.
This is such a brilliant idea, I love it!
Q1. What was it that got you started with blogging? And what keeps you blogging?
I remember way back in 1998 reading The Diary of V and absolutely loving it. It was a fictional diary and the word blog didn't really exist back then - or at least I never heard it, but I'd go and religiously check for a new entry to see what was going on with her, it was like reading a really long book and I loved the idea of it. It stopped being written back in 2006 and I think it was around then that I started reading some of the other blogs that were around, both fictional and real, slowly finding more and more and being a little envious of how funny people were! But I also really liked finding a group of people that wrote without resorting to txtspk and also knew how to spell.
I wasn't sure that I had anything to say, or even that I would be entertaining, or amusing, or in fact not fickle enough to give it up after the first week.
I started a blog on myspace, but found it really limiting and moved on over here where I could do a little more.
I enjoy the interaction with other people around the world, which isn't something you get to do everyday in normal life. I was always a little awed by other bloggers and really nervous of commenting on their blogs! But I've braved that this year and it's probably that which keeps me blogging, getting comments, knowing what I've written has been read and possibly enjoyed!
Q2. What did/do your parents think of your tattoos?
I think it's safe to say that in this case, actions would speak louder than words and the action would be a large frown! My body is mine to do with what I please but I think there was always a concern I would regret my decision to be tattooed. Maybe not today or next year, but possibly in another 30 years. I don't believe that I will but I also think that I can't hold off on doing something today because of an effect it could possibly, maybe, perhaps have when I'm elderly - so long as it's not bad for my health!
Q3. What would you say the greatest inspiration has been in your life?
That's a really hard one. I've been through psychotherapy and I think the realisation that who I am is just fine. I can be eccentric, unreasonable, angry, happy, wild, adventurous, loud, quiet, tattooed, scarlet-haired, ditzy, organised, opinionated etc, etc, etc, has inspired me to be whatever I want to be and not apologise for not being mainstream. That said, I've always rather revered those that didn't follow convention in some way. Back in my school years I remember learning about Albert Schweitzer and being amazed by this man, who gave up what could have been a very prosperous life to train as a doctor to go out and help with medical care in Lambarene. He was a vegetarian who reportedly lived surrounded by animals and this undoubtedly appealed to me. As did his work 'Reverence for Life'. I remember trying to memorise quotes for my examination essays and one with I think has been paraphrased through history is:
"I am life that wills to live, in the midst of other life that also wills to live, when I acknowledge and respect all life, then will to live becomes will to love"
Those words have always resonated with me, respect life.
Have courage to go your own way.
Great lessons and certainly an inspiration to me.
Q4. What is your earliest memory?
It's always been the same thing, my Dad coming to collect me from my Mum's house, usually quite late (by a small child's reckoning), I'd be wrapped in a blanket and put into the back of the car to head off for the weekend. I remember just feeling so sleepy, but warm. Always makes me smile!
Q5. You clearly love music. What would you say would be the songs that most define you?
You realise that this question makes my brain start to bleed a little? It's an incredibly hard question, there are so many songs with memories attached!
I think Lady Marmalade by Patti Labelle is almost the quintessential song. Although I don't use that name here, I've been Lady Marmalade online since back in 1996. I used to go to a good number of internet group meets and would be often introduced as Lady M. I swear Lady M almost became a different persona!
It was understood that if that track was ever played in a club my friends were obligated to go dance with me! By the way, I hadn't appreciated, when I chose Lady Marmalade as a screen name, that she was essentially a prostitute. That is definitely no reflection on my good self!
The song Black Betty by Ram Jam will always remind me of being a nanny, driving down the road, playing it loud, windows open with the kids screaming "BAM-A-LAM". (I can't tell you how my eyes are watering as I laugh remembering that!)
I suspect I've said this before but I think the band Oige was my first introduction to folk music and the first moment I heard them, I knew what I'd been missing from the music everyone else was listening to on the radio. It was like coming home, there was fiddle, bodhran, tin whistle and pipes combined with beautiful, beautiful songs. Cara Dillon was the singer in Oige and do have a listen to P Stands For Paddy which will forever remain one of my favourite songs.
Folk music was really such an awakening, I'm slowly trying to draw more people into it and there does seem to be a real movement towards it. When I started going to the Cambridge Folk Festival tickets took weeks to sell out, now it's hours.
Oh my god, as I was thinking about music and this question, a memory surfaced, I clearly remember putting this vinyl single on and then I had to jump around for the length of it. I wonder where all that energy went?
I swear I could go on and on with songs... but I'll restrain myself!
So I guess it's time... if any of you are reading and fancy a five question interview, just say so and I'll pop over (once I've had some inspiration) and interview - minus the overhead spotlight obviously.
Seriously?
It does more than fly, it moves at some sort of Star Trek warp speed.
I have no idea what that means, I've never seen Star Trek, but I think it's quite fast....
Anyway, I have a cold. I'm happy to share it around if anyone would like one. It comes complete with my usual hacking cough and I'm willing to also pass that on. My generosity is a weakness.
So, the last time I was here I got my interview questions from Sleepydumpling and now that I have a moment to breathe I'm going to answer them.
This is such a brilliant idea, I love it!
Q1. What was it that got you started with blogging? And what keeps you blogging?
I remember way back in 1998 reading The Diary of V and absolutely loving it. It was a fictional diary and the word blog didn't really exist back then - or at least I never heard it, but I'd go and religiously check for a new entry to see what was going on with her, it was like reading a really long book and I loved the idea of it. It stopped being written back in 2006 and I think it was around then that I started reading some of the other blogs that were around, both fictional and real, slowly finding more and more and being a little envious of how funny people were! But I also really liked finding a group of people that wrote without resorting to txtspk and also knew how to spell.
I wasn't sure that I had anything to say, or even that I would be entertaining, or amusing, or in fact not fickle enough to give it up after the first week.
I started a blog on myspace, but found it really limiting and moved on over here where I could do a little more.
I enjoy the interaction with other people around the world, which isn't something you get to do everyday in normal life. I was always a little awed by other bloggers and really nervous of commenting on their blogs! But I've braved that this year and it's probably that which keeps me blogging, getting comments, knowing what I've written has been read and possibly enjoyed!
Q2. What did/do your parents think of your tattoos?
I think it's safe to say that in this case, actions would speak louder than words and the action would be a large frown! My body is mine to do with what I please but I think there was always a concern I would regret my decision to be tattooed. Maybe not today or next year, but possibly in another 30 years. I don't believe that I will but I also think that I can't hold off on doing something today because of an effect it could possibly, maybe, perhaps have when I'm elderly - so long as it's not bad for my health!
Q3. What would you say the greatest inspiration has been in your life?
That's a really hard one. I've been through psychotherapy and I think the realisation that who I am is just fine. I can be eccentric, unreasonable, angry, happy, wild, adventurous, loud, quiet, tattooed, scarlet-haired, ditzy, organised, opinionated etc, etc, etc, has inspired me to be whatever I want to be and not apologise for not being mainstream. That said, I've always rather revered those that didn't follow convention in some way. Back in my school years I remember learning about Albert Schweitzer and being amazed by this man, who gave up what could have been a very prosperous life to train as a doctor to go out and help with medical care in Lambarene. He was a vegetarian who reportedly lived surrounded by animals and this undoubtedly appealed to me. As did his work 'Reverence for Life'. I remember trying to memorise quotes for my examination essays and one with I think has been paraphrased through history is:
"I am life that wills to live, in the midst of other life that also wills to live, when I acknowledge and respect all life, then will to live becomes will to love"
Those words have always resonated with me, respect life.
Have courage to go your own way.
Great lessons and certainly an inspiration to me.
Q4. What is your earliest memory?
It's always been the same thing, my Dad coming to collect me from my Mum's house, usually quite late (by a small child's reckoning), I'd be wrapped in a blanket and put into the back of the car to head off for the weekend. I remember just feeling so sleepy, but warm. Always makes me smile!
Q5. You clearly love music. What would you say would be the songs that most define you?
You realise that this question makes my brain start to bleed a little? It's an incredibly hard question, there are so many songs with memories attached!
I think Lady Marmalade by Patti Labelle is almost the quintessential song. Although I don't use that name here, I've been Lady Marmalade online since back in 1996. I used to go to a good number of internet group meets and would be often introduced as Lady M. I swear Lady M almost became a different persona!
It was understood that if that track was ever played in a club my friends were obligated to go dance with me! By the way, I hadn't appreciated, when I chose Lady Marmalade as a screen name, that she was essentially a prostitute. That is definitely no reflection on my good self!
The song Black Betty by Ram Jam will always remind me of being a nanny, driving down the road, playing it loud, windows open with the kids screaming "BAM-A-LAM". (I can't tell you how my eyes are watering as I laugh remembering that!)
I suspect I've said this before but I think the band Oige was my first introduction to folk music and the first moment I heard them, I knew what I'd been missing from the music everyone else was listening to on the radio. It was like coming home, there was fiddle, bodhran, tin whistle and pipes combined with beautiful, beautiful songs. Cara Dillon was the singer in Oige and do have a listen to P Stands For Paddy which will forever remain one of my favourite songs.
Folk music was really such an awakening, I'm slowly trying to draw more people into it and there does seem to be a real movement towards it. When I started going to the Cambridge Folk Festival tickets took weeks to sell out, now it's hours.
Oh my god, as I was thinking about music and this question, a memory surfaced, I clearly remember putting this vinyl single on and then I had to jump around for the length of it. I wonder where all that energy went?
I swear I could go on and on with songs... but I'll restrain myself!
So I guess it's time... if any of you are reading and fancy a five question interview, just say so and I'll pop over (once I've had some inspiration) and interview - minus the overhead spotlight obviously.
Saturday, 27 December 2008
Christmas And All That Went Before
It has been a while!
I have been both poorly and busy. Which is not an ideal combination.
Christmas came at a very inconvenient time to be fair.
I managed to pick up a mean cold/cough type of bug and was laid out for a whole weekend. On the upside I got through lots of lovely television that I had recorded on the hard drive so it was a good use of time really.
When's all said and done though, I'd rather the snot monster went next door in future.
Anyway! It is a testament to what a good girl I am that I was very lucky at Christmas, Santa looked fondly on me.
In fact our whole house appeared to have been good all year judging by Santa's kindness.
All manner of lovely gifts had my name on them, I've been able to reduce the size of my wishlist somewhat and am very grateful!
I'm also planning to finally get some new tattoos done, which is quite exciting, although it'll take time as the tattooist is renowned for being booked up for ages and ages.
What am I saying? I'm really bloody excited about getting them done and talking to the tattooist about some designs I have in mind that I haven't been able to draw up myself.
I'm just taking a moment to jump up on my soapbox.
This morning I popped downstairs, remembering the men were coming to empty the bins and that I had several sacks of recycling in the boot that needed to go into my bins.
I ran downstairs and upon going outside realised that someone had moved my bins which I though was odd. Thinking little more of it, I opened the boot and took out the sacks. I hauled them to my bins. Opened my bins, which I knew to be virtually empty and discovered them to be full to the brim. It's just bloody rude. Everyone has their own bin, so why the hell do they think they have the right to fill mine up too? I hope they get nits. And other itchy ailments, preferably ones I won't catch. They're going on the list.
But seriously, how hard is it to knock on my door and ask if I mind them shoving all their crap in my bins. Maybe I should give them a key so they can use my fridge if they run out of room in theirs?
And breathe.
I've just finished reading The Llama Parlour by Kathy Lette.
What I most regret is that I'll never get back the time I wasted on that book.
What I also regret is that I am also hating the current book I'm reading, but after 300 pages I still feel an obligation to finish it, despite the fact the central characters are two of the most shallow women I've ever read about. There were a few funny lines at the beginning, but now I just hope it bucks a trend and there's a terribly unhappy ending. I can but hope.
I need some fire bricks so that I can put a grate in my fireplace, so that I can make kindling from these 'novels'.
As a belated Christmas gift to the world I am giving you these:
I admit I have a celebrity crush on Adam Savage. I can't help it. He makes me laugh!
And that has to be my favourite explosion.
I have been both poorly and busy. Which is not an ideal combination.
Christmas came at a very inconvenient time to be fair.
I managed to pick up a mean cold/cough type of bug and was laid out for a whole weekend. On the upside I got through lots of lovely television that I had recorded on the hard drive so it was a good use of time really.
When's all said and done though, I'd rather the snot monster went next door in future.
Anyway! It is a testament to what a good girl I am that I was very lucky at Christmas, Santa looked fondly on me.
In fact our whole house appeared to have been good all year judging by Santa's kindness.
All manner of lovely gifts had my name on them, I've been able to reduce the size of my wishlist somewhat and am very grateful!
I'm also planning to finally get some new tattoos done, which is quite exciting, although it'll take time as the tattooist is renowned for being booked up for ages and ages.
What am I saying? I'm really bloody excited about getting them done and talking to the tattooist about some designs I have in mind that I haven't been able to draw up myself.
I'm just taking a moment to jump up on my soapbox.
This morning I popped downstairs, remembering the men were coming to empty the bins and that I had several sacks of recycling in the boot that needed to go into my bins.
I ran downstairs and upon going outside realised that someone had moved my bins which I though was odd. Thinking little more of it, I opened the boot and took out the sacks. I hauled them to my bins. Opened my bins, which I knew to be virtually empty and discovered them to be full to the brim. It's just bloody rude. Everyone has their own bin, so why the hell do they think they have the right to fill mine up too? I hope they get nits. And other itchy ailments, preferably ones I won't catch. They're going on the list.
But seriously, how hard is it to knock on my door and ask if I mind them shoving all their crap in my bins. Maybe I should give them a key so they can use my fridge if they run out of room in theirs?
And breathe.
I've just finished reading The Llama Parlour by Kathy Lette.
What I most regret is that I'll never get back the time I wasted on that book.
What I also regret is that I am also hating the current book I'm reading, but after 300 pages I still feel an obligation to finish it, despite the fact the central characters are two of the most shallow women I've ever read about. There were a few funny lines at the beginning, but now I just hope it bucks a trend and there's a terribly unhappy ending. I can but hope.
I need some fire bricks so that I can put a grate in my fireplace, so that I can make kindling from these 'novels'.
As a belated Christmas gift to the world I am giving you these:
I admit I have a celebrity crush on Adam Savage. I can't help it. He makes me laugh!
And that has to be my favourite explosion.
Now I have to think about New Years Resolutions......
Friday, 19 September 2008
NHS
I'm appalled by the current state of the National Health Service.
Well, I say current, it's been this way for some time.
My Dad is still in hospital, but thoughtfully they transferred him to another hospital on Thursday to have angioplasty. Then they cancelled it and decided to do it today instead. Then they cancelled that too.
So, there he is, in another hospital in another town which makes travelling and visiting very difficult.
Not only that, he's been told he shouldn't leave his room, which explains why the bitch nurse this afternoon told me I wasn't talking to him, she didn't explain, she just plain refused. That conversation didn't end well.
There's no TV in his room. It's a room he has all to himself. So there's no one to talk to. Just the walls, and their conversational ability is about zero.
I sense prisons have a little more interaction.
The best part about moving him to another hospital, now this is my absolute favourite part. They take him there, then he has to make his own way back. I kid you not. Here look, we're going to do some minor heart surgery, hop on a bus after won't you?
What to do? I have to drive over there to pick him up after the procedure - which has been re-booked for Monday, although Dad has little faith that anything is going to come of that. Another drive at the weekend to make sure he's not alone?
None of his friends and family are over there, going day after day without a familiar face is soul destroying, which isn't great when you're trying to get well in the first place.
I suppose petrol prices are the lowest I've seen in a while. I spotted 106.9 yesterday. It's still ridiculous and the Beastie is a hungry girl.
You can't believe that hospitals only really fully function Monday to Friday. I suppose those surgeons trained a long time and don't fancy working weekends.
I'm just so cross at this system, which just seems to have so many flaws.
And Nottingham City Hospital - your phone skills suck. No, that's not fair the skills on Morris Ward suck. To be fair if they even practiced answering the bloody phone once in a while that'd be great. Dad insists there are some lovely nurses there so I'm not aiming this at them... I'm aiming it at the bitch nurse I spoke to and the other damn folk that ignored the ringing phone. Multiple times.
You're going on the list!
Well, I say current, it's been this way for some time.
My Dad is still in hospital, but thoughtfully they transferred him to another hospital on Thursday to have angioplasty. Then they cancelled it and decided to do it today instead. Then they cancelled that too.
So, there he is, in another hospital in another town which makes travelling and visiting very difficult.
Not only that, he's been told he shouldn't leave his room, which explains why the bitch nurse this afternoon told me I wasn't talking to him, she didn't explain, she just plain refused. That conversation didn't end well.
There's no TV in his room. It's a room he has all to himself. So there's no one to talk to. Just the walls, and their conversational ability is about zero.
I sense prisons have a little more interaction.
The best part about moving him to another hospital, now this is my absolute favourite part. They take him there, then he has to make his own way back. I kid you not. Here look, we're going to do some minor heart surgery, hop on a bus after won't you?
What to do? I have to drive over there to pick him up after the procedure - which has been re-booked for Monday, although Dad has little faith that anything is going to come of that. Another drive at the weekend to make sure he's not alone?
None of his friends and family are over there, going day after day without a familiar face is soul destroying, which isn't great when you're trying to get well in the first place.
I suppose petrol prices are the lowest I've seen in a while. I spotted 106.9 yesterday. It's still ridiculous and the Beastie is a hungry girl.
You can't believe that hospitals only really fully function Monday to Friday. I suppose those surgeons trained a long time and don't fancy working weekends.
I'm just so cross at this system, which just seems to have so many flaws.
And Nottingham City Hospital - your phone skills suck. No, that's not fair the skills on Morris Ward suck. To be fair if they even practiced answering the bloody phone once in a while that'd be great. Dad insists there are some lovely nurses there so I'm not aiming this at them... I'm aiming it at the bitch nurse I spoke to and the other damn folk that ignored the ringing phone. Multiple times.
You're going on the list!
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