To Glen, and all of you, yes I’ve received your wonderful comments. It feels as if I am always in turmoil. What if one day I posted really good news up, none of us would know what to say…
I am now in the middle of a full blown cold – inevitably. Sunday has been snappy and friendly. I shopped for veg this morning then we visted two of our lovely friends who have renovated a barn. I knew I wss feeling more positive because I didn’t feel green with envy, just a little lime. They have an oak tree that is so big, and female, I hugged it for just a little two long.
Because of three sneezes a minute I look pale and drawn. I have lipstick and blusher on so now I look like Jane, in the ‘Whatever Happened To Baby’ film. Me and Bette Davies look like kissing cousins.
My wonderful landlord is helping me out for two months so I can keep in the flat and look for work. He has to be the most understanding, generous geezer on the planet…
I’ve just had two mugs of chicken soup – homemade – one pear and a carton of coconut water. Not to mention a teaspoon of Manuka honey. The soup – Jewish Pennicillin – has helped my chest. The fact that its soup means I can dupe myself into forgetting that chicken is actually meat otherwise my body would be crying fowl play.
The old git and I are arguing.
Ad Infinitum
IF
I’ve just come back from my osteopath who said my body feels like its been slapped in the face.
Your comments have made me cry.
Thank you – not for making me cry but for bothering to write at all. Even the bad comments were good.
I will of course get over this quicker than most but slower than I would like.
The professional response would be to let it go since its the kind of behaviour you would expect from such a callous industry. I thought radio was comfy, cosy, I had no idea just how brutal it could be. I have worked in my industry for 40 years and it never ceases to amaze me the endlessly creative excuses the bosses come up with to justify their acts of unkindness.
To everybody who has faced a sudden redundancy my heart goes out to you.
Annus Horribilis.
I have had a really bad stomach upset over the last two days. Nobody told me that the remedy contained morphine…The result is I am dry of mouth, bleary of eye and concrete of stomach.
The last few days have been a whirlwind of wierdness.
One minute I have a regular rhythm to my life the next I am standing at the gates of Bedlam.
Seka Nicolic was laying her hands on me to get my left leg back to working order after my crazy fall in Battersea Church Street, I had intended to go to her book launch, but the gremlins got into my system and I felt like somebody had crumbled Garibaldi biscuits in my eye-lashes.
Hip- Hoppalong
I’ve taken Arnica, rubbed arnica cream into it, taken three Neurofen and am sitting on an ice pack. I tripped by Battersea Square as I was thinking about a girl who had tripped in Battersea Square….
I cried and thought I had broken my hip. But I am assured by Jim, Sybil, Lyn and my instinct that it’s just a bad bruise.
I’ve been waiting for something like to this happen, now that it has I can relax. Him, her and me all hobbling.
Norf & Sarf
In the middle of brushing my teeth the telephone rang. 7.40a.m. and my personal trainer had arrived early. Dripping with blue toothpaste I let her in, finished my ablutions then set about learning how to use a dumbell. I’ll end up looking Madonna if i’m not careful.
Nina left at 9.00 I changed into real clothes and set about my day.
Weight a minute Conan
Better late than never.
I have just watched ‘Roger and Val’ with Fred Molina and Dawn French. I think it is wonderfully funny, poignant, well written, tastefully acted and a must see. I even bothered to watch it on BBC iPlayer.
I am warming to ‘Grandma’s House’. Simon Anstells piece. The programme is easing into itself.
So now my Mondays are completely ruined with two lots of ‘Corrie’, ‘University Challenge’, ‘Grandma’s House’ and BBC iPLayer.
I cannot believe I have just told you my viewing habits, but it’s 23.15 and I was meant to be writing.
Third Chapter here I come
I interviewed a writer who gets up at 5.00 every morning, writes for three hours, takes a walk on the Heath, then writes a bit here and there throughout the day.
I need to follow in her footsteps, but I am bushed. I am also lazy and frayed.
This evening I have homework to do, loads of books to read.
The saddle awaits.
The flat is awful quiet after three weeks away.
You would have thought that nearly a month in the country would have been peaceful and full of nightingales and cream teas
As it is I had thee weeks of hospitals, travelling to them and back again. Doctors, travelling from them to hospitals. Chemists travelling to them from the doctors before the hospitals.
Having to relax my rigidity has not been easy. Pre-back-op on August 7th, would have had me shouting the loudest about MRI scans, x-rays and rectal examinations. Post-back-op and I have nothing but admiration for the Kent and Sussex Hospital, Mr. Yo, Hurstwood Park Neurological Centre and their team of surgeons, not to mention the army of extrodinary men and women who nurse, clean, manage, help, laugh, comfort, calm, feed and mend hundreds of patients – including my daughter – who are ill, in pain, demanding and often old.
Operation operation…..
From osteopath to MRI. From MRI to hospital. From the fracture ward to the neurological centre. From the single room to the operating theatre. From 10.59 to 5.21 on the operating table. From Sunday without Morphine to Tuesday without Wolferine to Wednesday with a splint for the foot. If I hold my breath long enough … Read more
A Month in The Country
I did my work out after midnight. Groaning into the burn was a blessed release.
The cottage was sleeping. Bee, fitfully, Jim cautiously. I couldn’t rest. I set the alarm for 5.30.
Watching my daughter hobble, her dropped foot dragging along beside her, is heart breaking. Trying to imagine that everything is ok is a mission. Hearing the old git trying to stifle his pain is a double whammy. I am caught between my rock and her hard space.
Dealing with ones own pain is easy, dealing with somebody elses pain is draining, frustrating and exhausting.
I thank you all for your messages of support.