As expected this weekend has been a funny one. In total I think I managed about six hours of being awake yesterday and roughly the same today which even when you consider the bonus hour that we were donated by clocks going back is not a lot of time to do anything. Of course it doesn't matter; I will sleep as much as I need to whilst I am dealing with the consequences of this week's round of toxic battle, but it does give rise to a strange feeling at the close of the weekend when I would normally look back and assess whether it was a good weekend or not. In this case, however I think it has been a compacted, but good weekend.
Firstly, after Friday's meeting with the Consultant Oncologist who confirmed the dates for the final cycle of this part of the programme, we have booked our reward holiday. The turquoise waters and soft white sands will be beneath my feet in exactly 13 weeks time. Woo hoo! It was all booked and organised by 9am on Saturday morning thanks to the wonders of the internet, and so I have had lots of time since to day dream and think about it. Secondly, due to the amazing skills of a Pain Specialist Nurse called Sarah, or St Sarah as we shall hereby refer to her, I now seem to have my main levels very much under control. She sat down with me and reviewed the medication from the GP and whilst what the GP was doing was going in the right direction, it was too conservative and so too slow paced and so was not doing enough to quash the pain. I am amazed at how quickly St Sarah has been able to implement her plan, to the extent that it was reviewed on Friday and will be tweaked a couple of times a week on an ongoing basis to make sure that all pain is eliminated, allowing me to focus on the real task in hand of remaining positive and fighting the bad cells. It is with great relief therefore that I have been able to spend my awake time (despite its low quantiy) this weekend in a relative degree of comfort which is always a bomus. As a direct result I have been able to revert back to my old self and have utilised some of my awake time on useful practical things which last week were just too much effort. I have filed and sorted all of my medical notes and records, I have finally removed the giant carborad box of recycling and general rubbish from the spare room and out it in the relevant bins thus creating a satisfying clear space indoors. I have researched and ordered a new microwave, after our last one burned out and was removed from our kitchen almost a year ago. This action was also prompted by the fact that we have arranged for the BF, the Vet and their two munchkins to come and stay in a couple of weekend's time prior to the next cycle, and I could not bear to have the BF stomp round the kitchen again complaining about having to sterilise baby bottles in a saucepan rather than a microwave..... how 1980's apparently....
I also researched and found the perfect wardrobe for the spare room to continue the initiative of sorting out the room so it is not just a general dumping ground for clothes. Well I thought I had found the perfect wardrobe, until I measured the ceiling height and realised it won't fit, but at least I have a good idea now about what kind of thing I am looking for. In addition, there were several loads of washing done, clean sheets put on my bed and a few other things which gave me great satisfaction from being able to tick them off the list. I also enjoyed spending almost an hour on the phone to my university friends as getting to the reunion party this weekend was a stretch too far, but instead we had a pass the phone session between London and Milton Keynes catching up on all their news, and I also caught up with the BF, Little Sis and Bil. In short, I think what I am trying to say, is that without chronic pain, I was able to be more like me again.
The only fly in the ointment really has been that whilst yesterday I did manage to co-ordinate my sleep time with Mr Man being out playing hockey so I could spend some quality awake time with him, today I was only really awake this morning whilst he was having a lie in and since then we have not really had much time when both my eyelids and brain cells, and his were simultaneously open. Oh well, it is only one weekend, there will be plenty of others, and we also have the Maldives to look forward to, where I am sure we will manage to synchronise sleep patterns. And on that sweet dream, I am off to bed again. My eyelids are getting heavy.
About Me
- Queen of Silver Linings
- East Dulwich, London, United Kingdom
- To me the glass is always at least half full. This was not always the case but over the past few years I have started to learn just how brilliant the human mind and body are. In September 2011 at the age of 34 and after 4 months of extensive medical invasion and severe abdominal pain, I was diagnosed with Adenocarcinoma Cervical Cancer. I have too much on my to do list to be thwarted by such a cowardly disease, so I am using positive thinking and all my mental and physical toughness to win, as I really don't like losing. During the long and painful diagnosis phase, many friends said that they didn't know how I could be so calm and strong. To be honest, looking back neither do I, but I am starting this blog to capture my feats of positivity whilst I beat this pesky disease.
Sunday 30 October 2011
Friday 28 October 2011
So much to say, so little awake time to say it
Today I completed my second cycle of chemotherapy. This means we are now 33.3% or one third of the way through this phase of the treatment which is a very good thing. The port is making life easier at the clinic as I can get plugged in quicker and I also have both hands free for beating my visitors at scrabble, eating my hummus and pitta and using my iPad. It also means that I'm back to being completely zonked out which comes on very unexpectedly and makes my eyelids turn into lead. This tiredness is due to the chemo drugs but also the recent bout of pain I've been suffering which has now been brought under control thankfully, has lead to me missing out on good quality sleep which I'm now able to catch up on.
As a result of this weariness I'm not straying far from home and the comfort of my bed and sofa this weekend, but hopefully will muster up the energy to sit in front of the computer for a bit longer than I'm doing today, as I've thought of lots of things I want to talk about in this blog but currently don't have the energy to do it justice. I hope you'll come back soon to see what I have to talk about, but in the mean time, sweet dreams!
As a result of this weariness I'm not straying far from home and the comfort of my bed and sofa this weekend, but hopefully will muster up the energy to sit in front of the computer for a bit longer than I'm doing today, as I've thought of lots of things I want to talk about in this blog but currently don't have the energy to do it justice. I hope you'll come back soon to see what I have to talk about, but in the mean time, sweet dreams!
Thursday 27 October 2011
The trouble with the Euro
As a student I lived in Valencia, Spain for one academic year as part of my degree course. First and foremost it must be said that the year did not officially count as part of my degree and it was,therefore, more of a holistic Spanish experience than an academic one.
It was around this time that the European Union was becoming more prevalent in the news as the single European Currency prior to its lauch from a banking and commerce perspective on 1 January 1999. It would be a further three years until the paisanos naranjeros would get their hands on any actual notes and coins, but the concept had been signed up to and the process of convincing the Spanish had begun. And from what I saw, they did not need much convincing.
If you have ever been to Valencia, and walked along the elegant tiled promenade which stretches the length of La Malvarossa Beach, you may well have seen the large sign proudly announcing that the promenade and beach improvement scheme, had been paid for by a European Union Grant. When I was there in 1997, the promenade was fairly new, and the work which has been done since has transformed what was previously a poor and run down area of the city into a real destination. Some of the investment has come from private hands as part of the regeneration for the Americas Cup first held in Valencia in 2007, and also the recently added Valencian Grand Prix, however the rest has been paid for largely out of the EU coffers, or to put it another way, by the British, the Germans and the French.
Even in 1998, I can recall meeting young Spaniards in bars who even after several beers and one too many cheap vodkas were very keen to talk about the marvel of the Eurozone. Roughly translated the general concensus of opinion of my local student counterparts, was that whilst the British poured money into the European pot, the Spaniards were quite happy to take it out and spend it, thank you very much. So the 20 year olds of 1998 are now most likely the ones working for the politicians and bankers we are seeing so much of on the TV, scratching their heads about what went wrong and how to fix it. Well, to be precise the Germans the French and in part the British are scratching their heads, the Spaniards, the Greeks and the Portugese especially are probably keeping shtum at the back, as for the last fifteen years at least they have been reaping the benefits of the European Cash Cow, and were savvy enough to recognise that they were onto a good thing.
It is no secret that I have always been against the Euro. My initial logic was that it would take part of the fun of going on holiday as you only would need one currency to go to mainland Europe rather than experience a new one for each different country. Further more, I could not see how you could combine even the currencies of countries so diverse in culture and economic status. Prior to the Eurozone, Spain was a reletively cheap place to live. The Spanish had enough money to live off even if they were in the lower socio-economic classes because the cost of living was low. As an example, in 1998 you could buy a bottle of red wine in a supermarket for 189 pesetas, which at the time translated to about 80p. It was drinkable (especially the 1996 vintage) and as the number of empty bottles in our kitchen would testify, very popular. When I returned to Spain in 2002, once the Euro was in people's pockets, I observed that the same bottle of wine, Baron de Turis, Valencia, was on sale in similar supermarkets for the princely sum of 2.40 EUROS. At the prevailing exchange rate of around 1.50 Euros to the pound this would be about £1.60. Even allowing for inflation over four years and the fact that Spaniards do not convert things into pounds, it is not difficult to see that things got more expensive post Euro. I have several Spanish friends who have also said the same thing, and this has been a primary cause in some of the countries we hear about in the news being in financial trouble as the normal people are no longer able to live comfortably on their incomes as the prices of everyday things went up once converted into Euros. You can see it most clearly on clothing labels for companies who sell the same products in more than one European country. Zara is great example of this. Initially, when there was a price per currency it was clear that when converted into pounds it was cheaper to buy most items in Spain than in France, thus reflecting the cost of living in each place relative to the UK. Post 2002, there was one Euro Price, but this meant that products being sold in Zara in France were much cheaper in real terms to the French than they were to the Spanish, and give that it is a Spanish country this is a bit of an issue. I have not been into a Zara for a while, but last time I did, I noticed that the prices in Spain had been over stickered with a lower price, presumably to recognise the lower income levels of the local market. Obviously on an individual level it is just a little confusing, but on a larger scale across a multitude of industries this practice would cause major issues in sourcing and exporting of goods, which under the free trading rules of the EU is actively encouraged, and so it it little wonder that the whole thing is a bit of a mess.
Now obviously this is just my opinion and as I am not a politician or economic expert, it will remain just that, an opinion of which many, many others are available. However I was intrigued last week by an article in the paper about some business man who is so concerned about the future of the Euro and its impact on the world economy that he is offering £250,000 of this own money as a prize to anyone who can come up with a solution to extracate individual countries from the Euro with minimal damage to the overall work economy. to be honest I think £250k is not enough for this particular quest, but it did get me thinking. Perhaps if we all could dig out all of those old pesetas, drachma, french francs, deutcsh marks, lira and the like from down the back of the sofa, in old suitcases and boxes in the loft, and we send them back to the countries from which they came, perhaps they could have enough to reintroduce their old currencies and get back to a simpler time when they controlled their own destiny and the cultural differences which should be celebrated in all of these wonderful countries could be matched economically. Plus, as an added bonus it would make going on holiday that little bit more exciting again.
It was around this time that the European Union was becoming more prevalent in the news as the single European Currency prior to its lauch from a banking and commerce perspective on 1 January 1999. It would be a further three years until the paisanos naranjeros would get their hands on any actual notes and coins, but the concept had been signed up to and the process of convincing the Spanish had begun. And from what I saw, they did not need much convincing.
If you have ever been to Valencia, and walked along the elegant tiled promenade which stretches the length of La Malvarossa Beach, you may well have seen the large sign proudly announcing that the promenade and beach improvement scheme, had been paid for by a European Union Grant. When I was there in 1997, the promenade was fairly new, and the work which has been done since has transformed what was previously a poor and run down area of the city into a real destination. Some of the investment has come from private hands as part of the regeneration for the Americas Cup first held in Valencia in 2007, and also the recently added Valencian Grand Prix, however the rest has been paid for largely out of the EU coffers, or to put it another way, by the British, the Germans and the French.
Even in 1998, I can recall meeting young Spaniards in bars who even after several beers and one too many cheap vodkas were very keen to talk about the marvel of the Eurozone. Roughly translated the general concensus of opinion of my local student counterparts, was that whilst the British poured money into the European pot, the Spaniards were quite happy to take it out and spend it, thank you very much. So the 20 year olds of 1998 are now most likely the ones working for the politicians and bankers we are seeing so much of on the TV, scratching their heads about what went wrong and how to fix it. Well, to be precise the Germans the French and in part the British are scratching their heads, the Spaniards, the Greeks and the Portugese especially are probably keeping shtum at the back, as for the last fifteen years at least they have been reaping the benefits of the European Cash Cow, and were savvy enough to recognise that they were onto a good thing.
It is no secret that I have always been against the Euro. My initial logic was that it would take part of the fun of going on holiday as you only would need one currency to go to mainland Europe rather than experience a new one for each different country. Further more, I could not see how you could combine even the currencies of countries so diverse in culture and economic status. Prior to the Eurozone, Spain was a reletively cheap place to live. The Spanish had enough money to live off even if they were in the lower socio-economic classes because the cost of living was low. As an example, in 1998 you could buy a bottle of red wine in a supermarket for 189 pesetas, which at the time translated to about 80p. It was drinkable (especially the 1996 vintage) and as the number of empty bottles in our kitchen would testify, very popular. When I returned to Spain in 2002, once the Euro was in people's pockets, I observed that the same bottle of wine, Baron de Turis, Valencia, was on sale in similar supermarkets for the princely sum of 2.40 EUROS. At the prevailing exchange rate of around 1.50 Euros to the pound this would be about £1.60. Even allowing for inflation over four years and the fact that Spaniards do not convert things into pounds, it is not difficult to see that things got more expensive post Euro. I have several Spanish friends who have also said the same thing, and this has been a primary cause in some of the countries we hear about in the news being in financial trouble as the normal people are no longer able to live comfortably on their incomes as the prices of everyday things went up once converted into Euros. You can see it most clearly on clothing labels for companies who sell the same products in more than one European country. Zara is great example of this. Initially, when there was a price per currency it was clear that when converted into pounds it was cheaper to buy most items in Spain than in France, thus reflecting the cost of living in each place relative to the UK. Post 2002, there was one Euro Price, but this meant that products being sold in Zara in France were much cheaper in real terms to the French than they were to the Spanish, and give that it is a Spanish country this is a bit of an issue. I have not been into a Zara for a while, but last time I did, I noticed that the prices in Spain had been over stickered with a lower price, presumably to recognise the lower income levels of the local market. Obviously on an individual level it is just a little confusing, but on a larger scale across a multitude of industries this practice would cause major issues in sourcing and exporting of goods, which under the free trading rules of the EU is actively encouraged, and so it it little wonder that the whole thing is a bit of a mess.
Now obviously this is just my opinion and as I am not a politician or economic expert, it will remain just that, an opinion of which many, many others are available. However I was intrigued last week by an article in the paper about some business man who is so concerned about the future of the Euro and its impact on the world economy that he is offering £250,000 of this own money as a prize to anyone who can come up with a solution to extracate individual countries from the Euro with minimal damage to the overall work economy. to be honest I think £250k is not enough for this particular quest, but it did get me thinking. Perhaps if we all could dig out all of those old pesetas, drachma, french francs, deutcsh marks, lira and the like from down the back of the sofa, in old suitcases and boxes in the loft, and we send them back to the countries from which they came, perhaps they could have enough to reintroduce their old currencies and get back to a simpler time when they controlled their own destiny and the cultural differences which should be celebrated in all of these wonderful countries could be matched economically. Plus, as an added bonus it would make going on holiday that little bit more exciting again.
Tuesday 25 October 2011
Pizza-tastic
I haven't left the house today. This was not deliberate or intentional but a consequence of a poor nights sleep last night and feeling a bit groggy after yesterday's hospital antics. However, this evening I had three very special visitors for the occasion of pizza night, which was a definite bright spot to perk me up.
The Lovely H, the Yorkshire Pudding and the Irish one made the post work journey to visit me for an evening of delightful conversation and delicious pizza. They managed to remember to bring some office gossip from the very offering worlds of Petcare and baked beans, and the lovely H also brought two bottles of limited edition Movember HP sauce. Very thoughtful. Barney in particular was very pleased to see them, especially the Lovely H who was always his favourite, and he displayed his affection in the only way he knows how; by lying on his back and expecting tummy tickles. The tart.
So round two starts tomorrow with another full day of bad cell annihilation. I have lined up a full visiting schedule for the day to keep me entertained. I have also have downloaded a film and a couple of tv series onto my iPad in preparation so hopefully this will help to pass the time between visitors. If that is not enough I have scrabble on my iPhone as well as several ongoing games of words with friends which should be plenty of distraction.
I'm almost looking forward to it.
The Lovely H, the Yorkshire Pudding and the Irish one made the post work journey to visit me for an evening of delightful conversation and delicious pizza. They managed to remember to bring some office gossip from the very offering worlds of Petcare and baked beans, and the lovely H also brought two bottles of limited edition Movember HP sauce. Very thoughtful. Barney in particular was very pleased to see them, especially the Lovely H who was always his favourite, and he displayed his affection in the only way he knows how; by lying on his back and expecting tummy tickles. The tart.
So round two starts tomorrow with another full day of bad cell annihilation. I have lined up a full visiting schedule for the day to keep me entertained. I have also have downloaded a film and a couple of tv series onto my iPad in preparation so hopefully this will help to pass the time between visitors. If that is not enough I have scrabble on my iPhone as well as several ongoing games of words with friends which should be plenty of distraction.
I'm almost looking forward to it.
Monday 24 October 2011
Assimilation complete
Following on from yesterday's theme I thought I'd provide an update on how the transition to Borg Queen has gone. Overall I think it went well although it would be more reassuring if the wound would stop bleeding through the dressing. I managed to convince the surgeon to locate the port to the side of my upper chest so that in future the scarring is less visible which was a good result. I also successfully negotiated a decent amount of sedative so I really did know nothing about it until right at the end when they were patching me up. In my eyes these were two very big plus points.
Mr Man took the day off and so was there to escort me home and provide the relevant nourishment and cuddles. Furthermore, I was feeling well enough to be able to go with him to the vets as Barney had to have his annual check up and booster vaccinations. Barney objected quite a lot to his kennel cough vaccination which was designed to be squirted up his nostril and so it took three people and some stern words and head holding before the mission was accomplished. But accomplished it was, and Barney's ordeal was over and he was rewarded with a biscuit.
So, quite a big day but now hopefully the chemo from now on should be slightly quicker and easier, and this is good news all round, no matter which galaxy you're from.
Mr Man took the day off and so was there to escort me home and provide the relevant nourishment and cuddles. Furthermore, I was feeling well enough to be able to go with him to the vets as Barney had to have his annual check up and booster vaccinations. Barney objected quite a lot to his kennel cough vaccination which was designed to be squirted up his nostril and so it took three people and some stern words and head holding before the mission was accomplished. But accomplished it was, and Barney's ordeal was over and he was rewarded with a biscuit.
So, quite a big day but now hopefully the chemo from now on should be slightly quicker and easier, and this is good news all round, no matter which galaxy you're from.
Sunday 23 October 2011
Borg me up Scottie
Tomorrow I am going to the hospital to be fitted with a port. The BF cruelly described it as becoming part Borg as this is basically like a plug socket into my veins. This will mean I don't have to have cannulas fitted every time I need an intravenous injection or drip or a blood sample taken. Initially I was very sceptical and more than a little bit squeamish about this concept but after one cycle of chemo and related tests all involving needles and veins, I think it is for the best.
Whilst the Borg reference may seem a little unkind, after a bit of thought it is actually quite appropriate. As a teenager I quite liked Star Trek (The next generation era) which I was admittedly first introduced to by an early boyfriend, but continued to like of my own accord long after he ceased to be significant. My favourite character was Data as he had an enquiring mind and a strong sense of logic even when he was learning his emotions. That'll be the Android in him and me probably.
The Borg as I recall were a race who were hell bent on self improvement. They were focused on assimilating their prey and taking on board their knowledge and skills for the benefit of Borgkind. They were a kind of collective controlled and managed by the Borg Queen who lived in the heart of the Delta Quadrant. So I guess that decides which Borg I'm going to be then.
Anyone familiar with any element of star trek will recall that there was one phrase most commonly used against anyone who came up against the Borg. I'd like to think,therefore, that as I become part Borg to make things easier for me and the nursing staff in my conflict against the invading cancerous forces, the same message applies; Resistance is futile. The Borg Queen has spoken.
Whilst the Borg reference may seem a little unkind, after a bit of thought it is actually quite appropriate. As a teenager I quite liked Star Trek (The next generation era) which I was admittedly first introduced to by an early boyfriend, but continued to like of my own accord long after he ceased to be significant. My favourite character was Data as he had an enquiring mind and a strong sense of logic even when he was learning his emotions. That'll be the Android in him and me probably.
The Borg as I recall were a race who were hell bent on self improvement. They were focused on assimilating their prey and taking on board their knowledge and skills for the benefit of Borgkind. They were a kind of collective controlled and managed by the Borg Queen who lived in the heart of the Delta Quadrant. So I guess that decides which Borg I'm going to be then.
Anyone familiar with any element of star trek will recall that there was one phrase most commonly used against anyone who came up against the Borg. I'd like to think,therefore, that as I become part Borg to make things easier for me and the nursing staff in my conflict against the invading cancerous forces, the same message applies; Resistance is futile. The Borg Queen has spoken.
Just like the good old days
I think today I had the most 'normal' Saturday I've had for quite sometime. My very good friend who we shall refer to as Essex girl came over for the day, we went for lunch and had a manicure. It's a bit odd to describe this behaviour as normal as even under normal circumstances these days we rarely spend the day in this way, but we have in the past spent a very enjoyable Saturday in town, wandering the shops and treating ourselves to a facial or a pedicure, and so the very fact that we spent today in this manner makes me think back to when life in general was normal, if you see what's mean.
Essex girl used to live in Greenwich and so before the arrival of her two offspring, arranging a weekend trip into town was relatively easy. Now, however, she and her lovely husband, CS, have upped sticks and moved to deepest darkest Essex which coupled with the afore mentioned children make the logistics of a day of carefree relaxation more tricky. But, as we have proved today, not impossible. The lovely CS was left in charge of the children and Essex girl arrived at my house at around 12noon armed with delicious chocolate muffins and flowers. Mr Man was outplaying hockey and so after an energising muffin we headed off for a spot of lunch and a relaxing manicure. I'd like to say that we hit the Kings Road and a decadent Chelsea spa, but the reality is a little less glamourous; we went to Beckenham, which whilst not as glitzy served its purpose with a nice little cafe and a friendly beauty place that could fit us in for a deluxe hand treatment and nail polish.
So all in all a lovely day. Essex girl and I talked about lots of things which is good as I tend to find a lot of my conversations these days revolve around he same topics (me, chemo and how other key people in my life are dealing with it) and so it's always nice to stretch my brain cells a bit and discuss other topics. I got to get out of my local vicinity and a change of scenery is always refreshing, Essex girl had a relaxing day without the children and we both now have beautiful nails (mine a khaki green colour, hers a mink brown hue). CS no doubt had an exhausting day in charge back home in Essex, but he will be rewarded for his toils as Essex girl and I have agreed that it would be ok for CS and Mr Man to go out for a couple of jars together on a Saturday night no less, which Mr Man is already VERY excited about, so everyone is happy. Now we have proved that it can be done with a bit of organisation, I look forward to spending similar days out with Essex girl again soon. Maybe if we try really hard to co-ordinate we can get Essex girl, CS, Mr Man and myself all together for a catch up at the same time. Now that really would be like the good old days.
Essex girl used to live in Greenwich and so before the arrival of her two offspring, arranging a weekend trip into town was relatively easy. Now, however, she and her lovely husband, CS, have upped sticks and moved to deepest darkest Essex which coupled with the afore mentioned children make the logistics of a day of carefree relaxation more tricky. But, as we have proved today, not impossible. The lovely CS was left in charge of the children and Essex girl arrived at my house at around 12noon armed with delicious chocolate muffins and flowers. Mr Man was outplaying hockey and so after an energising muffin we headed off for a spot of lunch and a relaxing manicure. I'd like to say that we hit the Kings Road and a decadent Chelsea spa, but the reality is a little less glamourous; we went to Beckenham, which whilst not as glitzy served its purpose with a nice little cafe and a friendly beauty place that could fit us in for a deluxe hand treatment and nail polish.
So all in all a lovely day. Essex girl and I talked about lots of things which is good as I tend to find a lot of my conversations these days revolve around he same topics (me, chemo and how other key people in my life are dealing with it) and so it's always nice to stretch my brain cells a bit and discuss other topics. I got to get out of my local vicinity and a change of scenery is always refreshing, Essex girl had a relaxing day without the children and we both now have beautiful nails (mine a khaki green colour, hers a mink brown hue). CS no doubt had an exhausting day in charge back home in Essex, but he will be rewarded for his toils as Essex girl and I have agreed that it would be ok for CS and Mr Man to go out for a couple of jars together on a Saturday night no less, which Mr Man is already VERY excited about, so everyone is happy. Now we have proved that it can be done with a bit of organisation, I look forward to spending similar days out with Essex girl again soon. Maybe if we try really hard to co-ordinate we can get Essex girl, CS, Mr Man and myself all together for a catch up at the same time. Now that really would be like the good old days.
Friday 21 October 2011
The art of shopping
Yesterday I described my experiences of the day on facebook as being like trying to give birth to a rhinocerous. In short, it was not pleasant overall, hence there was no post. Today is a beautiful sunny day, and whilst the rhinocerous feeling has not disappeared entirely it is better than it was which is a good thing. The relevance of the sunny day, is that once again I am able to make the most of the climatic environment to get out of the house and explore the environs. It may be cold, but with boots at the ready, as well as a fabulous new pair of gloves and matching scarve acquired earlier in the week whilst waiting between hospital appointments, I will be toasty warm.
Earlier this week I had to have a blood test and a kidney function test. I passed the blood test which means that my red and white blood cell counts are recovering nicely after the initial bout of chemotherapy and I will find out about the kidney test next week. Basically in short I was injected with some radioactive tracer and then had to return to the clinic 2,3 and 4 hours later for a blood test so that some clever boffins in white coats can work out how quickly my kidneys were flushing the tracer from tmy body, and in turn how well they are working. O this occasion the radioactive tracer was very minimal and so there was no risk I would be glowing green afterwards. Fortunately.
So between each of the visits to the clinic I had time to kill, and being in Harley Street meant I was very near the West End. So I was very brave and I went along Oxford Street albeit very briefly before retreating to the safety of John Lewis. When I was a teenager I loved nothing more than a trip upto London to go to the shops. I remember I would always start at Oxford Circus on the Regents Street Side of the road and go right towards Tottenham Court Road looking in pretty much every shop up until I was level with the Plaza shopping centre, before crossing the road and working my way back towards Oxford Circus and continuing up the otherside as far as Selfridges before crossing back over the road and making my way back to the tube via every clothes and shoe shop to begin the long trek home. I think I used up all of my West End shopping tolerance in those trips as now there is no way I can bring myself to amble along Oxford Street or Regent Street with the millions of tourists and teenagers, doing exactly what I used to do with relish many moons ago. Now, I only go to the West End, or in fact Central London in its entirity if I absolutley have to. I may have one or two shops which I need to visit and I want to get to them and away again as quickly and as painlessly as possible. When Westminster council was considering the idea of fast and slow lanes on Oxford Street and Regents Street, I was very much in support. What better way of making sure that the central London shopping experience is as painfree as possible for all concerned. The tourists and teenagers can amble in the slow lane, stopping unexpectedly to look at a map, or answer their phone and in the process tripping up everyone behind them, whilst the purposeful shoppers who know where they are going and are able to multitask (ie walk and talk at the same time) could get on with their day efficiently and without the risk of hazards using the fast lane. Perfect. Obviously there would need to be some careful education to ensure that everyone knew where they stood, or rather walked, as well as rigourous enforcement to make sure that the rules were being abided by in full. This is, sadly, where I think the whole scheme fell down as whilst Westminster Council were brave enough to propose such a plan, it is doubtful that they had the necessary cojones to carry it out properly, with fines and disciplinary measures for using the wrong lane and enough resources to educate the masses and monitor proceedings, and so it would become another waste of money to be mocked by the press.
So, having run out of shopper tolerance I am now not a fan of central London shopping. I still like a good mooch around Selfridges but only if I can start early before the lazy crowds get out of bed, and be done and dusted and in the cafe bar enjoying a cocktail by about 11.30am just as things are getting a bit busy. Not only is this a far more enjoyable way to shop, but it also gives an enormous glow of smug satisfaction when you are on your way out of the store and homeward bound laden with everything you set out to purchase, and see the throngs of people swarming round and getting stressed as their retail experience, whether for pleasure or necessity, is only just beginning. Therefore, on Wednesday after the first blood test and an intra-venous injection, I was only really able to cope with the calm within John Lewis, where I picked up the afore mentioned gloves and scarf, before I gave up and found solice in a quiet Starbucks on Cavendish Square. For the second gap between blood tests Mr Man came and met me and we went for lunch - well he had lunch and I had a lemon cheesecake pot from Pret as I was not hungry after the earlier Starbucks cheese and marmite panini - as luckily Harley street is not that far from his office.
For the third and final gap however I was back on my own and given what I have already said about Oxford Street, I decided to give Marylebone High Street a try instead. And how nice it was. There were people around and about but it was not heaving, and the shops there are so lovely. I had a lovely browse around the Conran Shop and believe it or not went into my first Emma Bridgewater shop outside Stoke (I normally buy online as it is too heavy to carry....). I had a lovely wander along past the lovely looking boutiques and cafes before it was time to make my way back to nearby Harley Street for the last blood test. I hadn't really been to Marylebone High Street before. Before I got married I did go to a wedding dress shop there with my Mum to try on dresses, but we didn't really look around as we had another appointment to get to in Fulham straight afterwards. I had heard it was full of nice things though and I was not disappointed. It is amazing to think that a stones through from the busy commercial West End, you have a quaint(ish) high street with a more sensible feel to it, which brings back some of the joy to shopping.
So the happy thoughts for today are that the Rhino has shrunk a bit and I am going to enjoy the sunshine, but more importantly I am looking forward to feeling well enough to go and do Marylebone High Street properly. Who's coming with me?
Earlier this week I had to have a blood test and a kidney function test. I passed the blood test which means that my red and white blood cell counts are recovering nicely after the initial bout of chemotherapy and I will find out about the kidney test next week. Basically in short I was injected with some radioactive tracer and then had to return to the clinic 2,3 and 4 hours later for a blood test so that some clever boffins in white coats can work out how quickly my kidneys were flushing the tracer from tmy body, and in turn how well they are working. O this occasion the radioactive tracer was very minimal and so there was no risk I would be glowing green afterwards. Fortunately.
So between each of the visits to the clinic I had time to kill, and being in Harley Street meant I was very near the West End. So I was very brave and I went along Oxford Street albeit very briefly before retreating to the safety of John Lewis. When I was a teenager I loved nothing more than a trip upto London to go to the shops. I remember I would always start at Oxford Circus on the Regents Street Side of the road and go right towards Tottenham Court Road looking in pretty much every shop up until I was level with the Plaza shopping centre, before crossing the road and working my way back towards Oxford Circus and continuing up the otherside as far as Selfridges before crossing back over the road and making my way back to the tube via every clothes and shoe shop to begin the long trek home. I think I used up all of my West End shopping tolerance in those trips as now there is no way I can bring myself to amble along Oxford Street or Regent Street with the millions of tourists and teenagers, doing exactly what I used to do with relish many moons ago. Now, I only go to the West End, or in fact Central London in its entirity if I absolutley have to. I may have one or two shops which I need to visit and I want to get to them and away again as quickly and as painlessly as possible. When Westminster council was considering the idea of fast and slow lanes on Oxford Street and Regents Street, I was very much in support. What better way of making sure that the central London shopping experience is as painfree as possible for all concerned. The tourists and teenagers can amble in the slow lane, stopping unexpectedly to look at a map, or answer their phone and in the process tripping up everyone behind them, whilst the purposeful shoppers who know where they are going and are able to multitask (ie walk and talk at the same time) could get on with their day efficiently and without the risk of hazards using the fast lane. Perfect. Obviously there would need to be some careful education to ensure that everyone knew where they stood, or rather walked, as well as rigourous enforcement to make sure that the rules were being abided by in full. This is, sadly, where I think the whole scheme fell down as whilst Westminster Council were brave enough to propose such a plan, it is doubtful that they had the necessary cojones to carry it out properly, with fines and disciplinary measures for using the wrong lane and enough resources to educate the masses and monitor proceedings, and so it would become another waste of money to be mocked by the press.
So, having run out of shopper tolerance I am now not a fan of central London shopping. I still like a good mooch around Selfridges but only if I can start early before the lazy crowds get out of bed, and be done and dusted and in the cafe bar enjoying a cocktail by about 11.30am just as things are getting a bit busy. Not only is this a far more enjoyable way to shop, but it also gives an enormous glow of smug satisfaction when you are on your way out of the store and homeward bound laden with everything you set out to purchase, and see the throngs of people swarming round and getting stressed as their retail experience, whether for pleasure or necessity, is only just beginning. Therefore, on Wednesday after the first blood test and an intra-venous injection, I was only really able to cope with the calm within John Lewis, where I picked up the afore mentioned gloves and scarf, before I gave up and found solice in a quiet Starbucks on Cavendish Square. For the second gap between blood tests Mr Man came and met me and we went for lunch - well he had lunch and I had a lemon cheesecake pot from Pret as I was not hungry after the earlier Starbucks cheese and marmite panini - as luckily Harley street is not that far from his office.
For the third and final gap however I was back on my own and given what I have already said about Oxford Street, I decided to give Marylebone High Street a try instead. And how nice it was. There were people around and about but it was not heaving, and the shops there are so lovely. I had a lovely browse around the Conran Shop and believe it or not went into my first Emma Bridgewater shop outside Stoke (I normally buy online as it is too heavy to carry....). I had a lovely wander along past the lovely looking boutiques and cafes before it was time to make my way back to nearby Harley Street for the last blood test. I hadn't really been to Marylebone High Street before. Before I got married I did go to a wedding dress shop there with my Mum to try on dresses, but we didn't really look around as we had another appointment to get to in Fulham straight afterwards. I had heard it was full of nice things though and I was not disappointed. It is amazing to think that a stones through from the busy commercial West End, you have a quaint(ish) high street with a more sensible feel to it, which brings back some of the joy to shopping.
So the happy thoughts for today are that the Rhino has shrunk a bit and I am going to enjoy the sunshine, but more importantly I am looking forward to feeling well enough to go and do Marylebone High Street properly. Who's coming with me?
Wednesday 19 October 2011
Tricks of the trade
I must start todays blog post with a sincere apology. I did not write anything yesterday which is a fact that has not gone unnoticed by several of my finance colleagues. Whilst they have all been very been very understanding that yesterday, especially yesterday morning, was a particularly bad day in terms of comfort levels and so writing something on the blog was not a priority, the V woman and the Yorkshire Pudding specifically felt a little let down that I had not provided the necessary respite in written form from their arduous day of preparing the latest forecast. For this I am truly sorry.
The reason I understand their disappointment, is because I know the pain of the monthly forecast. It is quite possibly the most soul destroying experience you can go through, and it normally can be summarised like this. Humble accountants spend ages preparing the accounts with all the relevant details so they are a true and fair reflection of reality. This is then presented to the boss, (who we shall refer to as TD because as the V woman pointed out today everyone knows there is only one TC) who then tells the humble accountants what he (or she) wanted the accounts to look like all along, and so the humble accountants spend the next two days redoing all of the numbers trying to get all the details to add up to the right totals. As I said soul destroying.
Whilst I am disclosing all the tricks of the trade, I might as well reveal my other bug bear about accounting; Controls testing. As an auditor we used to have to go to clients and test all of their internal controls. If the client passed the controls testing phase then it meant we would be able to rely on the output final numbers that were generated by the systems linked to the internal controls. WHAT?? Just because some junior auditor has done a third party debtors check doesn't mean that the numbers aren't all just made up. Having done auditing for a few years and even having a certificate in it, I think I am qualified enough to confirm that auditing is just a cunning rouse by accountants (and increasingly by other professions now as well) to make a quick buck out of their clients. There is no way that a group of inexperienced trainees and third part consultants can possibly understand enough about a business in a two to three week period to be able to assess whether the statutory accounts are 100% accurate. Further more as the proud owner of a pair of eyes and a brain, I can also confirm that in every business in the land has at some point or other managed the expectations of their management or shareholders by presenting their accounts in a way which is deemed to be more acceptable than just what comes out of the system.
I am not suggesting that all accounts cook the books - far from it - but I am of the ardent opinion that finance people up and down the land are making life a lot harder for themselves than it should be because they are bowing to the pressure from "management" in what ever form it takes to meet certain targets and achieve certain goals. Often these goals are out of date, and in many cases were unrealistic to start with. I remember seeing a sketch once about creative accounting, where the managing director asks the finance director how the numbers were looking. The finance director thinks about it for a second, before replying "How would you like them to look?" This is the epitomy of creative accounting.
If this current experience has taught me anything, it is that life is hard enough already without anyone making it even harder for themselves, either by accident or design. Goals, dreams and targets need to change as unexpected things happen. You can either pretend to yourself that everything is ok, and make sacrifices and cuts to still meet those goals and targets or you can adjust them to reflect your current reality. This is not to say you are discarding your orginal goals and dreams, but just changing your route slightly along the way. If your original goals, dreams and targets are going to be achieved, you have to accept that obstacles will come along from time to time. How you choose to negociate these obstacles will be the difference between ultimate success and the alternative, but one thing is very clear; for any goal, dream or target to become a reality you have to really believe in it and be able to picture it happening. Anything less is like admitting defeat, and in my world this is not an option.
The reason I understand their disappointment, is because I know the pain of the monthly forecast. It is quite possibly the most soul destroying experience you can go through, and it normally can be summarised like this. Humble accountants spend ages preparing the accounts with all the relevant details so they are a true and fair reflection of reality. This is then presented to the boss, (who we shall refer to as TD because as the V woman pointed out today everyone knows there is only one TC) who then tells the humble accountants what he (or she) wanted the accounts to look like all along, and so the humble accountants spend the next two days redoing all of the numbers trying to get all the details to add up to the right totals. As I said soul destroying.
Whilst I am disclosing all the tricks of the trade, I might as well reveal my other bug bear about accounting; Controls testing. As an auditor we used to have to go to clients and test all of their internal controls. If the client passed the controls testing phase then it meant we would be able to rely on the output final numbers that were generated by the systems linked to the internal controls. WHAT?? Just because some junior auditor has done a third party debtors check doesn't mean that the numbers aren't all just made up. Having done auditing for a few years and even having a certificate in it, I think I am qualified enough to confirm that auditing is just a cunning rouse by accountants (and increasingly by other professions now as well) to make a quick buck out of their clients. There is no way that a group of inexperienced trainees and third part consultants can possibly understand enough about a business in a two to three week period to be able to assess whether the statutory accounts are 100% accurate. Further more as the proud owner of a pair of eyes and a brain, I can also confirm that in every business in the land has at some point or other managed the expectations of their management or shareholders by presenting their accounts in a way which is deemed to be more acceptable than just what comes out of the system.
I am not suggesting that all accounts cook the books - far from it - but I am of the ardent opinion that finance people up and down the land are making life a lot harder for themselves than it should be because they are bowing to the pressure from "management" in what ever form it takes to meet certain targets and achieve certain goals. Often these goals are out of date, and in many cases were unrealistic to start with. I remember seeing a sketch once about creative accounting, where the managing director asks the finance director how the numbers were looking. The finance director thinks about it for a second, before replying "How would you like them to look?" This is the epitomy of creative accounting.
If this current experience has taught me anything, it is that life is hard enough already without anyone making it even harder for themselves, either by accident or design. Goals, dreams and targets need to change as unexpected things happen. You can either pretend to yourself that everything is ok, and make sacrifices and cuts to still meet those goals and targets or you can adjust them to reflect your current reality. This is not to say you are discarding your orginal goals and dreams, but just changing your route slightly along the way. If your original goals, dreams and targets are going to be achieved, you have to accept that obstacles will come along from time to time. How you choose to negociate these obstacles will be the difference between ultimate success and the alternative, but one thing is very clear; for any goal, dream or target to become a reality you have to really believe in it and be able to picture it happening. Anything less is like admitting defeat, and in my world this is not an option.
Monday 17 October 2011
Souper Duper
I hardly slept at all last night. A combination of abdominal pain and Barney's insistence that there were monsters in the garden meant that I had trouble dropping off and in variably when I did I was disturbed by the Woofmaster General letting me know that the wind was back and being menacing. After the 4am round of pain killers I think I dozed off quite well, but suffice to say that by 9am I was still weary and in need of sleep, which made this morning a pretty slow start. I did manage to get up and dressed in time to get to the sorting office before 1pm to collect a parcel which was too big to go through the letter box last Thursday, however, and so I have at least achieved something today.
When I was younger, my favourite soup by virtue of it being the only flavour I would eat, was tomato soup. It still is although I have developed my taste buds sufficiently to like other types too. I vividly recall my first Bonfire Night at my infants school at the age of five and three quarters when we were near the end of the queue for warming cups of tomato soup, but were rewarded for our patience by the soup disher outer by being given extra large mugs of soup. On reflection I think this was more of a perk for my Dad, as I'm not sure how much soup a five and three quarter year old can realistically consume, but I was happy to go along with it. The fireworks were brilliant, the bonfire was hot and we all went home happy and full of tomato soup. The following year, my Dad, so keen for bonus lashings of tomato soup came up with a cunning plan; we would wait until near the end to get our soup so we could benefit from extras as had been the case the previous year. By now, an impressionable six and three quarter year old, I went along with his plan but, with the benefit of hindsight, fairly inevitably, they ran out of tomato soup. This was a disaster. I didn't like any other flavour soup. Mushroom was not going to cut it thank you very much. The plan had backfired and I was hungry. Fortunately on this occasion, G's dad came to the rescue. They had tomato soup at their house and fortunately as their back garden faced the school playing fields and therefore the firework display, we could have our soup and still enjoy the fireworks. Lessons were learnt from this experience. I learnt that Dad's plans were not always a good idea, and having witnessed Dad's performance at numerous buffet's since it is fair to say he learnt that it is best to get to the front of the queue rather than wait until the end. On one particular occasion I believe he actually got there before the buffet opened and by the time the DJ was announcing that food was ready round the corner and everyone could help themselves, Dad was already back at the table laden with mini fish and chip cones and tucking right in.
Anyway, all this meandering down memory lane brings me back to the parcel. I had been expecting a largish package containing a gift I had ordered for a friend, and so was surprised when I was handed a short cylinder which was quite heavy. Even the postman commented on the unusual nature of the package, which when opened turned out to be a tin of soup. Not any old soup you understand, a tin of Heinz Classic Get Well Soon Nikki Soup, courtesy of the lovely H. H moved to Heinz earlier in the year and so it was good to see that she has developed a fabulous new product in that time. And best of all, it is tomato soup. Thank you H! xxSunday 16 October 2011
It's not just the insides of clouds that come in silver
Shortly after I gave up a high flying city job in favour of the low paid glamour of industry, I found myself in a unique position of being paid to travel the world. Initially my trips abroad were to Europe, but then came the big one - Sydney. For health and safety reasons the company policy was (and I hope to goodness still is) that for any flight over 6 hours, business class travel was applicable. After all, they want you to turn up in a fit state to do some work at the other end, and it takes at least two days to unfold from any long haul flight in economy - or so I am told. Once you have spent 22 hours in business class travelling to the other side of the world, you are I'm afraid ruined for life. Luckily therefore my next few trips were to Bangkok, Johannesburg and then Sydney and Singapore repeatedly for the next two years, and so when on business I was at least at the right end of the plane. On one particular trip to Sydney via Hong Kong, I was upgraded to First Class on the London to Hong Kong leg which was a taste into the really exclusive world of top class travel, and it was then impossible to even contemplate long haul in economy after that. Fortunately with all of this jet setting came airmiles. One of my colleagues held a strong belief that we should not collect airmiles on company business as they belonged to the company.... He was quite frankly an idiot, as whilst I enjoyed visiting various destinations for work, the time away from home, the lengthy periods in hotels enduring hotel food and the tiredness invoked by crossing through many time zones and still being expected to function professionally at both ends of the trip was a personal cost which was rewarded only in airmiles. If the company had at any point suggested that my travels would not be eligible for airmiles, or that the business class option was not applicable, then my feet would have stayed firmly on terra firma and they could have found someone else to go and explain Commodity derivatives to the Indonesians. And the Greeks, and the Russians, and the South Africans, and the Kiwis, and the Aussies, and the Vietnamese amongst others.
In addition to airmiles, came points and eligibility to move up the tiers of the BA executive club. It wasn't long before a silver card was safely tucked behind my passport, and a few months and several tiresome and increasingly monotonous business trips later, a gold card followed which was maintained for two years. The benefits of these cards are only really appreciated whilst you are travelling and boil down to this; free lounge access for you and a guest regardless of class of travel (and airline for a gold card), and priority check in and boarding regardless of class of travel, although this often only works in civilised countries and not the UK interestingly. It might not seem much to anyone who has not experienced the the airport excessively as a chore rather than a precursor to a nice holiday, but its the little things that make all the difference.
You can have too much of a good thing, however, and after four years of travelling the world and racking up the airmiles I decided to give it all up for a more routine lifestyle and a different career opportunity. The Gold card lasted for another eight months before it expired and then, to bring you back to earth gently, the worlds favourite airline generously give you a silver card automatically for a year regardless of how many points you get before demoting you to the commoners class again with a blue card. So for the last two years, Mr Man and I have only been able to go into the lounges if we are actually travelling in Club and it has been costing us a fortune. Until now that is. This week Mr Man's long awaited Silver Card has arrived. Having missed out on it for the last two years having been thwarted by BA's fairly anal rules around points and timings, he has finally clocked up enough points in one year to be granted access to the Silver Card club. And what is more, he has already been able to make the most of one of its benefits when on Friday morning he flew to Madrid for work and despite being in cattle class was able to go into the lounge and have a civilised breakfast prior to boarding. It was the same on the way back, which manifested in a big positive for me as it meant he arrived home in a much better mood than if he had spent an hour waiting on those hard plastic chairs so prevalent in foreign airports. Hooray for the Silver Card!
In addition to airmiles, came points and eligibility to move up the tiers of the BA executive club. It wasn't long before a silver card was safely tucked behind my passport, and a few months and several tiresome and increasingly monotonous business trips later, a gold card followed which was maintained for two years. The benefits of these cards are only really appreciated whilst you are travelling and boil down to this; free lounge access for you and a guest regardless of class of travel (and airline for a gold card), and priority check in and boarding regardless of class of travel, although this often only works in civilised countries and not the UK interestingly. It might not seem much to anyone who has not experienced the the airport excessively as a chore rather than a precursor to a nice holiday, but its the little things that make all the difference.
You can have too much of a good thing, however, and after four years of travelling the world and racking up the airmiles I decided to give it all up for a more routine lifestyle and a different career opportunity. The Gold card lasted for another eight months before it expired and then, to bring you back to earth gently, the worlds favourite airline generously give you a silver card automatically for a year regardless of how many points you get before demoting you to the commoners class again with a blue card. So for the last two years, Mr Man and I have only been able to go into the lounges if we are actually travelling in Club and it has been costing us a fortune. Until now that is. This week Mr Man's long awaited Silver Card has arrived. Having missed out on it for the last two years having been thwarted by BA's fairly anal rules around points and timings, he has finally clocked up enough points in one year to be granted access to the Silver Card club. And what is more, he has already been able to make the most of one of its benefits when on Friday morning he flew to Madrid for work and despite being in cattle class was able to go into the lounge and have a civilised breakfast prior to boarding. It was the same on the way back, which manifested in a big positive for me as it meant he arrived home in a much better mood than if he had spent an hour waiting on those hard plastic chairs so prevalent in foreign airports. Hooray for the Silver Card!
Saturday 15 October 2011
These boots were made for warming
Apparently the current bright sunshine and warm rays are going to disappear next week to be replaced by a cold snap with snow, ice and bitter temperatures. This is, however, according to the "news" which is often reknown for sensationalising these things somewhat and so must be taken with a pinch of salt. But, as this current bright sunny climate and warm, if not baking, sunshine cannot last forever, it is inevitable that the cold snap will come at some point.
Whilst I enjoy a hot balmy summer's day as much as the next sunbather, I have always loved autumn and winter that little bit more. I think this stems from a life time of not being skinny, which means that chunky jumpers, thick tights and woolly hats, gloves and scarves (matching of course) are more suited to disguising ones natural chunkiness than skimpy dresses and vest tops. There is something very satisfying about going out into the elements dressed in a stylish assortment of knitwear, a good winter coat and sturdy boots which make you feel warm, cosy and comfortable despite mother nature's best efforts to the contrary. So, it is no surprise that I am quite excited about the latest news, just on the off chance that it actually happens.
Every year around now I treat myself to a couple of new pairs of boots from Duo, and this year is no exception. I have a pair of mid calf tan leather Gaucho boots which have been worn in during September and October, and are ready for some proper thick sock winter use, and a pair of smart black boots with a sensible heel which will be perfect with dresses and trousers as well as making leggings look smarter. The rule is that if I buy a new pair of functional boots I have to throw an old pair away which means last years old stalwarts which have been worn through to the ground have now been retired. Obviously a girl needs more than two pairs of boots, and at present some of last years and even the year before's more characterful pairs are still in good nick and so have been brought forward to the front of the shoe room ready for an outing when the weather turns. Later on, possibly just before Christmas I may recycle a pair of my more dressy boots to make way for a treat in the form of a shiney new pair, so that is something still to look forward to. But what I am really hoping for is when the big snow comes again. Then I can get my moon boots out, and they really do make an outfit.
Whilst I enjoy a hot balmy summer's day as much as the next sunbather, I have always loved autumn and winter that little bit more. I think this stems from a life time of not being skinny, which means that chunky jumpers, thick tights and woolly hats, gloves and scarves (matching of course) are more suited to disguising ones natural chunkiness than skimpy dresses and vest tops. There is something very satisfying about going out into the elements dressed in a stylish assortment of knitwear, a good winter coat and sturdy boots which make you feel warm, cosy and comfortable despite mother nature's best efforts to the contrary. So, it is no surprise that I am quite excited about the latest news, just on the off chance that it actually happens.
Every year around now I treat myself to a couple of new pairs of boots from Duo, and this year is no exception. I have a pair of mid calf tan leather Gaucho boots which have been worn in during September and October, and are ready for some proper thick sock winter use, and a pair of smart black boots with a sensible heel which will be perfect with dresses and trousers as well as making leggings look smarter. The rule is that if I buy a new pair of functional boots I have to throw an old pair away which means last years old stalwarts which have been worn through to the ground have now been retired. Obviously a girl needs more than two pairs of boots, and at present some of last years and even the year before's more characterful pairs are still in good nick and so have been brought forward to the front of the shoe room ready for an outing when the weather turns. Later on, possibly just before Christmas I may recycle a pair of my more dressy boots to make way for a treat in the form of a shiney new pair, so that is something still to look forward to. But what I am really hoping for is when the big snow comes again. Then I can get my moon boots out, and they really do make an outfit.
Thursday 13 October 2011
Some days are better than others
I've had a lovely day today. Fabulous company, fun filled activities and great food which I was hungry enough to eat. What more could a girl ask for?
The EB painting was brilliant although I will wait until I see how my creations make it through the glazing and firing process before I declare it a complete success. The special requests that the BF and I made were delivered and so we got to the two smug women in the corner painting non mug items much to the obvious jealousy of several other women. Paul from the EB pottery cafe was there as were several other familiar faces from the slightly obsessive world of British made ceramics.
After we had painted our masterpieces and made the most of the 25% discount we returned home to the BF's house for lunch and in my case a nap, before collecting her two munchkins from nursery where they had been banished for the day to make way for the all important painting. We then had a trip to the hairdressers for the oldest munchkin to have her haircut before home again for milk before bedtime. I got to watch Shrek the Halls which I'd not seen before but very much enjoyed - I don't think oldest Munchkin got as much out of it as I did, but that's the beauty of animated films these days - they are not really for the kids at all. and then the BF cooked up a lovely dinner which I was able to do justice to. Finally we watched some telly and had more of a natter, then it was time for bed.
There are more than lots of happy thoughts from today, and so I'm going to bed happy in the knowledge that good days can still happen even in the midst of all this medical intervention. I look forward to the next one very soon.
The EB painting was brilliant although I will wait until I see how my creations make it through the glazing and firing process before I declare it a complete success. The special requests that the BF and I made were delivered and so we got to the two smug women in the corner painting non mug items much to the obvious jealousy of several other women. Paul from the EB pottery cafe was there as were several other familiar faces from the slightly obsessive world of British made ceramics.
After we had painted our masterpieces and made the most of the 25% discount we returned home to the BF's house for lunch and in my case a nap, before collecting her two munchkins from nursery where they had been banished for the day to make way for the all important painting. We then had a trip to the hairdressers for the oldest munchkin to have her haircut before home again for milk before bedtime. I got to watch Shrek the Halls which I'd not seen before but very much enjoyed - I don't think oldest Munchkin got as much out of it as I did, but that's the beauty of animated films these days - they are not really for the kids at all. and then the BF cooked up a lovely dinner which I was able to do justice to. Finally we watched some telly and had more of a natter, then it was time for bed.
There are more than lots of happy thoughts from today, and so I'm going to bed happy in the knowledge that good days can still happen even in the midst of all this medical intervention. I look forward to the next one very soon.
Wednesday 12 October 2011
Best of British
Today whilst I waited for the various pain killers to kick in, I took the opportunity to catch up on some TV which I had recorded on V+. One of the programmes was 'Ceramics: a fragile history' from BBC Four on Monday night. Normally, this would not be my viewing of choice, however on the trailer I had spotted some clips of something quite wonderful; the Emma Bridgewater pottery making process at Eastworks Factory, Hanley, Stoke on Trent. The first episode in this series focused on tha material of clay and of the history of pottery in this country and it was interesting to hear that pottery is one of the only materials in our society which is in effect a commerorative time stamp of the date it was made. You can melt down silver, gold and platinum and remodel into new shapes, but once clay is fired and glazed you cannot remould it, thus making it a perfect material for marking special occasions.
Tomorrow I am off on a little excursion out of town. I am heading west, to Berkshire to stay with the BF, but more importantly we are going to spend the day paying hommage to our favourite British designer, and business woman, Emma Bridgewater. We have in the past visited the mothership in Hanley, Stoke on Trent to see the beautiful British pottery being made and decorated, and whilst there have indulged our creative sides in the pottery cafe and painted a few pieces ourselves using the techniques still in practice in the factory today. But once a year, the Pottery Cafe moves to Camp Hobson, a department store in Newbury, and offers Emma Bridgewater afficionados like the BF and I the chance to paint mugs (and hopefully other carefully requested shapes - it pays to be in with the right people) without having to drive for hours up the M6. This annual event is tomorrow, and I am SOOOOOO excited.
My kitchen is a mecca to all things EB. Mr Man has long since given up despairing whenever a new mug, plate or bowl appears in the dishwasher. Apart from the prettiness of it all, as well as the functionality of every single piece, the thing I love most about EB is its Britishness. Every piece is hand made and hand decorated in the factory in Stock on Trent. The materials are also British sourced and there is a real pride in the workmanship and work ethic throughout the whole company. In a time when cost seems to be the driver for everything, it is refreshing to find that quality and craftmanship is still valued in some businesses in this country. Many people have said that they think EB is very expensive, but when you consider that it is all handmade here in this country, and produced to a very high standard the price becomes very reasonable. Plus, by buying British I am supporting the economy and ensuring that I am playing my part in keeping Britain moving. It might SEEM more economical to buy some mass produced Chinese stuff from Ikea, but in the longer term that money will not pay nearly as many British workers, and therefore be available for reinvestment into the British Economy by those same workers, rather than being syphoned off into the pockets of a few share holders in Sweden and an enterprising capitalist in China.
So, I have spent today thinking about what I am going to paint to make my mark forever on some EB ceramics. I have a few ideas and my creative juices are flowing. I just hope they don't run out of mugs - The economy needs me.
Tomorrow I am off on a little excursion out of town. I am heading west, to Berkshire to stay with the BF, but more importantly we are going to spend the day paying hommage to our favourite British designer, and business woman, Emma Bridgewater. We have in the past visited the mothership in Hanley, Stoke on Trent to see the beautiful British pottery being made and decorated, and whilst there have indulged our creative sides in the pottery cafe and painted a few pieces ourselves using the techniques still in practice in the factory today. But once a year, the Pottery Cafe moves to Camp Hobson, a department store in Newbury, and offers Emma Bridgewater afficionados like the BF and I the chance to paint mugs (and hopefully other carefully requested shapes - it pays to be in with the right people) without having to drive for hours up the M6. This annual event is tomorrow, and I am SOOOOOO excited.
My kitchen is a mecca to all things EB. Mr Man has long since given up despairing whenever a new mug, plate or bowl appears in the dishwasher. Apart from the prettiness of it all, as well as the functionality of every single piece, the thing I love most about EB is its Britishness. Every piece is hand made and hand decorated in the factory in Stock on Trent. The materials are also British sourced and there is a real pride in the workmanship and work ethic throughout the whole company. In a time when cost seems to be the driver for everything, it is refreshing to find that quality and craftmanship is still valued in some businesses in this country. Many people have said that they think EB is very expensive, but when you consider that it is all handmade here in this country, and produced to a very high standard the price becomes very reasonable. Plus, by buying British I am supporting the economy and ensuring that I am playing my part in keeping Britain moving. It might SEEM more economical to buy some mass produced Chinese stuff from Ikea, but in the longer term that money will not pay nearly as many British workers, and therefore be available for reinvestment into the British Economy by those same workers, rather than being syphoned off into the pockets of a few share holders in Sweden and an enterprising capitalist in China.
So, I have spent today thinking about what I am going to paint to make my mark forever on some EB ceramics. I have a few ideas and my creative juices are flowing. I just hope they don't run out of mugs - The economy needs me.
Tuesday 11 October 2011
You've got to have a dream
The positive thinking revolution is gaining momentum. I was alerted to this fact by a link posted by the BF on Facebook to a BBC news article entitled 'Brain rejects negative thoughts' in which some clever scientist people have proved that those with a positive attitude to a variety of life events are more likely to encounter health benefits. Well this is good news. However, it is not really news as such, because I along with many other non scientist type people have been pretty convinced of this for a while.
When I was younger I recall telling my parents frequently about all the things I wanted to do when I grew up. Travel the world, drive fast cars (I particularly wanted a black Ferrari) and live in exciting places (specifically Sydney) being the main ones. Whilst I was at university i started to action some of these dreams. I lived in Spain for almost a year and came back and spent my student loans on a car. A little blue Peugeot 106. You have to start somewhere. I then travelled to Mexico and Australia post graduation. Mum, who was and still is a bit of a worrier, would ask how I'd find the money to pay for these things, and i would tell her that i would get a good job after i graduated. She would fret over this and ask how i could be so sure id be able to repay the student debts which had funded some of my dreams and my reply was simple; I just know I will.
Recently, I was fortunate enough to attend a one day seminar with Jack Black, an advocate of positive positioning and the powers of the mind in a range of scenarios. (not to be confused with the roundish American actor of the same name). As part of his seminar he talked about goals and dreams and why some people seem better than others at getting what they want in life, and he talked about the question asked of millions of children every day; what do you want to be when you grow up? Suddenly I was transported back to the breakfast room table in the 1990's, and a lot of things made sense.
When a child articulates what they want to be when they grow up, they are sharing their dreams and highest ambitions. Many of us will recall as children how limitless our imagination was and that anything was possible. So what what changed? Did all of the wannabe train drivers, astronauts and ballet dancers just change their minds? No of course not. They probably just suffered a monumental blow to their dreams when someone asked them how they were going to achieve them. Jack Black made the point that the most damaging thing you can say to a child who has just told you what they want to be when they grow up, is 'how are you going do that?' By all means ask them why, but by asking how you bring in obstacles and doubt, which will often be enough to shatter the most vivid childhood ambition.
So, back to the breakfast room table in the 1990's, was I an exception to the rule of how and why? No, I don't think so. I don't blame my mum for her worrying concern over my future financial situation. She still thinks I don't worry enough about money and I in turn think she worries too much about it. We'll have to agree to disagree. I cannot recall what wanted to be when I grew up when I was about seven, but I think though that by the time the specific conversation as recalled here happened I was a little older. Thank goodness by then I was too stubborn to listen.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-15214080
When I was younger I recall telling my parents frequently about all the things I wanted to do when I grew up. Travel the world, drive fast cars (I particularly wanted a black Ferrari) and live in exciting places (specifically Sydney) being the main ones. Whilst I was at university i started to action some of these dreams. I lived in Spain for almost a year and came back and spent my student loans on a car. A little blue Peugeot 106. You have to start somewhere. I then travelled to Mexico and Australia post graduation. Mum, who was and still is a bit of a worrier, would ask how I'd find the money to pay for these things, and i would tell her that i would get a good job after i graduated. She would fret over this and ask how i could be so sure id be able to repay the student debts which had funded some of my dreams and my reply was simple; I just know I will.
Recently, I was fortunate enough to attend a one day seminar with Jack Black, an advocate of positive positioning and the powers of the mind in a range of scenarios. (not to be confused with the roundish American actor of the same name). As part of his seminar he talked about goals and dreams and why some people seem better than others at getting what they want in life, and he talked about the question asked of millions of children every day; what do you want to be when you grow up? Suddenly I was transported back to the breakfast room table in the 1990's, and a lot of things made sense.
When a child articulates what they want to be when they grow up, they are sharing their dreams and highest ambitions. Many of us will recall as children how limitless our imagination was and that anything was possible. So what what changed? Did all of the wannabe train drivers, astronauts and ballet dancers just change their minds? No of course not. They probably just suffered a monumental blow to their dreams when someone asked them how they were going to achieve them. Jack Black made the point that the most damaging thing you can say to a child who has just told you what they want to be when they grow up, is 'how are you going do that?' By all means ask them why, but by asking how you bring in obstacles and doubt, which will often be enough to shatter the most vivid childhood ambition.
So, back to the breakfast room table in the 1990's, was I an exception to the rule of how and why? No, I don't think so. I don't blame my mum for her worrying concern over my future financial situation. She still thinks I don't worry enough about money and I in turn think she worries too much about it. We'll have to agree to disagree. I cannot recall what wanted to be when I grew up when I was about seven, but I think though that by the time the specific conversation as recalled here happened I was a little older. Thank goodness by then I was too stubborn to listen.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-15214080
Monday 10 October 2011
A friend in need
I like to talk. In fact, as Bob Hoskins told us throughout the 1990's, it's good to talk. One of my parents favourite memories of me as a child was me playing on my Fisher Price Telephone and chattering away to the (admittedly imaginary) person on the other end for hours. One of their scariest memories was probably when I decided that Fisher Price version was no longer cutting it and wanted to play on the real telephone. I vividly recall telling my Mum in earnest that it was OK, as I would not dial numbers that I knew so there would be no bill. A logic which may still apply I feel. My talkativeness continued into my teens with the phone being a key ally, despite it annoyingly being tied to the wall. I did manage to get the wire to stretch into my bedroom but this did not go down so well with Mum and Dad, apart from anything else it became a trip wire hazard on the approach to the bathroom.
Talking continued to be a theme throughout my young adult life, but only ever with people I knew. With strangers I was very, very shy. It was a paradoxical situation as friends and family would put me down as confident and outgoing, but in a room full of intimidating strangers or uncomfortable surroundings I would not say boo to a goose. After graduation I went round the world on my own, in a brave and self developing feat of confidence boosting. I don't know what made me do it, but I think I knew deep down that if I did not take the plunge then I would spend the rest of my life in the shadow of shyness and this would never do. After the voyage of discovery, I was much better but even now there are times when I have to steel myself to walk into a room of people and start talking to someone. Sometimes, you will still find my skulking at the back next to the teapot. I am definitely a one on one, small group conversationalist by nature. Overtime, my talking has developed into listening as well and I am now quite adept at listening carefully, even if I do say so myself.
So recently it has been lovely to have received so many personal and direct communications from friends all around the world. It does not matter how long it has been since we last spoke or saw one another, or how we initially met and got to know one another, each message comes across as it was written; from a friend to me. I have tried to respond to as many messages as I can, not because I think I have to, but because it is the opening of a dialogue which I quite enjoy. As a result, the conversations have developed either electronically or verbally, and it is no longer about how I am feeling, but also about what is going on in other people's worlds. I encourage this, both in terms of the good and the less good, and there is something I find very satisfying about being able to listen to someone else's worries, hopes and fears, and provide them with the appropriate response - be it advice, opinion or just a listening ear. It gives me a sense of purpose, and makes me feel very much in need. This may sound a little strange given I have quite a lot to keep me occupied at present but hearing about other people's challenges, no matter how small, give me an opportunity to think about something else, and allow me to feel useful. I think it is also useful for the other person as well as often I have received emails or been on the end of phone conversations which have started or ended with lines like "I know it's nothing like what you're going through but..." and "It sounds less important when I say it out loud". The opportunity to air ones views and feelings is very powerful.
So today, I am taking heart in the fact that I am still able to talk and listen with purpose, which in turn brings benefit both to me as a distraction and also to others as a venting mechanism. I also think a really big positive from this whole battle is that it does put things into perspective, for almost everyone I know, and if I have inspired just one person to make a positive change in their life for the better then, I am very happy with that. If you are that person, then well done you. If it wasn't, then what are you waiting for? Get on with it please.
Talking continued to be a theme throughout my young adult life, but only ever with people I knew. With strangers I was very, very shy. It was a paradoxical situation as friends and family would put me down as confident and outgoing, but in a room full of intimidating strangers or uncomfortable surroundings I would not say boo to a goose. After graduation I went round the world on my own, in a brave and self developing feat of confidence boosting. I don't know what made me do it, but I think I knew deep down that if I did not take the plunge then I would spend the rest of my life in the shadow of shyness and this would never do. After the voyage of discovery, I was much better but even now there are times when I have to steel myself to walk into a room of people and start talking to someone. Sometimes, you will still find my skulking at the back next to the teapot. I am definitely a one on one, small group conversationalist by nature. Overtime, my talking has developed into listening as well and I am now quite adept at listening carefully, even if I do say so myself.
So recently it has been lovely to have received so many personal and direct communications from friends all around the world. It does not matter how long it has been since we last spoke or saw one another, or how we initially met and got to know one another, each message comes across as it was written; from a friend to me. I have tried to respond to as many messages as I can, not because I think I have to, but because it is the opening of a dialogue which I quite enjoy. As a result, the conversations have developed either electronically or verbally, and it is no longer about how I am feeling, but also about what is going on in other people's worlds. I encourage this, both in terms of the good and the less good, and there is something I find very satisfying about being able to listen to someone else's worries, hopes and fears, and provide them with the appropriate response - be it advice, opinion or just a listening ear. It gives me a sense of purpose, and makes me feel very much in need. This may sound a little strange given I have quite a lot to keep me occupied at present but hearing about other people's challenges, no matter how small, give me an opportunity to think about something else, and allow me to feel useful. I think it is also useful for the other person as well as often I have received emails or been on the end of phone conversations which have started or ended with lines like "I know it's nothing like what you're going through but..." and "It sounds less important when I say it out loud". The opportunity to air ones views and feelings is very powerful.
So today, I am taking heart in the fact that I am still able to talk and listen with purpose, which in turn brings benefit both to me as a distraction and also to others as a venting mechanism. I also think a really big positive from this whole battle is that it does put things into perspective, for almost everyone I know, and if I have inspired just one person to make a positive change in their life for the better then, I am very happy with that. If you are that person, then well done you. If it wasn't, then what are you waiting for? Get on with it please.
Sunday 9 October 2011
Look after the pennies...
First things first, I won £10 on last night's lottery draw. Woo hoo! Just goes to show what you can achieve with a positive mind set. A little more practice and I reckon I might just crack the jackpot.
Today has been another steady improvement on yesterday. I've had a little more energy and today managed to leave the house which may not sound much but based on the last 72 hours performance is quite an achievement. I also had enough energy to browse through Mr Man's Conde Nast Traveller magazine, and came across the picture to the left which has inspired me as to where I want to go on holiday as a post war-winning treat. It is a Maldivian Boat suite on Cocoa Island in the Maldives, and it looks divine. I have kicked straight back into organisational mode and have already established flight options, a variety of timings, activities and availability of my boat of choice. I have highlighted the options for doing some island hopping whilst there to enjoy the unspoilt, pristine beaches of the deserted islands, the snorkelling options to see the vast arrays of coral and tropical fish, and even had a sneaky peek at the spa menu to see what is on offer. This is all very well and good, but due to all the treatment we are unable to be sure when I will be able to go; it could be the end of January or we may have to wait until February or even March. I have therefore added an action on my motivational goals list, to get some insight from the Oncologists next time I see them for some guidance on timings. Once this is established then I can see no reason why we cannot book our ten day escape, and have something really exciting to look forward to. In fact, I am looking forward to it already. Booking it that is; it is an opportunity for a new holiday planning spreadsheet.
Today has been another steady improvement on yesterday. I've had a little more energy and today managed to leave the house which may not sound much but based on the last 72 hours performance is quite an achievement. I also had enough energy to browse through Mr Man's Conde Nast Traveller magazine, and came across the picture to the left which has inspired me as to where I want to go on holiday as a post war-winning treat. It is a Maldivian Boat suite on Cocoa Island in the Maldives, and it looks divine. I have kicked straight back into organisational mode and have already established flight options, a variety of timings, activities and availability of my boat of choice. I have highlighted the options for doing some island hopping whilst there to enjoy the unspoilt, pristine beaches of the deserted islands, the snorkelling options to see the vast arrays of coral and tropical fish, and even had a sneaky peek at the spa menu to see what is on offer. This is all very well and good, but due to all the treatment we are unable to be sure when I will be able to go; it could be the end of January or we may have to wait until February or even March. I have therefore added an action on my motivational goals list, to get some insight from the Oncologists next time I see them for some guidance on timings. Once this is established then I can see no reason why we cannot book our ten day escape, and have something really exciting to look forward to. In fact, I am looking forward to it already. Booking it that is; it is an opportunity for a new holiday planning spreadsheet.Saturday 8 October 2011
The only way is up
Exactly a year ago today, I spent the entire day waiting to be called down for surgery on my spine following a car accident I had in October 2008. It was without the question the most painful day of my life, as despite being told that I was to be nil by mouth from midnight as my surgery was expected to be around 10am, I did not go to theatre until 8.20pm in the evening. During this time the nurses refused to give me any water as the surgery slot was "imminent" and as dehydration kicked in, my head started to pound and I felt sick to my core. I have never felt worse, before or since. I was also very scared. I had not had a major operation under general anaesthetic as an adult and I was struggling with the concept. It was all in an all a horrible day. One year on, and the neck is fine. The scar has healed very nicely to an almost invisible line and the odd bit of clicking I get is very minor. There is no pain unless I accidentally lie funnily on my pillows and so all in all, it was a resounding success.
Last year's experience has drawn a line in the sand. It is the benchmark of feeling awful and not being able to do anything about it. It is only when you have been so low that you can appreciate the view from the bottom of the canyon, and strive to climb back up again. My experiences of this pesky disease so far have not been as bad as that one day in the hospital last year, and for that I am very grateful. I am aware of the cumulative effects of chemotherapy which may make each cycle harder than the last, but at least I am now prepared for what a cycle can do to me, and so going forward I will know better what to expect, and forewarned is forearmed.
As I said, in yesterday's post, yesterday was tough. I had no energy and felt terrible pains for most of the day. Today, has already been much better than yesterday. Although I am still feeling the effects of fatigue I have managed to eat a lot more than yesterday which in turn has given me some strength and energy to move around the house an awful lot more that I did yesterday. I have also noticed that I have not needed my back up pain relief as much today as I have done before now, which I am taking as a good sign. So, with about 50% more energy than I had yesterday, I am now off to buy a lottery ticket for this evenings draw. I didn't win Euromillions last night as I forgot to buy a ticket, but today I am feeling lucky. So, this time next year I will be as fit as a fiddle, and of course a millionaire.
Last year's experience has drawn a line in the sand. It is the benchmark of feeling awful and not being able to do anything about it. It is only when you have been so low that you can appreciate the view from the bottom of the canyon, and strive to climb back up again. My experiences of this pesky disease so far have not been as bad as that one day in the hospital last year, and for that I am very grateful. I am aware of the cumulative effects of chemotherapy which may make each cycle harder than the last, but at least I am now prepared for what a cycle can do to me, and so going forward I will know better what to expect, and forewarned is forearmed.
As I said, in yesterday's post, yesterday was tough. I had no energy and felt terrible pains for most of the day. Today, has already been much better than yesterday. Although I am still feeling the effects of fatigue I have managed to eat a lot more than yesterday which in turn has given me some strength and energy to move around the house an awful lot more that I did yesterday. I have also noticed that I have not needed my back up pain relief as much today as I have done before now, which I am taking as a good sign. So, with about 50% more energy than I had yesterday, I am now off to buy a lottery ticket for this evenings draw. I didn't win Euromillions last night as I forgot to buy a ticket, but today I am feeling lucky. So, this time next year I will be as fit as a fiddle, and of course a millionaire.
Friday 7 October 2011
Sometimes you've got to roll with the punches
Today has been a very strange experience. Despite a reasonable night's sleep I've felt totally wiped out all day. My sum total of effort can be described as a ten minute shuffle round to Little Sis' place and back earlier in the day so I could get out of the way of my Cleaners whilst they made my house look ship shape again, and a further five minute shuffle this evening to let Barney Trubble do his business. I also managed to make some cheese on toast but that's about it. The rest of the time I've been zonked out. I expect this is the drugs getting to work in earnest however and so I'm not too concerned. As long as they are winning.
In a further strange twist if events, it seems that Mr Man has taken on board some of the possible symptoms for me. He was feeling nauseous all afternoon and was actually sick on his cycle home (somewhere near Walworth and Camberwell so I'm sure no one batted an eyelid at a bit of extra street decoration). I at least have anti sickness drugs to fight that symptom but it seems Mr Man had to endure that horrid sick feeling instead. Oh dear. It therefore was rather fortuitous that I've been so weary as he has spent the whole evening in bed so conversation in our house has been pretty light this evening.
So positives for today are that I have a nice clean house which is a big deal when you're spending so much time in it, and possibly better still I have clean sheets on the bed which always makes going to sleep more relaxing. I also now know what all the nurses were talking about when they said I'd feel terrible over the weekend. For me this means tired and a bit achey rather than sick, thanks in part to the magic anti sickness drugs and Mr Man's generosity in taking one for the team. I'm lucky that I do have a nice house, and the option of visiting someone else's flat for a change of scenery as required, so at least I'm comfortable whilst I'm feeling a bit below par, so all in all things could be worse.
I'm off to bed now- those clean sheets are calling- and tomorrow is a new day. Night night.
In a further strange twist if events, it seems that Mr Man has taken on board some of the possible symptoms for me. He was feeling nauseous all afternoon and was actually sick on his cycle home (somewhere near Walworth and Camberwell so I'm sure no one batted an eyelid at a bit of extra street decoration). I at least have anti sickness drugs to fight that symptom but it seems Mr Man had to endure that horrid sick feeling instead. Oh dear. It therefore was rather fortuitous that I've been so weary as he has spent the whole evening in bed so conversation in our house has been pretty light this evening.
So positives for today are that I have a nice clean house which is a big deal when you're spending so much time in it, and possibly better still I have clean sheets on the bed which always makes going to sleep more relaxing. I also now know what all the nurses were talking about when they said I'd feel terrible over the weekend. For me this means tired and a bit achey rather than sick, thanks in part to the magic anti sickness drugs and Mr Man's generosity in taking one for the team. I'm lucky that I do have a nice house, and the option of visiting someone else's flat for a change of scenery as required, so at least I'm comfortable whilst I'm feeling a bit below par, so all in all things could be worse.
I'm off to bed now- those clean sheets are calling- and tomorrow is a new day. Night night.
Thursday 6 October 2011
Round one. Done.
Today was the third and final day of my first cycle of chemotherapy. Overall the whole course went reasonably well although I fear that the worst is yet to come over the next two and a half weeks. But, never one to be deterred I am not planning on being too sick and am sure there is a degree of mind over matter to all of this.
The day began with a bonus in the form of Mr Man taking an impromptu day of holiday. I'd like to say this was motivated by a desire to spend some time with me, but it quickly became apparent that the key reasons were more closely linked to the family of hamsters who had moved into his mouth overnight and quickly laid down lots of carpet, and the little men with hammers who were digging for long lost treasure via his scalp. In short, he had a hangover. A bad one. So, obviously he wanted to spend part of his day traipsing up to Harley Street and sitting for two and a half hours on a visitors chair, almost as much as I wanted to be spending my day in the same place being stabbed like a pin cushion while no less than three nurses tried to get a cannula into my veins. Nevertheless this is what we did.
It took them an hour and a half and five attempts to get the needle and tubes into my hand to administer the necessary drugs. Due to the discomfort of being on the receiving end of a needle, I find it very useful to squeeze the hand of the nearest available visitor. Yesterday, Little Sis smiled politely whilst I crushed her fingers, today I think Mr Man would have taken back the little men with hammers as I squeezed his hand to share the pain. Sorry about that.
Given the number of times I've had drips and blood tests recently, it's unsurprising that my veins are shot to pieces. There is however a solution. It's called a port and it like a plug socket which will sit just under the skin, and will allow the nurses to literally plug me in each time and get on with the main event. Initially I was sceptical to this squeamish concept, but after three days of cannula insertion and I'm almost sold. I met another patient who has one and she seemed perfectly happy with it so maybe it's not a bad idea.
So, after two and a half hours we were able to leave and despite my lack of appetite I had suggested lunch to Mr Man and so we found ourselves in the John Lewis cafe on Oxford street where I managed a pitiful amount of lasagne and Mr Man ate his and some of mine for good measure once more. He really is a saint.... And then to celebrate the end of round one Mr Man treated me to a fabulous iPad so that I can load it with tv shows, and films in advance of the next cycle to keep me occupied. Once again, Mr Man surpassed himself. So despite the discomfort today's highs have more than outweighed the lows; a bonus day with Mr Man, an option to make the next cycle less uncomfortable and a super new present to play with. Plus of course we have completed round one. Roll on round two on the 26 October.
The day began with a bonus in the form of Mr Man taking an impromptu day of holiday. I'd like to say this was motivated by a desire to spend some time with me, but it quickly became apparent that the key reasons were more closely linked to the family of hamsters who had moved into his mouth overnight and quickly laid down lots of carpet, and the little men with hammers who were digging for long lost treasure via his scalp. In short, he had a hangover. A bad one. So, obviously he wanted to spend part of his day traipsing up to Harley Street and sitting for two and a half hours on a visitors chair, almost as much as I wanted to be spending my day in the same place being stabbed like a pin cushion while no less than three nurses tried to get a cannula into my veins. Nevertheless this is what we did.
It took them an hour and a half and five attempts to get the needle and tubes into my hand to administer the necessary drugs. Due to the discomfort of being on the receiving end of a needle, I find it very useful to squeeze the hand of the nearest available visitor. Yesterday, Little Sis smiled politely whilst I crushed her fingers, today I think Mr Man would have taken back the little men with hammers as I squeezed his hand to share the pain. Sorry about that.
Given the number of times I've had drips and blood tests recently, it's unsurprising that my veins are shot to pieces. There is however a solution. It's called a port and it like a plug socket which will sit just under the skin, and will allow the nurses to literally plug me in each time and get on with the main event. Initially I was sceptical to this squeamish concept, but after three days of cannula insertion and I'm almost sold. I met another patient who has one and she seemed perfectly happy with it so maybe it's not a bad idea.
So, after two and a half hours we were able to leave and despite my lack of appetite I had suggested lunch to Mr Man and so we found ourselves in the John Lewis cafe on Oxford street where I managed a pitiful amount of lasagne and Mr Man ate his and some of mine for good measure once more. He really is a saint.... And then to celebrate the end of round one Mr Man treated me to a fabulous iPad so that I can load it with tv shows, and films in advance of the next cycle to keep me occupied. Once again, Mr Man surpassed himself. So despite the discomfort today's highs have more than outweighed the lows; a bonus day with Mr Man, an option to make the next cycle less uncomfortable and a super new present to play with. Plus of course we have completed round one. Roll on round two on the 26 October.
Wednesday 5 October 2011
What's in a name?
This project team now has in excess of a hundred team members and yet we still don't have a project name. I've only received one suggestion which was around the Michael Jackson song Beat it, and whilst I love the sentiment I was never a big MJ fan so don't feel drawn to it. However, i have come up with something that I think fits the bill perfectly.
As many people know I have always disliked my full first name. It reminds me of being in trouble as a child, and always sounded so dull and serious. Even now being called Nicola brings back that feeling of dread surrounding the inevitable telling off that followed. If I got called Nicola Louise however then I knew I was really in trouble.
I was not meant to be called Nicola however. Pre birth my parents wanted to call me Andrea Emma if I was a girl or (don't laugh) Timothy Gavin if I was a boy. Thank goodness for that second X chromosome. However, when I turned up apparently I didn't look like an Andrea, and my grandmother declared she had an Aunt called Emma who she disliked. So from somewhere I got stuck with Nicola.
It was shortened by me to Nicket as a very young child as I could not say the full word, and close family and friends eventually shortened it to Nic as a child. It was not until my late teenage years when Nikki became my adage of choice, but for those who knew me as a child this moniker is an alien and uncomfortable concept. I however quite like it and am finally comfortable with a name for myself.
However, official things still say Nicola on the whole. It matches the birth certificate and passport and so to that end there is not a lot I can do but accept it. In recent weeks inevitably Nicola has been used a lot at the various hospitals and medical practices. I said earlier that I think it sounds serious and so I suppose that makes it rather appropriate.
Having heard 'Nicola' in use more frequently of late has made me recall a mug that I had as a child. I think Father Christmas may have brought it in my Christmas stocking when I was about ten years old. It is a Clinton cards mug with a Quentin Blake style cartoon on it and a poem about the meaning of the name 'Nicola'. In the world of positive thinking, the use of repeated affirmations is widely agreed to be a good way of instilling positive thoughts and influencing the laws of attraction to bring certain things into your life. With this in mind, it should be no surprise when you read the poem which is still etched on that mug in my parents' kitchen cupboard as well as firmly in my memory, why I am how I am. For better or worse.
Nicola - meaning 'Victorious'
You are a winner,
you are the best,
always there before the rest,
guaranteed every time
to be the first across the finish line.
So for once, I think I have found a use for my official name that I quite like. It may be serious sounding, but this project needs some serious effort, and I think the poem says it all. So in looking for a project name that is suitably serious, and also destined to succeed, Project Nicola it is.
As many people know I have always disliked my full first name. It reminds me of being in trouble as a child, and always sounded so dull and serious. Even now being called Nicola brings back that feeling of dread surrounding the inevitable telling off that followed. If I got called Nicola Louise however then I knew I was really in trouble.
I was not meant to be called Nicola however. Pre birth my parents wanted to call me Andrea Emma if I was a girl or (don't laugh) Timothy Gavin if I was a boy. Thank goodness for that second X chromosome. However, when I turned up apparently I didn't look like an Andrea, and my grandmother declared she had an Aunt called Emma who she disliked. So from somewhere I got stuck with Nicola.
It was shortened by me to Nicket as a very young child as I could not say the full word, and close family and friends eventually shortened it to Nic as a child. It was not until my late teenage years when Nikki became my adage of choice, but for those who knew me as a child this moniker is an alien and uncomfortable concept. I however quite like it and am finally comfortable with a name for myself.
However, official things still say Nicola on the whole. It matches the birth certificate and passport and so to that end there is not a lot I can do but accept it. In recent weeks inevitably Nicola has been used a lot at the various hospitals and medical practices. I said earlier that I think it sounds serious and so I suppose that makes it rather appropriate.
Having heard 'Nicola' in use more frequently of late has made me recall a mug that I had as a child. I think Father Christmas may have brought it in my Christmas stocking when I was about ten years old. It is a Clinton cards mug with a Quentin Blake style cartoon on it and a poem about the meaning of the name 'Nicola'. In the world of positive thinking, the use of repeated affirmations is widely agreed to be a good way of instilling positive thoughts and influencing the laws of attraction to bring certain things into your life. With this in mind, it should be no surprise when you read the poem which is still etched on that mug in my parents' kitchen cupboard as well as firmly in my memory, why I am how I am. For better or worse.
Nicola - meaning 'Victorious'
You are a winner,
you are the best,
always there before the rest,
guaranteed every time
to be the first across the finish line.
So for once, I think I have found a use for my official name that I quite like. It may be serious sounding, but this project needs some serious effort, and I think the poem says it all. So in looking for a project name that is suitably serious, and also destined to succeed, Project Nicola it is.
Tuesday 4 October 2011
Even the longest journey starts with a single step
It's hard work sitting in a reclining armchair all day. I don't know how those people at DFS do it. I get fidgety at the best of times so it was fairly inevitable that I'd be up and down like a yo-yo and that was before they intravenously pumped me full of 2 litres of saline to flush out my kidneys and a further litre of anti sickness drugs before the main event of 2 litres of cancer killing fluids were pumped in from a rather suspicious looking black plastic bag, not dissimilar to that which you may be given if you were to make a purchase at a certain type of adult shop, or so I am told. At least all this liquid this meant I had somewhere to go to make my fidgeting more purposeful.
Anyway 9am until 6pm in one place. It's like being back at work on a half day but with an intravenous drip attached. Although unlike the office though, it was seemingly very acceptable to have a nap this afternoon and so I did. I also read some of my book, listened to my ipod, communicated with many people via text, email and facebook, played scrabble against Mr Man (Of course I did...) and did a few other brain teaser puzzles, but after a certain amount of time cabin fever kicks in and nothing could amuse me.
It didn't hurt though, not that I was expecting it to. I had a lot of questions about whether it felt different when they put the chemo drugs in (no), and whether it hurt (no - its just a small scratch when they put the needle in for the cannula at the beginning of the day.) Apparently nurses are no longer inclined to say that you may feel a little prick which is a shame really as you would have thought that in a chemo day room everyone could do with a giggle. Nor have I had any unusual side effects yet. I have been sent home with a goody bag of medicines to counter a myriad of issues and so I think I have it all covered. I am back there again tomorrow and Thursday but only for an hour or so each day as tomorrow is just one type of Chemo drug rather than today's two and I don't have to have the hydration ritual before and after as I did today.
So, today's happy thought is this. I have done the hardest part for this cycle, and on a programme of six cycles I therefore only have to do this five more times, so I am almost 17% through the long days at Harley Street Clinic. Another happy thought is that somehow inside me as I type the Battle of the Omentum has commenced and the War of the Pelvis is well underway. With my strong, positive and brave outlook, the love and support of all my family and friends and some kick ass drugs now on the case, I know where my money is going, and it is not on the invading cellular army.
Anyway 9am until 6pm in one place. It's like being back at work on a half day but with an intravenous drip attached. Although unlike the office though, it was seemingly very acceptable to have a nap this afternoon and so I did. I also read some of my book, listened to my ipod, communicated with many people via text, email and facebook, played scrabble against Mr Man (Of course I did...) and did a few other brain teaser puzzles, but after a certain amount of time cabin fever kicks in and nothing could amuse me.
It didn't hurt though, not that I was expecting it to. I had a lot of questions about whether it felt different when they put the chemo drugs in (no), and whether it hurt (no - its just a small scratch when they put the needle in for the cannula at the beginning of the day.) Apparently nurses are no longer inclined to say that you may feel a little prick which is a shame really as you would have thought that in a chemo day room everyone could do with a giggle. Nor have I had any unusual side effects yet. I have been sent home with a goody bag of medicines to counter a myriad of issues and so I think I have it all covered. I am back there again tomorrow and Thursday but only for an hour or so each day as tomorrow is just one type of Chemo drug rather than today's two and I don't have to have the hydration ritual before and after as I did today.
So, today's happy thought is this. I have done the hardest part for this cycle, and on a programme of six cycles I therefore only have to do this five more times, so I am almost 17% through the long days at Harley Street Clinic. Another happy thought is that somehow inside me as I type the Battle of the Omentum has commenced and the War of the Pelvis is well underway. With my strong, positive and brave outlook, the love and support of all my family and friends and some kick ass drugs now on the case, I know where my money is going, and it is not on the invading cellular army.
Monday 3 October 2011
Hair today, gone tomorrow
Today I did something very brave. I had all of my hair chopped off. After many years of being below shoulder length long it is now short and sort of styled. Not short like a boy though, but a lot shorter than I have had it before as an adult. And I rather like it. Immediately it felt right. I have a breeze on my neck and it feels a lot lighter. I can still tie bits of it back so can benefit from pretty clips and the like, which all girls regardless of age LOVE, even if they don't all admit it.
So, why have I done this? Well, in part I must confess it is due to the fact that the Chemo which kicks in tomorrow may now make my hair thin or fall out. This is not a guaranteed side effect, but I thought it better to be prepared and so at least this way, there will be shorter bits to block the plug holes. Hopefully, it won't happen, but if it does it will grow back so I am not worried about it as such, I just wanted to be ready just in case. But mainly the reason for the big chop, was about making a liberating change. I bounced out of the hairdressers salon today and felt very perky all afternoon. Even when I realised I had seriously misjudged how much medication I had left and have limited opportunities to get hold of any more in time, I am not as bothered as I think I would have been say a week or so ago. Maybe, as opposed to that tall chap Goliath, my hair was weighing me down rather than giving me strength, and so by cutting it off I have given myself a second wind.
I have also been reading a brilliant book, leant to me by a friend, by a lady called Louise Hay. She is a fantastic advocate and practioner of positive thinking and has taken her own practices many steps further and so as well as thinking positive thoughts today and in the future, she talks about how you can undo the impact of any negative thoughts or resentment in the past which may be holding you back and manifesting as illnesses or issues in the present. It may sound a bit odd, to those who have not experienced much about the powers of the mind before, but it all makes perfect sense when you read it.
So, to my mind my new short hair is a tangible demonstration of my willingness to release the past and focus positively on the future, and this may explain why I feel so light and unconstrained on this fine October evening. They also say, that the night is at its darkest just before dawn, and I so given tomorrow is a big day in my world, I think it is a fair reflection to say that the first rays of dawn are just creeping over my horizon. And what better way to start a new day that with a fabulous new hairdo.
So, why have I done this? Well, in part I must confess it is due to the fact that the Chemo which kicks in tomorrow may now make my hair thin or fall out. This is not a guaranteed side effect, but I thought it better to be prepared and so at least this way, there will be shorter bits to block the plug holes. Hopefully, it won't happen, but if it does it will grow back so I am not worried about it as such, I just wanted to be ready just in case. But mainly the reason for the big chop, was about making a liberating change. I bounced out of the hairdressers salon today and felt very perky all afternoon. Even when I realised I had seriously misjudged how much medication I had left and have limited opportunities to get hold of any more in time, I am not as bothered as I think I would have been say a week or so ago. Maybe, as opposed to that tall chap Goliath, my hair was weighing me down rather than giving me strength, and so by cutting it off I have given myself a second wind.
I have also been reading a brilliant book, leant to me by a friend, by a lady called Louise Hay. She is a fantastic advocate and practioner of positive thinking and has taken her own practices many steps further and so as well as thinking positive thoughts today and in the future, she talks about how you can undo the impact of any negative thoughts or resentment in the past which may be holding you back and manifesting as illnesses or issues in the present. It may sound a bit odd, to those who have not experienced much about the powers of the mind before, but it all makes perfect sense when you read it.
So, to my mind my new short hair is a tangible demonstration of my willingness to release the past and focus positively on the future, and this may explain why I feel so light and unconstrained on this fine October evening. They also say, that the night is at its darkest just before dawn, and I so given tomorrow is a big day in my world, I think it is a fair reflection to say that the first rays of dawn are just creeping over my horizon. And what better way to start a new day that with a fabulous new hairdo.
Sunday 2 October 2011
Family matters
Today was yet another beautiful day in South East London. I started off relatively comfortably in the garden having breakfast from my newest Emma Bridgewater mug and plate combo (Great Britain sponge design - it is fabulous!) and with a bit of fuel inside me had the most difficult conversation of my life. I told my Mum I had cancer. Now it may come as a surprise to some that neither of my parents knew before today, but there is a very good reason for this; they have been on holiday for the last three weeks, and I was not going to call them from the other side of the planet to impart what is for them, very shocking news, and ruin their holiday. They knew I had been unwell and had had a minor procedure to investigate but there was nothing to be gained from generating excessive worry by disclosing later developments and there would have been nothing they could do about it from far, far away.
But, now they know. And the conversation went exactly as I had expected. If there was a fifth preference ranking under Myers-Briggs for optimism and pessimism, then lets just say my preference and that of my parents would be somewhat different. As it is Mum is an ISFP with Please others and Try hard drivers, as compared to my ESTJ with Be Strong, Be Perfect as drivers. For anyone involved in any field of behavioural science, that would tell you all you need to know to form a pretty fair assessment of the outcome of the conversation. So, as any good daughter with an insight into how my parents behave in certain situations, I encouraged them to come to see us for the afternoon, so they could see with their own eyes how well I am doing, and see that I am fighting this thing head on in a very positive way, so the best thing that they can do for me is be positive as well. And so far, I think they get it.
The rest of the day was not without its own highs and lows. Two of our very lovely neighbours, Doug and Christine, took the time to knock on the door at around 1pm to let us know, in case we had not yet seen it, that some hooligans had smashed the wing mirror off our car. The nice one. Ouch. Mr Man has been cross about that all day, and an element of Mr Grumpy has shone through. We also had a BBQ and given I am steering clear of red meat at present, I bought some quorn sausages to try. Bil was a little concerned there were no real sausages but luckily Mr Man had also bought some regular Cumberland's - if it is not meat, its not a proper meal has long been a slogan in any house containing a Smithies, However the Quorn ones were quite nice. And this evening Mr Man and I were very pleasantly surprised to see our road and surrounding area featured on Spooks. In fact Dimitri works in Bushells Estate Agent at the end of our road, and there was a lot of surveillance near one of our local parks. I've always thought some of those joggers looked a bit dodgey.
So despite, the mindless thuggery of some delinquents overnight, the positives are that it seems MI5 are on the doorstep and ready to act in an emergency so surely there will be no more trouble. Vegetarian sausages are actually alright, and I have lost a weight off my mind with regard to breaking my latest news to my parents. And best of all, I have two special new blog followers to add to the green list in my Happy Book making a total of 100 to date. Now we still just need a project team name.....
But, now they know. And the conversation went exactly as I had expected. If there was a fifth preference ranking under Myers-Briggs for optimism and pessimism, then lets just say my preference and that of my parents would be somewhat different. As it is Mum is an ISFP with Please others and Try hard drivers, as compared to my ESTJ with Be Strong, Be Perfect as drivers. For anyone involved in any field of behavioural science, that would tell you all you need to know to form a pretty fair assessment of the outcome of the conversation. So, as any good daughter with an insight into how my parents behave in certain situations, I encouraged them to come to see us for the afternoon, so they could see with their own eyes how well I am doing, and see that I am fighting this thing head on in a very positive way, so the best thing that they can do for me is be positive as well. And so far, I think they get it.
The rest of the day was not without its own highs and lows. Two of our very lovely neighbours, Doug and Christine, took the time to knock on the door at around 1pm to let us know, in case we had not yet seen it, that some hooligans had smashed the wing mirror off our car. The nice one. Ouch. Mr Man has been cross about that all day, and an element of Mr Grumpy has shone through. We also had a BBQ and given I am steering clear of red meat at present, I bought some quorn sausages to try. Bil was a little concerned there were no real sausages but luckily Mr Man had also bought some regular Cumberland's - if it is not meat, its not a proper meal has long been a slogan in any house containing a Smithies, However the Quorn ones were quite nice. And this evening Mr Man and I were very pleasantly surprised to see our road and surrounding area featured on Spooks. In fact Dimitri works in Bushells Estate Agent at the end of our road, and there was a lot of surveillance near one of our local parks. I've always thought some of those joggers looked a bit dodgey.
So despite, the mindless thuggery of some delinquents overnight, the positives are that it seems MI5 are on the doorstep and ready to act in an emergency so surely there will be no more trouble. Vegetarian sausages are actually alright, and I have lost a weight off my mind with regard to breaking my latest news to my parents. And best of all, I have two special new blog followers to add to the green list in my Happy Book making a total of 100 to date. Now we still just need a project team name.....
Saturday 1 October 2011
Almost as good as the summer of '95
Today, much like yesterday and the day before and, if all goes according to the weather forecasters plan, tomorrow at least, has been gorgeously unseasonal weather. It is the 1 October, and today in my garden it was 27 degrees Celsius. Scorchio! The same as in Barcelona in fact. Obviously this is all a little mixed up, but given I lost track of the days of the week some time ago, it is little wonder I am relatively unfazed by this burst of sunshine. I have heard lots of mutterings, however, about how this week has made up for our lack of summer, and I think that this is being a little unkind to our temperamental British climate. I have been hanging at home and thereabouts since May more or less, and so I feel I am in a good place to judge whether we have had a summer, and I think on balance we have. Maybe not to the extent of the summers of my youth, my memories of which may be enhanced by some serious rose tinting, or probably more appropriately sun bleaching, but on the whole I think there have been more good days than bad. Yes, of course there was a bout of very heavy rain during August when everyone complained a lot, but I have spent a lot of time in the garden, and in the local parks which leads me to believe that on balance the summer was a net success this year.
Possibly one reason for the doom and gloom from a meteorological perspective from the British masses, may be that unlike me most people have had to go to work from Monday to Friday for the past few months. And I think it is fair to say, that many people only consider it a good summer if it is sunny at weekends. Contrary to popular belief it is not so long since I too sat in an office and looked out of the window and saw the rays of sunshine beating down making the roads shimmer and everyone outside look glitzy - even in Croydon the sunshine can work wonders. And I think if I'm honest, I would only really count glorious summer days as being those when I could enjoy the great outdoors, which is why the my childhood summers where I spent most of the time out in the garden, or playing with friends always seemed much hotter, sunnier and memorable.
Another indicator of the success of the summer in my view is the longevity of my tan. Mr Man and I spent three weeks in Vietnam in April/May of this year, which was hot and we got a bit brown. We then had a week in Spain in July, but apart from this the rest of the time has been in the glorious United Kingdom. And despite the fact I have not actively sunbathed at home, I have been outside and this has been enough to top up the tan (safely of course with factor 15 applied once an hour even if sitting in the shade), to the extent where many a medical practitioner has commented on my healthy tan, and one particular consultant was so confused during the diagnostic phase, that he remarked that I looked too healthy to be as ill as the test results were telling him. All thanks to a daily dose of natural vitamin D. Marvellous.
So, today the happy thought is that despite all of this medical mayhem and initial uncertainty, I have had the benefit of really appreciating the Great British weather in all its glory this summer, and this in turn has contributed to my healthy appearance in the mirror each day. Which at the end of the day is a big bonus on this quest. Someone I admire greatly often says, "Be the change you want to see", but in this case I think it is just as important to turn it on its head and "See the change you want to be". I see healthy everyday.
Possibly one reason for the doom and gloom from a meteorological perspective from the British masses, may be that unlike me most people have had to go to work from Monday to Friday for the past few months. And I think it is fair to say, that many people only consider it a good summer if it is sunny at weekends. Contrary to popular belief it is not so long since I too sat in an office and looked out of the window and saw the rays of sunshine beating down making the roads shimmer and everyone outside look glitzy - even in Croydon the sunshine can work wonders. And I think if I'm honest, I would only really count glorious summer days as being those when I could enjoy the great outdoors, which is why the my childhood summers where I spent most of the time out in the garden, or playing with friends always seemed much hotter, sunnier and memorable.
Another indicator of the success of the summer in my view is the longevity of my tan. Mr Man and I spent three weeks in Vietnam in April/May of this year, which was hot and we got a bit brown. We then had a week in Spain in July, but apart from this the rest of the time has been in the glorious United Kingdom. And despite the fact I have not actively sunbathed at home, I have been outside and this has been enough to top up the tan (safely of course with factor 15 applied once an hour even if sitting in the shade), to the extent where many a medical practitioner has commented on my healthy tan, and one particular consultant was so confused during the diagnostic phase, that he remarked that I looked too healthy to be as ill as the test results were telling him. All thanks to a daily dose of natural vitamin D. Marvellous.
So, today the happy thought is that despite all of this medical mayhem and initial uncertainty, I have had the benefit of really appreciating the Great British weather in all its glory this summer, and this in turn has contributed to my healthy appearance in the mirror each day. Which at the end of the day is a big bonus on this quest. Someone I admire greatly often says, "Be the change you want to see", but in this case I think it is just as important to turn it on its head and "See the change you want to be". I see healthy everyday.
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