My inner womble

So after a few days of uncomfortable home bound containment, I today managed to leave the house and venture as far as the post office to collect a parcel.   Despite feeling a lot better today than yesterday and having managed a full night's sleep rather than waking up every two hours, I still was not taking any chances and so took Lil Sis's house keys along with me (her house is en route to the post office) in case I needed an emergency stop. Fortunately I did not, but always better to be safe than sorry.

I also took the opportunity to wrap up warm and benefit from the blustery weather and chilly temperatures which we are now enjoying. To be honest, I think just standing outside and letting the natural elements blow away the cobwebs was on its own enough to make me feel better after so long inside, but I very much enjoyed my brief walk as well.

Whilst I was out I did notice a rather disturbing amount of litter which appeared to be decorating the pavements, gutters and roads in our area today.  I also followed a woman along the road pushing her mandatory buggy complete with surf board thing on the back for the school age child she had in tow, and was extremely disappointed to observe that both she and her child just discarded their sweet wrappers on the pavement rather than find a bin (there are lots, it is a main shopping road) or put it in their pockets until they got home.  I was a bit too far back to say anything as by the time I caught up with them the bravery had left me, but I wish I had said something now, not least because the child's book back she was sporting on the buggy was one from one of the allegedly better school's in the area. She should have known better. Not only is this unsightly and potentially unhygienic I find it very sad that people in general think it is acceptable to litter.  There was an article in a magazine a couple of weeks ago about some towns in Britain which have taken a hard stance against litter bugs and quite rightly too.  It is now illegal to drop a cigarette butt on the pavement as this now counts as litter (about time too), and apparently it costs every citizen in the UK £5 a year to pay for the street rubbish tidy up services.  So next time, I see someone littering, I think I will make more of an effort to stop them seeing as it is my money they are wasting.  To compensate for my cowardice in the face of a litter bug however, I did pick up several pieces of rubbish which ironically seem to have been scattered across our road as a result of the bin men emptying the recycling today, and so I feel I have done my bit to make East Dulwich a cleaner place for today.

So, onto the positive thoughts for the day.  Well, firstly I am feeling a bit better than yesterday and have managed to leave the house, as I have already said, and secondly today I received a card from an old university friend of mine who although I do not see or speak to her very often, I think of very fondly and so was delighted that she got in touch as I had not heard from her throughout this whole ordeal and just a note to say she is thinking of me means a lot.  Thank you.  And finally, I have contributed to a cleaner society by picking up some rogue litter this morning.  It may not be a lot in the grand scheme of things but every little helps and so hopefully if we all do the same each day then those £5 can be spent on something more important than picking up litter.  It must be my inner Womble.

Home Alone

So I am still oscillating between the two extremes of gastro-intestinal function, which means I am still disappointingly rather housebound as the new week begins.  This is rather annoying on a number of levels but not least because it is now finally cold enough to need to wrap up warm when venturing into the elements and my winter woollens, coat and boots are starting to get impatient.

As I spent the weekend chez moi, I was fortunate enough to have some kind visitors to come and pass some time with me and act as intervals to my television viewing schedule.  After Mr Man left on Friday lunchtime, G came round in the afternoon and she very kindly collected my prescription from the chemist for me (this was quite an ordeal for her as the chemist in question is quite frankly inept and has clearly been helping herself to the doolally drugs for some time).  Baby A was quite happy watching Top Gear and so there was no screaming from him on this occasion, and we had a nice chat and a cup of tea. On Saturday, lil sis and BIL popped in during the afternoon to fuss Barney mainly, and then came back in the evening to watch Saturday night TV with me.  We made BIL watch Strictly Come Dancing (to which I think I am now officially addicted) and so it was only fair that when it came to choosing a film afterwards it was one that he would like.  Despite Virgin Media having access to over 300 films I can never find one I want to watch, but we went for Attack the Block mainly because it had the quite funny bloke who normally makes films with Simon Pegg in it, and having liked Hot Fuzz and Paul a lot I think my logic was that if it was only half as funny than that would be ok.  Sadly, despite having a few amusing bits in it, it was not a great film as despite being very surreal and clearly made up, it seemed to advocate kids on estates carrying weapons and mugging innocent people which are two things I am particularly adverse to due to past personal experience.  BIL however was happy enough and he had been to the shop to get me some salt and vinegar french fries to aid my recovery and so on balance it was not a bad evening.

Essex Girl came over yesterday afternoon, leaving CS at home alone in charge of the children and with sole responsibility for a roast dinner.  I dare say CS is hoping I get better very soon not least because then his wife won't have quite as good a reason to abandon him at the weekends and he can spend his Sunday's not being harrassed by a three and half year old who from what I understand is not averse to grassing up her own father for eating his dinner on the sofa in front of the TV when Essex Girl was out one night this week!  Poor CS.  Essex Girl brought with her entertainment in the form of Bridesmaids on DVD which we watched and gasped at in horror at various places, but overall found it very amusing. We decided that the main bridesmaid character was too thin, and was wearing clothes which did not suit her age or her figure, and we also decided that the Irish Policeman was actually very nice and was quite a catch for the afore mentioned bridesmaid long before she realises this for herself.  (She is American - they are not reknowned for being the smartest especially in films are they?!) We were confused by the presence of Matt Lucas, and unconvinced that the main bridesmaid character had ever in fact eaten one of the cakes she was allegedly so good at baking, but overall impressed by the film. I was kind of expecting a stereotypical cutesy American chick flick type thing but was pleasantly surprised at how un-sugary it was. If you haven't seen it, then you should.  It is funny.

Mr Man returned earlier than expected from the Father for Justice event with his friends, although his physical presence yesterday afternoon was earlier than expected, it took a good six hours for me to get any sense out of him as he was quite cabbage like in appearance and vocabulary, and so to all intents and purposes he may as well have not got home until about 6pm which is when I was expecting him back to start with.  I have interpretted the nods, grunts and odd syllable to mean he had a good time, and the brief stories of vomitting, escaping goats and inability to recall what was served for pudding to indicate that the good people of Norfolk were on the whole relieved when the group left the area on Sunday morning.

So, despite the enforced homestay, my weekend was punctuated by various positives including good friends, humourous entertainment and the safe if pickled return of my favourite cabbage.  Now all we need is to get the balance right internally so I can get out there and start making the most of the winter wardrobe. Standing on the decking a couple of times a day and taking a deep breath is not quite the same.

Back from rock bottom

Well it has been a while since I last wrote and so I should have plenty to say. And indeed I do. There are lots of positives to be had today, over a week's worth to catch up on, plus a few other things to put all the positives in perspective.

So first things first, how am I doing? Well they don't incarcerate you in hospital for 4 days unless it is necessary, and so I'd better explain what was going on.  I was suffering very painful abdominal pains, accompanied by fever, a high temperature, nausea and vomiting and dizziness. In short, I was in a bad way. But, I am now much better and am able to appreciate the current state of affairs because I have a rock bottom to compare it to.  And rock bottom is probably the most appropriate way to describe it, as i will explain later. Mr Man came through the whole experience relatively unscarred although I'd like to think that even he would recognise and adjust his actions just in case there is a next time, and decide that taking a person with shooting, stabbing abdominal pains, nausea and dizziness to a hospital in a hard suspension sports car along some of the worst potholed roads in London is not a good idea. At 2.15am in the early hours of Thursday morning however, I did not have the energy to argue, but held onto my improvised sick bags for dear life. Luckily the car made it there unharmed, although I'm not sure the same is true for the passenger. 

On arrival at the hospital a very competent doctor assessed me and sent me for X-rays to establish a cause of the pain, and quickly concluded that a combination of my medication, the chemo earlier that day, the anti sickness drugs given alongside the chemo, dietary intake (ie lack of it) and my low red blood count and associated immune system deficiencies were causing what was essentially chronic constipation. Sorry to be so candid, but I have no qualms about talking about these things and pity anyone who winces at the thought of talking aloud about what should be a daily and integral action in any healthy human life. Poo.  For the next 4 days I then endured a series of doctors and nurses of varying degrees of capability and kindness. One or two were lovely, very helpful and actually did their jobs well by reading my notes before they met me and actually listening to what I was saying.  The rest were not. Luckily shortly after admission once the pain was more under control, I was in a better position to deal with the worst of the medical staff, but it still disappoints me that some people are seemingly too lazy to read a patients notes but would just plough in and start from scratch with the same questions, jumping to their own conclusions thus adding no value at all to the experience.  Continuity and quality of ongoing patient care are certainly areas to be improved.

So once we had established a cause, we needed a solution. This is perhaps where the frustration on my part really kicked in because there wasn't one. There were lots; any, some or none of which might work either in isolation or in conjunction with each other. Add this to the wide array of nurses and doctors getting involved meant that it felt like no one was in control and it was all a bit haphazard. I was given every possible 'let's get things moving' option under the sun including, injections, suppositories, strong tablets, natural tablets, gentle tablets, drinks and enemas. And then had to wait to see what happened. Eventually things did start to move, and by Saturday we were making progress but not without a lot of discomfort and trial and error.  Due to the afore mentioned high turn over of nurses it kind of fell to me to assess how much laxative I felt I needed, which was an odd concept but after all no two human bodies are the same and only I know how my body is feeling and responding at any time. So I got to a balance just about by Sunday and was allowed home, but more chemo to finish the course on Monday and Tuesday complete with anti-emetics further disrupted the balance, and even now a further 4 days later on, I am still not quite right, which means I need to be careful how far I stray from the bathroom and leaving the house is a bit of a brave move, so I don't intend to do so at least for the time being. 

Mr Man is away this weekend with his university friends on what could be mistaken for a fathers for justice rally and so I am home alone with the Pupster Barney and whoever may pop in for company.  I don't mind really that he has gone away for the weekend despite my delicate current state as there is not really anything he can do for me other than provide light entertainment, company and amusement and sometimes these things are not always his forte.

Most of Mr Man's university friends have been blessed to have children seemingly relatively easily and so the idea behind their weekend away is to all go away with their kids (most of whom are boys) making it a Dads'n'Lads weekend.  Obviously the closest thing Mr Man has to a lad is the boy wonder Barney, and oddly Mr Man was rather reluctant to take him along.  However, despite the lack of relevant accessory he has still gone along and will no doubt have a super time when the supposed adults regress back to make it a houseful of children, with no responsible adults in sight. I do feel for the  landlord of the beautiful looking converted windmill in Norfolk... What have they let themselves in for.

Anyway, this leaves me at home with these positive thoughts. Firstly, despite an unconventional route, it is worth noting that I am now 50% through the chemotherapy treatment programme. This is very good news as it means I'm past half way, and those bad cells must be getting a good kicking in there by now.  Obviously I'm hoping the next three rounds are more akin to rounds 1 and 2 in experience, and that round 3 was a one off.  Fingers crossed.  Secondly, whilst it has not been a nice experience over the last 2 weeks, the weight has fallen off me which some people think is a bad thing but I'm still no where near what could be considered underweight so I'm taking it as a positive. And thirdly, by the time Mr Man comes home from his weekend away he should be refreshed and have had a good break to re-energise to taken on the second half of the Project Nicola treatment challenge, and I should have got some balance back in my bowels. A long way back up from rock bottom already, I'm sure you will agree. 

Positivity reigns supreme

So it has been a slightly different version of chemo this week. After day one which consisted of spending 9 hours in an arm chair on the day unit I then had to be rushed into hospital at 2am on Thursday morning due to chronic abdominal pains, the strength and duration of which I had not experienced before. This was accompanied by feverish sweating, a feeling of nausea which eventually lead to me being violently sick and a spot of dizziness for good measure. All in all it was not very nice.

Since I arrived in the inpatients ward at the hospital though I have been well looked after and they are sorting me out. It's taking a while but we now know the issue and are just waiting for things to progress so we can get back on track with the chemo programme. I had the blood transfusion yesterday which went well so hopefully now I have a full stock of red blood cells I can fight off the impact of Wednesday's chemo to make it focus on fighting the bad guys. Once we have sorted out the abdominal pain we can crack on with what should have been Thursday and Friday's short bursts of chemo and then I can go home and get on with the business of being asleep.

The key positive to come out of all of this is that not only is the abdominal pain being sorted and hopefully will be better managed once and for all, but I now know for sure what my blood group is. Despite all of these tests and procedures I have never know what type and I was curious. And what do you know. It's A+. How much more positive can we be?

It is better to give than to receive

Today was the start of the third cycle of chemotherapy which means I have done 50% of the long days on this part of the treatment programme.  This is very good news as it means we are half way to beating this disease on stage one of the battle of the abdomen.  Given how fast time seems to be flying, I am sure it won't be long before we are on the last cycle.  The only fly in the ointment on this cycle is that apparently for some reason my red blood count has not recovered as much as it should have since round 2 and so in order to ensure that I can cope with the chemicals in round 3, I have to have a blood transfusion tomorrow which is not a thought I relish.  My Dad used to give blood, and was always telling us that we should also give blood but I am afraid to say I have never been able to do it.  I am still not so good with the needles, and so the idea of giving blood voluntarily made be have the involuntary reaction of bending my elbows to protect them from any invading needles.  Obviously now I am not able to give blood so was relieved to hear that Lil Sis goes regularly and so the family account is in credit.  I also saw a friend, Nice E, for dinner the other night who goes regularly as well to top up the country's blood bank and she said she would also be happy for me to have her blood and so I feel better about the fact I have never been, but am going to be taking on this occasion.

It was quite a long day today and tomorrow promises to be long as well as each bag of blood (and there are two of them) takes two hours to filter in, and so I am off to bed soon, happy in the thought that my A+ blood is going to be topped up by such kind souls as Lil Sis and Nice E.  Thank you both and all the other good people who give blood.

Remember you're a Womble

In the early 1980's before the birth of the M25, the easiest way to get from West Sussex were we lived to the outskirts of Manchester where my Dad's family lived was to go through London.  I was only little and so don't recall the whole route, but I always remember two landmarks very clearly; one was Hammersmith Bridge which was my favourite bridge at the time before some local authority or other decided to paint it murky green rather than its previous majestic pale blue and gold, and the other was Wimbledon Common where we would have all eyes to the window in the hope of spotting a Womble or two. I think we did see some of the Wombles on several occasions, although I cannot be sure if it was Orinoco, Wellington, Tobermory or Tomsk, they were definitely there. You see the thing with the Wombles, as with Father Christmas, Christmas Elves and the Tooth Fairy you have got to believe, otherwise they don't show themselves to you. And just ask anyone who has ever spent any time with me in December and they will tell you that I DEFINITELY believe.

So today you can imagine how pleased I was to read in the Metro that the Wombles have revamped their band as the 'W-Factor' and are re-releasing their 1974 number 2 hit record Wombling Merry Christmas, as a contender for the Christmas number one spot to challenge the X Factor. Uncle Bulgaria was quoted as saying  "I hear The X Factor is jolly popular. However, W comes before X."  He seems confident that a proper Christmas song would prevail this year and the Wombles are ready to do it, and so am I.  How fabulous would this be?! The Christmas Single is due to be released on 12 December, and the whole reworked album, The W Factor - 20 Wombling Greats is out on 28 November. Put the dates in your diary.

So, with these two very exciting things to look forward to, I am sure my next round of chemo treatment which starts tomorrow will fly by. Bring on the chemo and bring on the Wombles.

Stand and deliver

Well as we are now officially in mid November it is acceptable to have started Christmas shopping. And so I have. The beauty of spending so much time at home is that I am in to take delivery of anything I should buy on the Internet. I have of course got a list of people and presents although I still need to think of a few more suitable presents for some more tricky recipients.

My next round of chemo starts this week and so I have had a recent flurry of deliveries to make sure I don't miss any knocks on the door when I revert to my hibernating state which is due to ensue for about a week after the treatment finishes. Today, being the last day when I don't have to go up into town (tomorrow I need to have a blood test in anticipation of Wednesdays round 3, to make sure that all the relevant cell counts are back to normal) was therefore quite hectic but by 4pm all expected arrivals had been counted in. This is especially good news as unless the delivery drivers are able to leave with a neighbour, to recover a parcel from the majority of these delivery companies can be quite challenging, involving either a drive to the local delivery centre, dubiously located on an industrial estate which is at least 45 mins drive from my home so hardly local, or dealing with an automated call centre to try and re-arrange delivery using only yes and no voice commands and pressing the numbers of the keypad.

So, from now until the next awake phase scheduled for around 26 November, I will be merely browsing and bookmarking my outstanding purchases ready to order in time for Christmas and delivery in my next awake window. Plus it gives me a chance to have a good think about what to get those tricky recipients mentioned earlier.

So the positive thoughts for today are that I'm feeling very pleased with myself for having made such a cracking start to my Christmas shopping, I am also pleased to have got through my latest awake stage without being too bored, and I've got a week full of visitors for all three of this week's chemo sessions lined up and booked in. Bring on round 3.

Domestic bliss

As brilliant as Mr Man often is, he is alas not always perfect.  I am not going to list all of his minor imperfections though - this is not an exposé piece for the tabloids or their magazine equivalents - but I am afraid I am going to reveal one of his biggest failings; his inability to see that it is necessary to change the bed sheets, pillow cases and duvet cover once a week.  I am sure that if left to his own devices it would be lucky if it gone done twice per year, and vague memories of when he lived in a house share with other boys remind me that even after he met me and he was on the trying to impress phase, his sheet etiquette was still more on a monthly schedule rather than weekly. Yuk. Over the years I have tried to encourage Mr Man to help put clean and crisp sheets onto the bed, by reminding him of the delight you get when you get into bed and it is all fresh and clean and suggesting that you sleep better in a refreshed bedding environment, but it has had little success.  The best way I have managed to get him to help is by actually taking the dirty sheets off the bed in the morning, leaving the mattress, duvet and pillows to air for the day and then when it gets to bedtime and he is complaining he is tired as he works so hard blah blah blah suggesting that if he helps me to put the clean bedding on including the duvet cover (his most hated part) then he will be able to get into bed and get his desired shut eye so much quicker.  This has had mixed results as whilst he at least helps out, it is not without a certain degree of Kevin-the-Teenager-esque behaviour.

A recent straw poll amongst some female friends has revealed that Mr Man is not alone in his resistence to clean sheets, or rather reluctance to actually changing the bedding himself, unprompted, on a regular and frequent basis (For the record bi-annually is not considered regular or frequent). Once friend who shall remain anonymous for the sake of her marriage even revealed that on one occasion when she was going out for the evening, had pulled the I will take the sheets off so he HAS to put clean ones on before bedtime trick, actually came home to find her husband asleep on top of the mattress and under the duvet with no bed linen on at all.  When confronted about this particular situation he made matters a lot worse for himself by claiming that he would have put clean sheets on but did not know where they were kept..... Oooh, ouch!  Even Mr Man would not even dare to try that one (For the record they are in the wooden chest at the top of the stairs.)

We have some friends coming to stay with us this weekend and so I have spent some time this week preparing for their visit.  This has included tidying up a bit, and preparing the relevant bedrooms to that they can sleep comfortably in our home, and perhaps the most important job of all, putting clean sheets and bedding on each of the beds.   So this morning, after Mr Man disappeared off to play hockey, I set about making up the beds for our guests, as well as changing the sheets on our own bed as I do every week.  Four beds made up with clean and fresh bed linen later and not only do I feel a sense of achievement for the day, but I have worked hard and so now no longer need to go to the gym.  Result.  Mr Man may not have helped out thus far, but he is on dinner cooking duty and so is solely responsibly for cooking a delicious meal for our guests later on, clearing away afterwards and leaving the kitchen in the neat, clean and tidy state he found it in.  At least this way he will be able to still be able to claim his (almost) perfect status.  Everyone's a winner.

Thank Crunchie it's Friday

It is Friday again and I cannot believe how quickly the time goes.  It is also Armistice Day and this year I seem to have managed to get to today without losing my poppy and having to replace it several times which is what normally happens.  This is possibly down to the fact that I have not been out and about as much and so the poppy on my coat has taken less of a battering and had less chance to fall out, but also because last year a very lovely old lady in the Whitgift Centre where I was buying a replacement poppy showed me how to pin it on so it is secure.  In a way she might have done her charity a disservice as now I only need one, but actually this is not the case as I was more generous in the first place thanks to her kind and helpful advice.  This is the sort of skill they should be teaching if not in schools then certainly in Brownies and Cubs and youth centres across the country.

My week has passed in a blur of  similar days panning out in similar ways, but one highlight was when I spent about an hour on Skype to the wonderful Jimbo of the Jet Set fame.  Jimbo is the boy who made my home life a misery for about two weeks when I was about 14 by dropping one of those old fashioned stools you used to get in science lab classrooms onto my Mum's big toe.  (She was his teacher, it wasn't a completely random act of violence) I am lead to believe it was an accident, at least no criminal charges were brought about, but lets just say it was lucky (for him at least) that Jimbo was one of Mum's favourite students.  Not so lucky for us at home however, as where Mum was very professional and did not let her pain, anger and true feelings show in the classroom, she was less discreet at home and complained a lot about her toe and the pain generated by her rapidly decaying blue and purple toenail.  I think the most annoying thing of all was that whilst the words she used were cross ones about the incident, the words she used about the culprit was ones of true adoration.  Jimbo was definitely the teachers pet.  Two years later I finally met this boy who despite causing actual physical injury, could do no wrong in my mother's eyes, and after a shaky start in the languages room at Collyers VI Form college we became firm friends and have been ever since. We may not catch up in person as often as we should but it is one of those easy friendships where it doesn't matter how long it is since we have seen each other or even spoken on the phone, it is like picking up from where we left off as if it were yesterday. 

So, as this week is drawing to a close I reflect on all of the friends who I do not catch up with as often as I would like.  When we do get our respective acts together it is like we are transported back in time to when we were physically located closer to one another, and in some respects nothing else has changed. Goegraphical distance is the key reason that friends drift apart in my opinion, but in a shrinking world thanks to technology this can be overcome so much more easily than ever before. So to those individuals, and you know who you are, just thinking about you makes me smile as I imagine the next time we do catch up what it will be like, and I am looking forward to it already. I hope you are too.

Domestic Goddess in the making

Recently I got quite into watching the Great British Bake Off on BBC2.  I was very pleased that the lady who eventually won, came out on top as all along she seemed the most normal and down to earth, as well as being a very good baker, even if she she did forget to line her cone for her profiterole tower which lead to her sitting on the floor hugging it to try and get it to melt enough after its 3 hour stint in the freezer so she could get her creation out of the cone and onto display for the judges. Hilarious.  Whilst watching this bunting fest each week, I was quite taken by the beautiful Kitchen Aid mixers which were in use by each contestant in an array of different colours.  I have been eyeing up these domestic goddess making machines for a while but could never justify buying on as I don't as a rule do much baking or cooking which would require one, and more importantly Kitchen Aid did not make one in pale blue to match the rest of my kitchen accessories. So when I spotted an ice blue version sitting quietly on one of the work surfaces of the afore mentioned television series, I sat up and took note.  All of a sudden 50% of the reasons why I could not have one had vanished. And it wasn't long before the other 50% began to dissolve as now I have my pain relief more under control, meaning I feel more normal, when I am awake I have quite a lot of time on my hands.  Time I could be spending learning and practicing a new skill.  Like baking.

So the new Kitchen Aid in Ice Blue has been stylishly decorating my kitchen for the past couple of weeks, waiting for me to be awake enough to use it.  I did make some cupcakes in aid of my MacMillan Coffee morning a few weeks ago but since then, both it and I have been pretty sleepy.  Until yesterday that is, when I got an early seasonal craving for Mince Pies. Now I love Christmas, and I mean really love it.  I get very excited about giving and receiving presents, going to and hosting Christmas parties, seeing all the lights, making nice Christmas food and spending time with Mr Man watching Christmas TV on the sofa being all cosy and warm.  But I am very strict that Christmas must never exist outside December.  There may be a need to do some planning in November, for example advent calendar preparation has to be done in November otherwise you would miss it, and it is acceptable to start Christmas shopping in November, but the act of celebrating Christmas and being festive is only acceptable in December.  Regardless of what the shops are telling us.  So, yesterdays craving for Mince pies was not down to it being Christmas because it is not yet time, but instead because I really like them.  So, I set about making a batch of Mince Pies because they are delicious. Usually I have to confess I would  buy ready to roll pastry and go from there, however I did not have any in  yesterday and I could not be bothered to walk to the supermarket, and so instad decided to make some pastry.  How hard could it be?  I found a recipe and started to rub the flour and butter together when I my eyes glanced to the line below in the recipe which said, "Alternatively put all ingredients into a food mixer and switch on to a low setting."  What was I doing?  I have a food mixer now and I should be using it.  All ingredients were transfered to the stainless steel bowl of the Kitchen Aid and within minutes I had an amazing, perfectly evenly mixed pastry dough. To answer the earlier question, of how hard can it be?  With a  pretty Kitchen Aid, not very!  Fifteen minutes later after allowing the dough to rest in the fridge I was rolling out the pastry and making the mince pies.  I actually think the pastry was better than the ready to roll stuff as well.  Result.  Sadly Mr Man does not like mince pies.  Something to do with them being sweet and not actually containing mince as in beef. I'm sure it is all in the semantics though and so if they were called sweet and spiced dried fruit pies he would be more of a fan, but he has decided he doesn't like them now and so it is too late.  Luckily however, Little Sis and Bil do like Mince pies and so they were the lucky recipients of half a batch of deliciousness yesterday afternoon.

So, now I have discovered the ease of pastry I am sure there must be lots of other things I can make to utilise my newest kitchen toy.  I also know there is a world of cakes and biscuits just waiting to be discovered but I am hesitant of making too much as my appetite is still not right and I would not want all of my hard work to go to waste.  I am sure though that when December gets here and festiveness is allowed, I can make some more treats which I can share with others in a festive way whilst I practice becoming a bona fide Domestic Goddess.  Now, I just need to find some hungry visitors.....

Hi ho, hi ho

This might be the most bizarre thing I have ever said, but I miss going to work.  I am almost quite jealous of my friends who spend their working week going to the office, in whatever form their office may take. I suppose it is the sense of purpose, and routine that I miss along with celebrating the acheivements and camraderie with my colleagues which is an integral part of life. We spend more time with our work colleagues than with our families on average and so it is unsurprising that I miss work - it is quite lonesome being ill.

Last week there was a Panorama programme on Britain on the Fiddle and the week before there was another programme on the BBC about the future of the Welfare State.  Both of these made my blood boil in parts. The latter showed examples of real people, quoted on camera, saying that there was no point them going to work as they would only get a few quid more for working hard all week then they would for just claiming benefits. Similarly it was highlighted that there are some people who are claiming in excess of £30,000 per year in benefits, driving round in Bentleys and owning yachts, and on top of this the various authorities spend vast amounts of money trying to stop them with varying degrees of success.  There were examples of people claiming incapacity benefit who had made no effort to improve their state of health by taking the advice offered by the medical and health professionals, such as giving up smoking, exercising more or eating more healthily.  As far as they were concerned they had no responsibility to find work or improve their physical state to enable them to find work, but preferred instead in some cases to sit on their arses at home, possibly even making their situations worse, and claiming benefits. And the most infuriating thing was that for some families this is a way of life.  The children have no motivation to get a job because they have never seen their parents work, and don't see why they should when they can get a house, money for clothes and a plasma TV all on benefits.  As my friend Bobby Dazzla would say; It's not right.

It makes me cross that even a penny of the tax that I have paid to the government out of my hard earned income over the past 12 years has been used as hand outs for people who don't work because they cannot be bothered, or because they do not take responsibility for their own destiny.  Don't get me wrong, I do not object to the concept of the welfare state per se.  There are many genuine cases of hardship, disability and illness which mean that try as those individuals might, they need a little help to make ends meet.  It must be irritating for them too to have so many spongers as it means in the end there is less to go round for the genuine cases. Instead of putting money in the pockets of these scroungers, the taxes paid by hard working law abiding citizens could be put to much better use by investing it in schools, the NHS and Britain as a whole.

I would prefer my taxes to be spent on the right things in the NHS for example.  If we had an NHS which could pay nurses a higher salary to reflect their knowledge, skills and hard work then we would attract more people into the profession and in turn would get a better quality of service from hospitals, doctors surgeries and the like. Also, sticking with the medical sector, I would rather my taxes went on more investment into medical research to help find cures and preventions for diseases like mine, and many others which are impacting the lives of ordinary people up and down the country.

Also, in my opinion, by making our schools better through better quality of teachers and better provision of resources to enable all children to obtain a better education, we would allow them to succeed in obtaining good jobs when they leave school, college or university.   This in turn would fuel industry, commerce and research with brighter minds to progress the economy as well as innovate and change the world. Surely this is a better prospect than having another generation who think that working is optional and an Xbox 360 a necessity?

So, whilst todays thoughts for the day might be slightly more contraversial than usual, this is as always my opinion and nothing more. The positive I am taking from this is that I was brought up to believe that if you work hard then you should be rewarded appropriately, and that only you can take responsibility for your own destiny.  There are no fairy godmothers and money for nothing is only the name of a Dire Straights song.  Therefore, whilst I am not able to work at present due to the pain and all of the treatment, I am very much looking forward to being able to get back into the swing of working life. After all the office must be a very quiet place without me!

It's always sunny in my house

What a grey and dreary day it is today.  I have had to have the lights on indoors since about 12 noon which is never a good thing.  So, today I cannot get my positivity from a good dose of vitamin D and so I will have to find something else to give me that happy feeling inside that I normally get from seeing the bright blue sky through a window and feeling the beams of sunlight as they bounce off every surface. But what should it be?

The truth is that I have so many things to be positive about every day that picking out just one to talk about is often a challenge.  Is an email from a long lost friend any more positive than a full nights sleep without extra painkillers?  Or is the fact that the plumber who came to fix the toilet which seems to have miraculously fixed itself in the last week didn't even consider charging me for his time (amazing I know!!) more of a positive than the fact that I am only today having to take off the nail varnish from recent manicure I had, meaning that it lasted over two weeks, which as any girl (and some boys) will know is a fairly long time in the world of nail varnish? Who knows, but I think today's positive thought will be that today I feel surprisingly normal. I had a fabulous lie in which has left me feeling refreshed and alert, and I have not had to take as many break through pain killers as on other days.  I looked in the mirror this morning and saw a slim(ish!) healthly looking person wearing flattering yet comfortable clothes.  To be honest I am almost having to remind myself that I am less than 100% in perfect health.  I am itching to get out and do lots of interesting things, and have a strong feeling of activity about me.  I have cleared one of our spare rooms which had been a general dumping ground, and have decided to make it into a relaxing calming space where I can practice Reiki and Meditations undisturbed.  I am also working my way down my to do list in terms of early Christmas planning, a few bits of home improvement and catching up on correspondence whislt singing along to the radio.  To me these are good things to be doing (although Mr Man for one would describe them as abhorent chores to be avoided at all costs) as they reflect normality and believe it or not I like doing them.

So it may be dull and grey and outside, but in my house it is bright, cheerful and perky, just the way I like it.

Remember, remember the 5th of November

So last night was bonfire night, and Mr Man, the Woof Dog and I made our annual forray to Dawsons Hill to see a birds eye view of a selection of South East London's and, in the middle distance, Central London's finest fireworks.  You might think it was a bit mean of us to take Barney with us, but he is a hardy city pup and loud bangs, sirens and bright lights do not phase him.  Plus if he is with us we can give him cuddles, where as if we left him at home there is almost guaranteed whining and woofing.  Not because he is scared, however, but because he does not like to miss out.

The weather was trying to be cold, but unfortunately due to the twenty minute walk to get there (mostly up hill) and my internal heating system which seems to give me hot flushes more often than not, I was down to just a light top by the time we got to the bottom of Dawson's Hill. This was a shame as I do like to wrap up warm and cosy when it is very chilly outside, and so on the way back I persevered with the gloves and scarf as long as I could before conceding defeat and stripping off again.

Dawsons Hill is a small patch of grassland on a fairly steep hillside in East Dulwich which has the fortune from the top of looking out over the city.  If you ever see a city scape of London painted from a Southery Perspective then it is likely that the artist was either at, or using inspiration from a photograph taken from Dawson's Hill.  It is a tiny bit of a pity therefore, that in the 1960's whichever London Borough was in charge of the area at the time (probably Southwark) decided to build two fairly hideous looking local authority housing blocks on top of the hill. Some people think they look like giant warships on top of the hill, and whilst I think they look terrible, apparently someone in local goverment has a soft spot for them and they are due to be listed.  Anyway, the view which is probably wasted on most of the people who live there is fairly impressive, either during the day, or at night when the city is lit up, so it makes sense that when there are firework displays in most of South London's major parks that you would get a good view from the top of the hill.

Having lived in Valencia, the home of gun powder and pyrotechnics in the modern world, for ten months as a student I find firework displays in this country rather disappointing.  In Valencia during the annual Fallas festival which lasts for around three weeks in March there are five days at the end of the festival when at midnight each night there is a 20-30 minute firework extravaganza which fills the sky with colours and sparkles like you have never seen before. It is a constant delivery of bangs, screams and explosions against a backdrop of rainbow showers, golden stars and silver sparkles which lasts for what seems like eternity.  They even have fireworks during the day where the emphasis is more on the noise and the smoke than anything else.  These daily audio-spectacle known as La Mascleta is everyday at 2pm in the town's main square during the Fallas festival. They even record the event and Essex girl has a CD recording of this strange event called "La Mascleta Virtual" which is essentially just 5 minutes of explosions and deafening bangs. She has it on in the car these days I believe during the pre-school run, and if she doesn't then she really should.  It is awesome!

So back to last night.  The Brockwell Park display looked quite good from a distance if a little short, and the ones at the Dulwich Sports Club also looked quite impressive.  The ones we decided were at Blackheat also looked fairly decent as did some in the middle distance which could have been coming from anywhere to be honest.  It was a bit hazy last night and without the aid of a map it is sometimes quite disorientating trying to work out which bits of London you can see as it all merges into one in the end. The ones that some locals had decided to stage actually on Dawsons Hill would have been quite good had they not decided to launch them from a large box on the path leading up the hill which meant that you had to walk very close to a box of exploding fireworks to get to the top of the hill or brave the long grass and go cross country.  It was fairly irresponsible of them as there were no signs to warn people that the path was being blocked and from the looks of the people who were lighting them, I am not surprised that they had not thought this particular eventuality through. Similarly, it was interesting to see the number of small kids who were being given sparklers by their parents and left to their own devices.  We left before the inevitable burning of hands and other accidents started to occur but as we were walking home there was a significant number of sirens heading off to presumably deal with people who are too stupid to heed the advice of not playing with fireworks.  In a way though, playing with fireworks is just a modern example of Darwinism in action, and so in the interests of not interfering with evolution, I think there is a strong argument to letting them get on with it, and so we did just that.

By the time we got home, we had a nice walk, seen some fairly pretty lights go whoosh and bang in the sky and worn Barney puppy out a bit, and so a very nice way to spend an evening. We got to see not one but several displays without having to deal with the crowds attending a massive display and could easily walk home afterwards.  Perfect.

The simple things

The trouble with online shopping is that every time you buy anything on line you have to provide your contact details so that they can get the goods to you.  Even if you are reserving to collect in store you have to give some form of ID so you can collect the right things when you get there.  As a result of this you are more often than not added to some mailing list or other.  Even if you tick the box that says do not pass this information onto third parties - and you have to be pretty switched on each time to work out if you need to tick or untick to be excluded or if by ticking you are actually including yourself as they are all slightly different - you are almost always added to the mailing list of the company who you are purchasing something from, and so will invariably receive some form of communication from them. After all you bought something from them once, it is possible that you may wish to do so again. Often these days it is by email, and so it is relatively easy to delete unread mails based on the title or the sender.  However, I am still quite amazed at how many companies go to the expense and trouble of mailing out oodles of catalogues and brochures, and utterly flabbergasted by how many of these catalogues land on our doormat in the run up to Christmas. There are hundreds of clothes companies which all look the same (front cover shot on a beach somewhere in the UK to get a rural feel) and seem to sell the same sort of thing (non-descript knitwear teamed with slim fitting trousers that no one real could possibly get into) modelled by similarly wispy looking women in their 40s trying to look like they are in their 30s, and I swear I have never bought anything from any of them, and based on the the cursory glance I gave one of them once, I won't ever be buying anything from them either.  Each catalogue comes with a different name printed on the front of them; a quick glance into my recycling bin at present will reveal Coast (but not the same as the shop), Crew, Emblem, Isabella Oliver, Joules, The White Company, Style, Pepper tree and Calm.  And these are only the ones that have arrived since yesterday when I last emptied the recycling.  Then there are all the homeware catalogues selling similar things to one another yet all claiming to be unique and different, and the children's storage and furniture ones which we seem to get lots of despite the glaring lack of actually having any children, not to mention shoes, outdoor wear, goods on sale in aid of various charities, and no doubt many more I have now forgotten about.

The vast majority of these go straight from door mat to recycling bin, only pausing to have the unrecyclable plastic packaging removed if required.  One or two which come from companies I may actually be interested in looking at might achieve a brief flick through but that is all.  Given I do a lot of my purchasing on line which ironically is where most of these organisations have obtained my details from in the first place, it is likely that I will continue to purchase on line which is the biggest catalogue in the world, without the waste of paper.

This week I received a lovely card from Essex Girl, who revealed that as a child she loved receiving post and had an array of penfriends from various sources including randomly Malta, and thoughtfully she decided that I too might like to receive some nice post.  I do like receiving nice post.  The art of letter writing is reported to have diminished in this country following the take over of the text, the email and the social network, however in my world it is still going strong.  I have received lots of lovely cards recently, and not just short cursory get well soon cards, but cards and notes with real messages in, and paragraphs of communicative text.  And in turn I love to send cards and letters.  There is something very satisfying about sitting down with a blank card, a nice-to-write-in pen and a postal address that cannot be generated by typing an email.   So the positive thought for today, is that when I hear the postman pushing piles of recycling fodder through my letterbox each day, there is a chance that hidden between the catalogues and occasional bank statement there might just be a handwritten card or letter to brighten up my day, in turn delivering another opportunity to get those pens out and send a card back. What are you waiting for?  Get writing.

The customer is rarely right

Well, Virgin Media have finally given us back some broadband service, albeit slower than it they lure new customers into thinking it will be in their advertising campaign, and it has given rise to a dilema.  Do I still put myself through the distress and torture of trying to call their  customer "care" line, to report that we had a major issue but was unable to get through to anyone in their call centre yesterday, or do I just leave it?  I would really like to just leave it and hope that the service will not fall offline again, but as I said yesterday the broadband service has been intermittent at best lately, and so I feel that if I do not raise this latest lack of quality servive to them, then it means that the ongoing catalogue of errors does not mount up at the speed it should, and the company in question do not feel they have an issue.

The bulk of my week has been spent sleeping, and so there is not too much to report, but I did have another fantastic case of misplaced customer service when I ordered a wardrobe online.  I had browsed the internet and various retail establishments very carefully looking for the type of wardrobe to meet my needs.  I measured the available space, even marking the floor with masking tape so there will be no surprises when it arrives, and reviewed the colour options available.  The website of the particular retailer made it very clear that Christmas delivery would only be honoured for orders placed before 10 October, and so I was very clear that in this case my new specifically chosen wardrobe will be with me some time in the new year.  I receieved the order confirmation by email stating that the company would be in touch to arrange delivery once the item is available as per the delivery lead times.  I filed the email, and ticked Order Wardrobe off my to do list.  Perfect.

So I was a little surprised about an hour later to receive an email from the company to tell me that they were 'very sorry' but unfortunately my wardrobe was not in stock, and would have to wait until after Christmas as they had to order it in from Germany.  They could offer me a smaller wardrobe in the same colour within 2 weeks, or a bigger wardrobe in a different colour within 4 weeks, but if I wanted the wardrobe I had actually chosen and ordered, then I would have to wait.  They asked me to confirm what I wanted to do with this order, and whether I still wanted to have the wardrobe that I had selected and paid for online, as they would have to order it in.  Now, perhaps I am being very harsh and this is an example of very good customer service, in that they contacted me promptly to offer me something immediately regardless of the fact that it did not meet my needs, which in todays age of consumer immediacy, may be considered a positive, but I don't see it that way.  If I had wanted a smaller wardrobe, I would have ordered a smaller one.  If I had wanted a larger one in a different colour, I would have ordered that too.  As it is, the space in the spare bedroom is not going to change and so either of these two options would be not fully meeting the requirements I have as a customer.  Also, the website made it abundantly clear that there would be a delivery lead time, which I recognised and accepted, and so unfortunately in my eyes the efforts at customer service, if that is what it was, have actually made my impression of this organisation worse not better.

In my experience, they do this a lot in shoe shops as well.  You ask if they have the particular style of shoe in your size, a size 41 continental in my case (I used to say size 7 but for some reason in the last ten years the British footwear industry has recalibrated its scale so that a size 7 which always fitted me in British shoes between about 1992 and 2000, and was translated to a 41 in European sizes, appears to now be translated to a 40, which means that if you ask for an olf fashioned size 7, they invariably bring you a size 6 anyway which of course does not fit...)  Sorry, where was I?  Oh yes, you ask for your size and a few minutes later of fumbling in the store cupboard the shoe assistant almost always comes back and says,tells you he or she is very sorry but they don't do big sizes, but I can have it in a size 40 (ie 6) instead.  This is most unhelpful.  It is not as if I can put my feet on a diet, and try to slim down into a smaller size, nor can I lop off a toe to squeeze into a more delicate looking piece of footwear.  And since when was a UK size 7 or 41, a "big size".  I have always had big feet.  It comes of being tall.  If I had size 3 mouse like feet, I would fall over more than I already do as they would not be long enough to balance and support my height.  And I know lots of people who have similarly sized giant clod hoppers attached to the end of their legs.  I cannot believe that I have naturally gravitated in life towards friends who have larger than average feet, so I find it amazing that the British Shoe industry still perceives anything larger than a size 5 as "large".  There are lots of people out there who are taller than me, and so would fairly logically also have a need for larger footwear, and I find it quite insulting to be told by the shoe assistant that my request is going to be denied because I have asked for a "big size".  I am starting to see how the Elephant Man felt.

But, customer services is not something that many organisations really care about anymore.  There will be a target associated with selling as many pairs of shoes as possible, regardless of fit, and also one to do with keeping as low a stock holding as possible on wardrobes.  There may be one on the number of complaints received about the level of broadband service provided, and in this case Virgin Media's statistics will be better off today as I really cannot be bothered to spend any more of my precious awake time trying to convey my disappointment with them from yesterday.  But a target around good fitting shoes, or furniture that actually meets the customer's needs is not often a priority and so for today I will take the positive that at least my broad band is working again and I have not at least had to deal with that awful automated call service or a person on the other end of the phone who really does not appear to care either way.

It will all be better in the morning

It's tiring work sleeping. But not as tiring as having to provide any level of customer service apparently according to Virgin Media, or more accurately, Virgin Remedial.  Recently,  our broadband service has been intermittent at best. Usually, the process involves me resetting the modem at least twice, then calling them to report the issue, where once I've battled through the army of automated voice commands and menu options and actually managed to speak to a human being masquerading as a member of their customer no service team, they will insist that I once again reboot the modem whilst they are on the phone in the desperate hope that I will drop the phone, hang up and by the time I get back through to someone, it will be someone else and they will have gone on a tea break.   But today, they have surpassed themselves. 

On getting through on the phone, Virgin Remedial have pre recorded an apology which they are playing to me to apologise for the lack of on demand tv services in South East Kent. Where obviously I don't live. This is then followed by another message apologising for the lack of telephone services in East Sussex which is doubly pointless as whilst again this is somewhere that I don't live there, if I did I couldn't phone and hear the apology because my phone would presumably not work. And finally, the best apology of all... Apparently there is a delay in customer services being able to answer the calls and speak to me if at least 15 minutes and so perhaps I could try again later, or better still report the fault on line?  This has been the case on all 4 occasions since I have started calling at about 2pm this afternoon. It is getting very wearing now.

Now I'm a bit more awake I have thought if lots of things I'd like to blog about but unfortunately the powers that be at virgin  Remedial do not seem to be able to comprehend the need to provide the services for which I am paying, and so my only way of writing my blog is on my phone via 3G. This is of course not as convenient a way to write and so my literary musings will be limited until they deign to put us back on line. But in the circumstances I thought I would make the effort and get my feelings about useless Broadband providers off my chest. That feels better, so fingers crossed that some degree of service will resume tomorrow. Maybe it just needs a rest.