Journal Entries
Haven't Been in...
Posted Sep 22, 2008
lately, mainly because I've been horribly busy with Stuff in general (and having a lot of fun, too, I might add) but...
I appear to have had something that *might* have been a bit of a heart attack on Friday and I feel as odd as 2 left shoes as a result. Disorientated and incrediably tired.
Tell you about it another time, but suffice to say I'm glad I'm a good driver and they have lots of lay bys on the A2)
Went to the Gp today (I felt too ill to go on Friday and I certainly wasn't able to get myself up to A&E - and besides, I really didn't feel like being poked and prodded around by many and varying medicoes, I just wanted to sleep) and I'm to go for an ECG tomorrow
I'm not particually worried - I'm sure its nothing that serious, but I thought I ought to mention it whilst I remember it, as I really do keep meaning to get back on site and catch up with y'all.
And when I stop feeling so damned tired I promise I will.
Discuss this Journal entry [28]
Latest reply: Sep 22, 2008
What is it...
Posted Aug 24, 2008
..about any car I own that encourages mindless drunken oiks to smash the back window into smithereens
Because it's mine?
(unlikely, I'd have thought)
Because it's not theirs and therefore not important?
(in which case if it's not important, why bother doing anything to it?)
Because they don't like the colour? Or had a rough childhood?
Or what?
And frankly who damned well cares what their reason might be?
Vandalism is vandalism whatever an apparent excuse.
3.00am this morning I get woken up by the lads "Mum...the police are here and want to see you!"
"Meh. Wha'for
"
"Mu-um! Wake Up!"
M'mmf. Yeah. Have you got your key?"
"MUM! There's a naked man!"
"Really? Where?"
"No, not really, but there are 2 coppers outside waiting to see you"
Dressing gown on, glasses on, slippers on... stomp - lurch- stomp downstairs -yawning hugely.
"Good morning officers"
"We've just arrested a man who's smashed your car's back windscreen Mrs Cake"
"Oh"
The mouth and brain ran on automatic for the duration of the interview, only clicking into reality the once when they suggested I "Went and parked my car somewhere more safe whilst I got it repaired"
It's 3.15am (I know, I'm not a swift mover first thing), it's bucketing heavens hard. The boot will be full of glass, and I've taken double painkillers and a hefty sleeping tablet, so if I do get in to drive, I'll probably be had up for driving without due care and attention.
But thank you for letting me know, I'll wait until daylight before I survey the damage.
7.00am (yes, I know, on a 
ing Sunday
Up, dressed, washed and armed only with 2 plastic bin liners, a reel of parcel tape and a pair of nail scissors I went to the quiet, out of the way residential street where I usually park my car within the designated permitted parking bays.
Yep. Back windscreen *definately* smashed to smithereens - until you've experienced it, you really would *not* believe the amount of glass shards a windscreen can become. The boot was filled, the back seats covered, even the passenger's and driver's seat splattered with the damned stuff.
But, as before, nothing had been nicked. A rather expensive "Pendle Witch" I have hanging from the rear view mirror was still flying on her broomstick, showing off her black bloomers and H2 badge... my Disability badge and clock were still blu tacked to the front fascia. The CD player was still in it's hiding place, and no one rated my musical tastes highly enough to even nick a CD.
I didn't half say a few choice words about the rotten (possibly illegitermate personage) who thought it was a good idea to put his size 11 foot thru the window - I cut my fingers to shreds trying gingerly tape the plastic bin bags I'd brought, over the damage
Anyway, as luck would have it, I bumped into the really stunning looking copper who was trying to find me to make a statement. (Think Richard Hammond only taller, hunkier and less pocket sized)
According to him, the miscreant claimed he was so drunk he "Fell into my car by accident"
H'mm. As I'd checked for bricks and bloodstains BEFORE I began my clear up I rather doubt *that* version of event, somehow.
He wrote out my statement for me, and it really saddened me to see that it's now standard to include the phrase "I did not give anyone any form of permission whatsoever to damage my vehicle" - or words to that effect, anyway -incase some smart lawyer points out that no-one had TOLD his client he couldn't do that.
Honestly! Words fail me. Bang goes my cherished theory that the Law was there to protect everyone. It does seem to me that it's becoming more and more slanted towards protecting the aggressor first and the victim second nowadays.
But then, as I'm the victim here, my p-o-v *would be slanted. Naturally.
So I've made a claim, the Glaziers are having to order a wind screen for me and won't be able to do it until Tuesday, and I have confirmed that I am quite willing, if it comes to a court case I will appear in court.
Bank holiday weekends?
Pah!
You can keep 'em!
Discuss this Journal entry [17]
Latest reply: Aug 24, 2008
I'm Around
Posted Aug 6, 2008
...and about still - but just lately there don't seem to be enough hours in the day to log in and converse seriously, let alone lurk properly and keep up to date
It seems I've had a steady and continuous stream of visitors since my last back operation (actually, since before then, as I don't think I've even had time to mention I went in for some more day surgury around a fortnight or so ago
)
Instead of the usual cocktail of painkillers and steroids jabbed into the facet joints the consultant's trying a new treatment of injecting Botox (yes... the stuff that the rich, pampered and foolishly vain have injected into their faces to smooth out the wrinkles
)into various Points of Origin of the back muscles. He tried the "top Layer" of musculature first, but although it's made a tiny difference, I think next time we're going to go for the 6 inch needles and aim for the really deep ones
I can hardly wait
If that doesn't work, then it'll be big boys major surgury but that'll be years in the future, and knowing my luck the Nash'll go bankrupt long before it's my turn to go under the knife, so I'm not too fussed.
Whilst taking Morphine isn't idea;, it controls the pain to a tolerable level 80% of the time, so I won't complain.
So... visitors...operation... more visitors...a couple of workshops, and lots of craft work; the hooks in the kitchen where we're supposed to hang up the keys and if we're feeling lazy, our jackets, have been jammed solid with bracelets, necklaces, anklets, and all the other stuff I've been making - I'm learning new techniques and discovering amazing glass wear and fancy beads that simply have *got* to be incorporated...and I'm finally becoming more comfortable with using the finer, more delicate designs.
In short, my reportoire is extending rapidly. At this rate I shall have more than enough to attempt a seriously well stocked stall at a local Christmas Craft Fyre on my own steam... although I'd not refuse any of my friends' work to well if they were willing to put in a stake
Craft Fayre pitches are horribly expensive
Then there's the swimming, both at the Pool, and a couple of times in the sea (and yes, it was nippleraisingly cold
But it was great fun, as well
For some reason I'm still obsessed with making jams and preserves and STUFF, as well and I've rekindled my interest in cooking for the moment. It's not that I can't cook - and cook quite well, some of the time, merely the constant feeling of *having to cook for the familly, as such...3 meals a day...7 days a week... 52 weeks of the year (excluding take aways of course) I found it a grind and a bore.
Now that
(a) the lads have both shown themselves to be excellent chefs
(b) quite cheerfully cook for the familly themselves nowadays
and
(c) arn't in regular hours, so it's more expedient for all of us to simply cook for ourselves as and when we're either in or hungry (or, indeed both) the onus to know I *have to cook has been lifted, and I'm getting back to being quite creative in the kitchen.
What surprises me is that my weight is creeping slowly and steadilly downwards.
I'm losing on average around half to three quarters of a pound a week, with no conscious effort. And that's since the Hypnosis I went for, to get rid of all the childhood crap and misery I've accumulated. I really will, one day, write in depth about that experience, because it was a real adventure, and every day I seem to become more cheerful, more motivated and more together.
Yes, of course, there's still social stress in my life; I'd defy anyone to live on the breadline and not be aware that especially with the inflation and current economic b@lls ups it's becoming more and more difficult to balance the end of the money with the end of the week as opposed to the middle of it... I really don't know how I'm going to manage when the Familly Tax Credits run out in October, but I've said "I really don't know how I'll manage..." many times before, and I always have, although with enormous mental and emotional effort.
I can't see any reasen why I won't be able to cope *this time, either, but it'll be interesting to see just well I'll be able to cope this time, without becoming depressed or, my usual trick, fighting against being depressed, which is harder than just throwing up my hands in despair and wailing for sympathy
I've always *tried* to travel hopefully; perhaps this time, I will travel without *trying* so hard.
That's the general idea, anyway.
I haven't even touched all the visits I've made, nor the visits I've got linedup for the future - I'm booked solid till at least mid September and the calender seems to be filling up quicker than I can write them in
So... if I don't actually see y'all before, catch you around...erm... October(ish) time?
That is, if I get a bit of time off to drop in between Big Jan's 50th Birthday celebration and young Tom's 20th
And then it's my birthday in Novemeber...and then damn me, it'll be Christmas again
It's true what they say you know.
Time really flies when you're having fun
Discuss this Journal entry [8]
Latest reply: Aug 6, 2008
2.40am: 27.6.08
Posted Jun 27, 2008
It's been... well, yesterday, anyway, technically speaking, one of those interesting sort of days that was particually sad and generally horrible.
Lovely weather; can't complain about that. The sun shone like anything
Money isn't too bad,either;I've managed to weasle thru the month alright.
The lads and I even managed to spend a couple of hours "quality" time together this evening, which nowadays is quite a rare event; lately we've all been so busy we've been communicating via hastilly scrawled notes on the kitchen table.
It's my friend Wendy.
Today is the first anniversary of her husband's sudden death. He was older than her by 15 years and Wen, like most of us in my group of mates is no spring chicken, so it was pretty likely Roy was likely to predecease her; but despite being severely physically disabled, he was in good health generally, so it came as a hell of a shock when he literally dropped dead from one sudden and comprehensively thorough heart attack this time last year.
I have witnessed grief in my time; but I have never, ever seen anyone so utterly and totally devastated as Wendy. Her grief and pain was almost frightening in its intensity. And so, along with her daughter, and her other friends I've done my share of listening,and being there for her; Which is what any decent friend would do, and no particular credit to me.
I'm very fond of her - she's extremely intelligent, one of the kindest people I know,
She can drive you nuts with her constant chatter, her flippancy and her inability to keep on any subject for more than 10 sentences because she has such a lively mind, I'll admit
And she's very capeable
she can do complicated things like setting Video and DVD players,and understands gadgets like I pods and mobile phones Between us we rebuilt my PC Tower from scratch: I made lots of coffee and passed her various screwdrivers whilst she did the easy bits like knit the wiring together
In short she's quite a remarkable person; there isn't anything she can't do not only competently but with panache. There isn't a situation she can't deal with.
Providing it's for someone else.
When it comes to Wendy looking after Wendy it's a different story.
She's done her best. She's acquired a gaggle of cats to keep her company; she's got herself a job to occupy her time gainfully; she remember (sometimes) to cook for herself, and she's kept her home together.
On the face of it, she's doing very well.
But this afternoon, I got a very tearful phone call asking if I'd "come round"
"Sure" I said "You sound a bit weepy mate,what's the problem?"
"I've had enough...of everything"
"Ah. I'll be round in 5"
I booted around to hers,let myself in,and she's curled up on the settee, in her PJs, supping a massive rum and coke, and with 3 still smoking ciggie butts in the ashtray, whilst attempting to light a 4th. God knows how she'd managed to light the first 3, because she was shaking like a leaf.
This is not how she *is, as a rule. No house slut or drunk is my friend. This is a woman who dresses well and knows all about make up and blow drying.
After a bit, she began talking,and after a while, I put the story together as follows:
Her bereavement Councellor had told her that they didn't want to be held responsible for Wen's state of mind, and she was strongly advised to get in touch with her GP
Wen's daughter was due to come over to her mums' as soon as the grandson got in from school
Despite the fact that the Daughter and I went thru the flat with a fine tooth comb to dispose of all of Roy's pain killers Wendy had managed to find a couple of bottles of heavy duty medicines we'd missed, and taken quite a few of them,together with the rest of her sleeping tablets, some valium and had gotten thru a third of a litre of Captain Morgan's Best, all within the last 6 hours.
She just wanted "to sleep and escape today and tomorrow" She was vexed that she hadn't gone to sleep yet.
In short; Houston,we have a bloody great problem.
First thing I did was to phone her GP's surgury, asking for an emergency visit. That was at3.00pm. The Dr, I was advised, would"Call Back"within 10 minutes.
Next thing was to quietly replace her drink with just Coke,and continue to gently question her as to what exactly she had taken. She let slip that she'd got hidden a further quantity of pills "incase", but I couldn't get it out of her as to their whereabouts.
3.30...no call from the GP. I rang again. The receptionist tried to fob me off with the usual bleat of A Doctor's Life is a Hard and Busy Life,to which I said I'm sure it was, but in the meantime, I would like to make it very clear that Mrs (Thingy) was not only suicidal, she had also taken a large amount of Controlled Drugs and her behaviour was becoming increasingly erratic and needed help.
4.00,still no call; and Wendy was becoming drowsier. I phoned again.
The daughter arrived.I brought her up to date. Whilst she took over questioning I rang again, and asked the receptionist to remind Dr Doolittle (again) that we were still waiting to hear from him.
Finally, at 5.45 he finally phoned.
No, he wasn't coming out,no he wasn't going to offer Mrs (Thingy) any form of tranquilising,but he *would arrange for an ambulance to take her to our local (over45 miles away sort of local)psychiatric unit.
Wemayhave to wait for up to 4 hours
We got Wen's bag packed.
She was very poorly by now; it was utterly dreadful to be witness to her gradual decline from the woman who I knew a year ago to the pale, frail,shaking scrap of humanity she was today. Her grief, even after a year is still as raw,as painful and as intense as it was the day her husband died. And although I'd say last year, it would be impossible for anyone to be so completely heartbroken, the grief she displayed*then is nothing to what she's expressing now.
She still cannot accept he's gone. It just won't sink in. And when the realisation does hit her, it hurts her so much her only desire to to escape into sleep, so she doesn't have to face it.
Daughter, daughter-in-law and I didn't know whether it was better for her to be allowed to go to sleep, or to ensure she remained conscious...so we rang the"Crisis Support" number we'd been given, to ask.
Just as well we did.
There was no record of any ambulance being requested. And as Wen wasn't in the system,our best bet was to do a 999 call,and start from scratch.
So The daughter made the call, and the daughter in law and I walked Wendy up and down to keep her awake.
Within 5minutes(at around7.00pm)the ambulance arrived, and the paramedics took over. Daughter and daughter in law followed Wen's ambulance,and I came home with a scratch supper, about5 minutes before the lads came in.
Fair play to them, they cooked supper whilst I made us that panacea for all ills,a pot of tea.
I went to bed at 11.00, but I haven't been able to sleep; I know there's no point in fretting and worrying; my friend is in the best possible place for the moment - at least she can't get hold of anymore medication to try and blot out her pain for now. She's surrounded with people, which is what she craves; she can't tolerate her own company. And hopefully, she might, at long last, be offered some form of help or support that's right for her
(Although I'm not holding me breath on that last one)
It's now 4.15am, and dawn's broken. The seagulls are having a quick morning cough before raiding the bins for their first fag end of the day. Life continues, as it always will.
And I still can't get out the image I have in my head, of Wendy, small, frail and huddled keening softly, over and over again "When's he coming back?"
Discuss this Journal entry [13]
Latest reply: Jun 27, 2008
Jam Today..and money for old rope
Posted Jun 23, 2008
It's a strange expression, is "money for old rope" isn't it?
I believe its origins were in the dim distant past when hangmen used to sell little lengths of rope to the more ghoulish members of the viewing public once their victims had been hanged.
But that's neither here nor there.
I'm talking about Art, instead.
Now I *like Art, I can appreciate it, even if I don't actually like it, just as long as I can understand or relate to the"idea" behind it.
Which doesn't mean to say I'd pay anything for Damien Hurst's formaldahyded animal,no matter *how clever the idea might be, because I like my "art" to be subjectively pleasing, and having half a dead cow (or pig, or whatever the creature was)leant up against my living room wall isn't my idea of a good time.
There's very little*skill in it, you see; the animal, like Topsy, just grew itself, I believe a professional butcher slaughtered and halved it. Mr Hurst just arranged for it to be straitigically placed in a nice transparent(and hopefully sealed afterwards) case /vat of formaldahyde.
And sold the "Idea"
So, in my rather philostinic opinion, that's not "Art" that's just smart marketing.
And feeding on folk's pretentions, of course.
I honestly do believe there's a vast amountof "The Emporor's New Clothes" mentality, meself; no-one likes to say anything that's not "Prescribed Nice" in case they show themselves up.
Well, what of it if they do? In 90% of cases, they'd only be saying out loud what most folk privately think anyway, but don't have the nerve to say!
Having said that, I've rather cynically gone about creating my own bit of "art", make out of half completed samples of bead patterns I've gotten bored with,and know perfectly well I'll never get around to unpicking, half completed bracelets I became bored with,and odds and ends from my ever increasing collection of glittery bits I hoard because they might come in handy if I never use them.
Well? They might!
What set all this off was a rummage at my local boot fair.
I'm always on the look out for nice frames, and I found a beauty -gold wood, about 12 inches square, with a wide mount, and a smallish(about 3x3inch)indented square in the centre,containing...
now really, this is the honest truth; really it is
9 equally spaced and very dead rose petals
Meticulously placed,true, but never the less, about as exciting as paint drying
But... the frame and surround were really nice! Very understated.
And cheap. It cost me all of a quid
And it gave me an idea.
It was, basically, if the creator of that bit of work reckons it's good art, then I reckon*I* can get away with stuff like that, as well.
I'll call it "Recycled/Reclaimationism" for a giggle and see how many people I can bluff into believing me
I gutted the frame open,removed the mount, removed the rose petals, and got going with all those half finished projects and a lot of PVA glue.
There's a few links of costume jewellery chains, and 4 or 5 odd earrings and lots and lots of bead soup all (apparently) stratigically arranged
Infact, all I did was bung em in,fit them into the recess within the mount and basically, I played away quite happilly most of yesterday afternoon and some of this morning, when I got back from the pool.
I thoroughly enjoyed doing it, too. I got covered in glue, and paint(I got side tracked into doing some other stuff...as you do)
I hung the picture up just a bit before it was completely dried
(I'm patient, but not *that*patient)
and it's taken on a rather interestingly textured look - rather like pirates treasure being trickled out of a pair of hands, if you've got that sort of twee mindset.
Once it's dried off properly, I'll get it back off the wall, and re-fill in the gaps; if I remember to, that is
Otherwise, I can claim the gaps are symbolic of something like the fiscal deprivation of the working classes or something equally pretentious when I put my newly created "Work of Art" up for sale with the rest of the stuff I've been accumulating at next week's Craft Fayre!
I'll try and get a picture of it on site before too long, for the crack.
I found it hilarious when Son no 2 did a double take at it this afternoon, and said
"I like that mum, it's quite pretty, isn't it? - you know,*you could do something like that with all your old bits of beady stuff, couldn't you?"
On a totally unrelated tangent,my larder appears to be overflowing with filled Jam Pots: - there's cherry; there's strawberry and cherry; there's Summer fruits, spare raspberry and creme de framboise flavoured jam; there's apricot jam... and heaven help me, I've just made a further 3 pots of the damned stuff, this time, from blue berries
Someone... somewhere, please stop me!
I'm running out of kitchen, never mind storage space
And varieties of fruits, as well.
Discuss this Journal entry [43]
Latest reply: Jun 23, 2008
Moving On
Researcher U226093
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