A good thing

Just as I was getting agitated with myself for not exactly doing much lately, my most precious sister has pointed out that taking life quietly right now, is a good thing.  Guilt partially assuaged, am returning to the sofa with 'Major Chancellor's Mission', a 10p Mills & Boon.

Sign on the dotted line

Find myself signing up for writing course, yogic in-service training and heaven knows what else, bugger the expense.  Lord, I'm feeble-bodied.  Even my arms sag limply on the keyboard.  Stamina will return, clearly its on holiday, with my sense of responsibility;  may they be very happy together.  

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The old shed  returns briefly;  I did love it.

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Have agreed with Nursey to selectively ignore UCLH nurse's advice for now (perhaps ideal for the more gung-ho of her patients) that I could strip off the dressing, pull out my own packing, "give it all a good whoosh with the shower head", shake out any water that would inevitably pool in yawning crevasse, and then totter off to Nursey to have it redressed.  I can handle sealed up scar tissue, but playing around with my own open wounds, no thank you.

Made it ..

.. as far as the park.  First non-essential walk in days.  Glorious sunshine, birds flapping, must remember crusts next time.  Back on the codeine last night (What was it, the buttercream?!   I so want the impossible 'why?' answered).

Had accidentally turned my alarm volume so low it was inaudible.  Days ago.  Could explain my lateness for recent Nursey appointments.

 Am sure this fence was quite boring the last time I passed it.  That's a fair few brushes to clean.

Congratulations, Team Obama!

What wonderful news to wake to.  

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A while back, I bought two toning paint colours, intending to turn the shed into something suspiciously Swiss Family Robinson, but now think I might just leave it alone.  Swap paint for more logs, yes.

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Preposterous quantity of dried fruit soon to be soaking in bottle of brandy;  tomorrow is Christmas Cake Baking Day.

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Otherwise, resting [well, trying to - can't really, always jump up and do something].  Intermittent twangs [still not the least clue why], and a reassuring visit to Health Psychology - full of bright ideas and optimism.  No big fat painkillers for the last 24hrs, a bonus.

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Today Nursey said she was ever more optimistic my never-ending-story would heal by Xmas.  It dawned on me that I have come to depend on it ending by then.  I haven't patience for much more of this.   

Whitechapel can wait

Have woken slow, which is altogether wonderful, after too many days frenetic.  Staying home, with a host of projects which may or may not come to pass.  The Sunday papers and Elaine Paige on Radio 2 appeal hugely.  

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Stoneware a gift from S~S to my favourite soon to be 3 year old.  

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KW advised patience on the birdfeeder front, and was quite right: finally, it's in use.  Photographic evidence will be a long time coming, unless I turn the dining room window into a hide.

With grateful thanks to St Delia of the pies

Ok, I'll stop with the shed already.  But before I do, look!  Curtains!!  And every time I chuck out a doormat, it's going to become patchwork shed carpet.  Joy of joys.  And the wooden window box just arrived.

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Truly, it's in need of a launch party.  I knew I'd find a use for that Lambrusco Rose if I waited long enough (won at the Bowls Club New Year's Eve disco, for naming all four members of Abba, well, really, who couldn't?) Now all we need's a name.  

And so, Yom Kippur is almost upon us.  I have made shortbread (and the timer worked while I was out getting my brain rinsed by the Health Psychology people, bless 'em).  

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Now, over to Simon Hopkinson [Roast Chicken & Other Stories, pub: Hyperion] for the world's finest roast chicken recipe, and then to synagogue to reflect on another interesting year.  Do you sense the slightly dippy tone?  Back on the codeine, sorry to say.

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Accordingly, there will be a brief hiatus.  Back Friday morning, latest. Thank you all, as always xxx 

Look!

 What light!  That's 9am perfection for you.  Slept rather too well, rolled over, slept some more.  Are you observant enought to spot the deliberate error? Turned over - naughty!  Woke to find wound had bled because I'd slept on it.  B*gger.

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To Nursey now to get it dressed.  She'll reassure me again, "Well, at least it's got a good blood supply".

For our E, who appreciates sheds

Hello there.

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Yes, shelves or hooks on three sides, leaving only the window (soon to be table) side bare.  Took especial delight in threading a selection of tartan ribbons through hand tool handles so as to hang them all up.  And that lawnmower will be gone just as soon as the remnants of lawn vamoose.

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The old shed was letting rain in by the bucket-load.  It's so wonderful that nothing will get any rustier, or damper, and no more labels will peel off... 

You did have a plan B, didn't you?

See - just crying out for a table..

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But something must be done about the swamp outside (formerly, lawn).

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Frankly, I am rather proud of my ingenuity.

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Where was I? Where am I? Home!  Hospital receptionist called 10.10am, "Mr Trustworthy has just informed me he can't stay in clinic".  Dare not ask nature of grim emergency taking him elsewhere.  So, rescheduled for 21st;  diverted a very understanding GG (would-be escort du jour);  abandoned my waiting room bag (I've really mastered the art now - minimal reading matter, because I can't, small water bottle, because they have a dispenser, cut-out dolls, because they help me avoid eye contact with other outpatients, but keep me free enough to converse with companion).

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Time to unpack the Sainsburger's delivery very, very slowly.  And endeavour to do as little as possible for the rest of the day.

Shaw's Corner

I am just so taken with this glorious writing shed.  It rotated to catch the sun.  He nicked it from his wife when he saw how well it worked.  Honestly.  Some people.  The staff could say, "Mr Shaw is out" to callers with a clear conscience;  and Nancy Astor once hammered on the door, saying "Come out of there, you old fool.  You've written enough nonsense in your life".

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11 hours in bed (minus two to complete Mr Perry's Portrait of the Artist As a Young Girl - first book finished since Colorado, August).  A record.  I've slowed down enough to sleep.  Triumph.  Spent more of the weekend on the sofa than the computer, and longer in peace and quiet than with music.  Turned tv on - Bruce Forsyth and a bunch of dancing girls.  It was like being ten all over again.

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Nursey reports small improvements in my scar area.  sent me home with list of next 22 (!) appointments.  They discuss me at the GP practice weekly meeting.  It's all very public, this being ill (said the blog writer).

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That extraordinary blind lady up the road made way for me to walk past her - she was sweeping the pavement outside her house.  Seeing eye dog sitting patiently on her front path.  That's some woman:  can't see the leaves, but sweeps them up nonetheless.

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Forbidden from playing with heavy objects/anything in the garden.  Contended myself with making the shed a keyring.
http://www.shedstyle.com/2008/02/  

or see sidebar link - sheds with style.  Though also found one very mistaken one while exploring:  for those with limited outdoor space, why not build a shed... indoors.  Just hang a few plants around the door.  No, no and thrice no.
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Above:  more Shaw.  Don't blame me for the lousy picture quality.  That's the National Trust for you.

This train will be held in the station..

... to even out gaps in the service.  What is that?

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Overnight ramblings: 'drive car in a circle'; 'chopped liver';  35 days since last op and still bleeding.  Woke 1am, convinced I had hideous temperature:  how can I be ill on top of all this?  I'd forgotten about night sweats. 

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How's everyone else?  Adapting to that new contact lens?  Got your taste buds back?  Are the iron tablets helping?

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To the wonderful Nitins for instant lunch yesterday.  Look! Ever seen such knuckles of cinammon?  Fresh pan anyone?  And my first chicoos outside India (ideal for that Rosh Hashonah tradition - eat a ripe fruit you haven't yet this season).  And they were out of shrikand.  I'll just have to go back.  Have DIY kheer mix to plug the gap.

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On opening pot of hand cream: " Tip No. 9 - When winter starts to bite, wrap yourself up in a luxurious coat of Astral".    Saints preserve us from Tips 1 to 8.

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Having fantasies about cramming a GB Shaw style writing desk inside shed window.  The sun catches it all day long.  Fantasy no doubt to be tempered by shed contents, still behind dining room table.

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Sofa snoozed yesterday afternoon, a triumph.  Entered variety of competitions:  new sofa, holidays (am I banned from Sandals because single?)  Dreamy holiday ideas: there's a Bulgari in the GUM in Red Square;  and a Boston hotel you can brunch in your jimjams.  Intending more go slow today.  Amazing how weekends still have distinct identity despite worklessness.

As if by magic...

.. the shopkeeper appeared.  Or, the shed!  And it needs two months to bed down before it can be painted.  Serendipity.  
Not touching this laptop for 30hrs has slowed me down wonderfully.  I shan't forget that (well, we'll see).  JG came, shopped, cooked and RS turned up in perfect time to drink, eat and drive to synagogue in time for last night's service.   Pragmatic, these Progressives:  the entire service transliterated for those among us (me) who avoided learning Hebrew in our fabulously misspent youth.  Welcoming, but not claustrophobic, and none of that snide "Where were you during the boring bits of the year?" look that I sensed elsewhere.

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One minor hiccup: desperately needed a codeine, had purchased small enough water bottle for handbag in such haste, only realised it was fizzy when I opened it at an especially quiet moment.  So it goes.

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Today, efficient morning par excellence:  shed fitters 8-11am;  JG arrived in time for them to say "Good Yomtov" to her as they left;  taxi to shul arrived so swiftly, had to leave my biscuit uneaten.  Made up for it with £1 of jelly babies after another perfectly fine service.  

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But rather too many painkillers today - looking forward to some medical insight, soon.  Do tell me, o occasional readers, is the medical synopsis in the sidebar helpful?  Are you any less confused.  In fact, tell me anything!  I'd appreciate some feedback - is anything irritating, layout or content-wise?  Wanting more/less of anything?  Have had one request for fewer photos of vinyl.  Fair do's.

L - AC:  thank you for getting back to me!  I won't publish your details here.  But thank you.  Keep up the writing.

Jubilate!

I've discovered Photoshop!  Remember those Norma Lu Meehan cut out dolls?  Turns out they were a collector's item..  And there I was, setting about them with the scissors.. Oh well.  Life's too short.
Which sensible soul dragged me away from the Cancer Research shop's window display last week?  Well, tough:  you weren't there today, were you?  I now have Wimoweh, and The Leaving of Liverpool...
Not to mention 'Knock three Times...
.. and Baby I'm A Want You  ...  Let your Love Go
.. Give me Back My Heart...
To Sir with Love...
I used to belong to Dean-o's fan club, you know.  Maybe I shouldn't share such revelations..
.. the Streets of London....  and Mrs Adam's Angels...  Yes, yes, I know I could have bought them all on i-tunes.  But this way is so much cheaper, and more fun, and I get the joy of the cover artwork.
Fairies knitting at the bottom of my garden...
I slept in (could it have been the booze?  Thank you S~S), but not too late to catch the dew, or to see Nursey first appointment.
Lavender dandruff in my lounge;  but S~S mastered the lavender corn dolly.
How exactly do I change the sheets with you sleeping there?
Nursey has put micropore on my prescription, saved me a couple of quid.  And I'm trying Vitamin E and iron (for my feeble skin, and the anaemic breathlessness), and antihistamines for the skin reaction to any sort of covering now.

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And one further Oxfam indulgence, 'Fate has been kind', the memoirs of The Rt Hon Pethick Lawrence PC.  What a life,  two world wars, an Eton childhood to the last days of the Raj, to imprisonment for supporting the suffragettes, to bankruptcy (including forfeiture of his club membership, a cruel blow) to Parliament and poetry writing.  How come I'd never heard of him?  

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Sunniest of days.  I'm getting out there.

Please go to bed

Lovely Mr G*man left me this beautiful flower on the doorstep and ran away.  He's my role model - breast cancer, pacemaker, half his guts surgically removed, and still he keeps two of London's finest allotments.

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Have updated my profile with an e-mail address (for those struggling to post comments), and, if anyone has the time, 18 months' reading matter.

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Am considering making Christmas Cake - recipes of quality welcomed.

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Am without a doubt quite bonkers, sleepless and in need of professional support, which fortunately, I am soon to receive.

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Really must try bed now.

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xxx

Oops

Got so lost in filing old clothing and footwear receipts, somewhat drugged up, entirely forgot that I hadn't done blog today.  Sorry if you are at all dependent on daily fix.

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Pleasant father and son team building shed in back garden as I write.  Off to the hairdresser's now. Always a cause for celebration - I have hair that can be cut!  Yeay!  And eyebrows that can be tweaked!  Fantastic!  First day in what feels like forever that I haven't got a hospital or doctor's appointment (in fact, ratio is about 5:2, medical:vaguely normal).

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Am considerably calmer than yesterday.  Just got thoroughly steamed up and grumpy at prospect of not knowing where I am all over again.  But now accept that this is the status quo, and any apparent certainty is wholly illusory.

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Am investigating having a cleaner.  Codeine consumption remains constant.  Work phoned, they miss me.  Can't entirely claim that the feeling's mutual, well, I suppose I miss the normality - but the idea of doing anything remotely challenging right now is fairly preposterous.  Had to ask for seat on tube yesterday - didn't cry, unlike last time, so am perhaps acclimatising to being a bit dog sick.

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Photos of current hippy musical choice to soothe my weary soul, both Ashtanga mates of old, Annie chants very simply in her yoga studio, accompanied by Glen (can be purchased on ashtanga.com or shaktisharanam.com);  David is the professional musician, putting his tracks together in a studio in Bangalore, very upbeat.

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Really must go.  

Sunday in the Park with George (Gershwin)

This is England, the England of my imaginings.  Where people plant fir trees on their allotments for fear of offending the neighbours;  where the brass band plays after Sunday lunch just a bowled ball away from the municipal planting.

Fine food, drink, company, conversation, and as eclectic a range of reading matter as you'll find at the best of lending libraries:  Quiltmania; Financial Times Wealth; Soul and Spirituality; the Guardian, OK! and the Reader's Digest (Humour Special!); and the immaculately edited IEEE Software.  Grayson Perry and John Diamond came back home unopened.
Mr T had to cross two bottles of Puligny Montrachet Premiere Cru off his cellar book, and was it ever worth it.
Christmas decorations are on sale at Debenhams.  J looks a treat in her new Paul Costelloe, it took determination to get her there.   Country Cousins have tracked down more Bob Azzam. Down to four codeine a day.  Six medical appointments this coming week.  Please slow down, life.

"Have nothing in your home that is not beautiful or functional"

.. Frank Lloyd Wright (well, one tries).

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Thank the Lord I can drink again.  You only live once, no matter how generous your faith system, you only get one shot, really.  So I opened the last bottle of Jurancon.  And jolly good it is too.

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The outdoors has come in while I await the new shed. And S~S brought fragrant old English roses.

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Have you tried genius on i-tunes yet?  Another fun plaything!  Give it one song & it'll create a playlist around it, in seconds.  Playing on the computer this late at night is really silly though, isn't it?   Go to bed.  Now.

All gone!

A heroic effort by my next-door-neighbour, with moral support from an extended team, and lo!  No more shed.  

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Spent plenty of yesterday resting;  trying to make corn dollies out of lavender (not particularly successfully);  Last Night of the Proms on tv;  not particularly mobile.  Slowest I've been in weeks.  Good.

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Quite a day, one way or another

This pinboard lived over my bed throughout my teenage years.  For the last 17, it's held plant labels and garden inspirations.  And it's outlasted the shed.

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Rolled the dining room carpet up, to make temporary storage space for shed contents, and found a very dead, very flat, mouse underneath.  Really rather sweet, definitely not a rat.  Wondered how many meals I'd served to how many of you on the dining table above it, oblivious.  Reminded me of that unfortunate moment one childhood Passover, first guests knocking at the door, glancing into the dining room only to see one very sleek black cat very quickly eating the liver pate, sitting plum centre of the overladen table.  Nothing for it but to shoo Tinker out, repair the damage quickly with some artistic fork patterns, and open the door.  It's safe to confess that one now, as almost everyone who ate that meal is safely six feet under at Bushey.

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This perfect piece of fake Bakelite is my telephonic piece de resistance - right down to the ringing bell.  Anyone want a fax/answerphone/telephone in perfect working order?  It stays in the cupboard awaiting offers for a week until it gets recycled.

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Feeling better now, but have had an utterly sh!te afternoon.  There I was, calmly, escapistly, choosing the perfect notepad in Paperchase, when 'ID withheld' came up on my mobile - heart thumping, it could only be the hospital with timing of my Ultrasound.  Only it was M [drinking partner & currently taking my students on] from my office, wondering how I was.  Squatting on the busy pavement by Fulham Broadway tube (lousy reception in-store), describing my diagnosis, which suddenly sounded a lot grimmer than when I'd last dwelt on it.  The never-endingness of it all struck me hard, and I just wanted my old normality back.  Stumbled onto the tube, feeling wretched, into a carriage full of Italian 17 year-olds, all gangling legs akimbo and bodies sprawled every which way, laughing loudly, filling every available seat.  Wanted to scream, or maybe just ask really quietly so that all their skins crawled, "I am older than you and I am in pain.  Give me a seat".  But then I thought, "bet they speak rubbish English, and will make me repeat myself umpteen times, while I weep", and then "besides, they are so, so young.  Why shatter their self-centred bliss."  So, I sat on the floor.  Nobody moved.  I've never taken codeine on public transport before.  Wondered if I'd be able to get off and walk home.  I did.