I'm in a loser state of mind -- first I lose the dog; then today, the car. Or rather, I lost the street where I parked it while I had my hair done. I went to a church book sale across the road from the salon, that was my big mistake. I got disoriented and ended up wandering the streets for over half an hour, in the rain. So much for Sandy's careful blow-drying, it was all rat-tails.

The book sale was a good one -- I got a 1945 edition of Wind in the Willows for 20p, very austere little thing with no illustrations but plenty of conversation; a guide to ballroom dancing from the 50s, I bought it for the diagrams of dancing feet, 40p; and something I can never resist, an 50s recipe book full of photos of radioactive food. Sensible buys were Cold Mountain (haven't read the book or seen the movie) and The Tulip, a history of the Dutch bulb mania. I resisted The Complete Home Doctor, which I only wanted for an X-ray of "torso with toy bicycle impacted in thorax".

Three days off and I'm exhausted. Saturday the weather was great, sunny and warm, so I did a spot of gardening, lots of walking and saw The Warrior -- what a great film. Sunday I went sailing and it was fantastic, just a nice amount of wind. The first sail of the season is always a bit nerve-wracking, because I'm sure I've forgotten how to do it. But it's like riding a bike, it all comes back and it's bliss. Sailing's funny though, because it seems sooooo easy ... but you don't realise how much work you're doing until later on -- ow! aching muscles!

Today I had a loafsome morning and then took Bertie on a nice long walk, to Kirkliston. I don't know how far it is, but it takes about an hour and a half, mainly along the route of an old railway line. Just as you come into Kirkliston the track goes under a bridge, which carries a road into the village. That's where Bertie disappeared. Vanished! I followed him up the path to the road, yelling at him because he's not supposed to go off the track. No sign of him. Standing on the bridge was a chap with a dog, who had been on the path ahead of us. He pointed up another road. But he had a speech disorder -- maybe he'd had a stroke? -- and I couldn't understand what he was saying. "White dog" and "farm" was about it. But he was pointing very insistently up the road.

I set off up the road in the direction he was pointing, calling and whistling, but there was no sign of Bertie. I came back down the road and walked along the track a bit. Went back up the road, back down to the track. Checked the streets of the village. Went back up the road, back down the track. He had vanished. What to do? His collar has a tag with my phone number on it, so I thought it would be best to go home and see if someone had phoned. I caught a bus back, and sure enough, there was a phone message.

"This is Mrs Unintelligible from 5 Unintelligible Unintelligble and I have your white greyhound here. I've called the police and they're sending someone round, but then I saw your number on his collar so... oh, and my phone number is 333 unintelligible."

Argh!

I couldn't phone 1471 because Andrew had phoned after Mrs Unintelligible, so his number was the last called. I listened to the message a dozen times. I scoured the phone book for names that sounded likely that matched a 333 number but no luck. I phoned the police, but they didn't have a record of Bertie being reported found. On a map I found an street in Kirkliston that could concievably be Unintelligible Unintelligible, so I drove there. I asked at the Post Office and the Kirkliston vet. No joy. I went home again. The police had suggested phoning the cat and dog home and also checking the local police station. Cat and dog home didn't have him. I plodded down to the police station but they didn't have him and didn't have a record of him being reported found.

I went home again and hurrah, Mrs Unintelligible had phoned again, so this time 1471 worked and she was able to give me directions to her house, which is in a converted farm steading, further up the very road the man had been pointing at. Bertie was curled up on a blanket on his rescuer's front doorstep, looking very woebegone. She said he had been very timid at first, but wouldn't leave her door -- especially after she gave him some biscuits! She has a dog too, but like Bertie he's not neutered, so she kept B outside because she wasn't sure how they'd get on.

When I got home I had to phone the police and report him home safe, then go to the police station and tell them he was ok. Tomorrow I'll phone the cat and dog home and let them know -- everyone has his details! In the course of all my to-ing and fro-ing I'd bumped into both my next-door neighbours, so they knew the whole story too. Rosemary even offered to come and listen to the phone message, see if she could understand the accent better -- but by then he was home again. He's been following me around the house like a clicking shadow, so maybe he thinks I abandoned him.

Andrew had phoned to check when I was going up to the farm again -- and it's official, we're going up at the beginning of June for a few days. I'll see if I can take some more time off. There won't be a lot of farm work, so we'll be able to go for some good walks.

Right now I'm going to have a long bath -- I'm aching all over! Have to get up early tomorrow too, I'm going to have my hair done.

Hmm, I tried to post an entry yesterday but it didn't work. Seems to be ok tonight though. Not much to report, it's been another quiet week at Salty Towers. I'm now officially on a waiting list for the fibroids thingie, looks as if it will be September before I go in. The hold-up is partly because of a shortage of beds in gynaecology; partly because Dr Gillespie and his colleague will be on holiday for most of July and August, and in meetings for most of June; and that there are three other women ahead of me on the list. In the meantime I'm going to go back to the herbalist for some of her magic potion.

I'm going sailing soon, first time this season. I'd loaned Colin my wetsuit for a course he was doing and he returned it last week. Most embarrassing -- I thought he was going to drop it in in the afternoon, on his way to work, but he showed up at midday, with his girlfriend in tow. I was still in my nightie, having a long leisurely breakfast in the sun. Caught slacking! Jenny was there to meet Bertie, who's going to be staying with them while I'm in Oxford. "Gosh, isn't he big," she said nervously. I reassured her that he only looks big indoors. Yes, I'm sure that's reassuring.

So anyway sailing, tomorrow or Monday. I mowed the front lawn today to make more time at the weekend for leisure pursuits, but mowing the back lawn seemed a step too far. I really am extremely lazy. I'm going to go and see The Warrior at some point too, just my kind of movie "shimmering beauty" and "old-fashioned storytelling gusto".

The "virus" problem is solved: it was a combination of the ISP's servers going down and my thinking that meant my password had been stolen again and changing it, and my home email program, Eudora, being unable to cope and giving me weirdo error messages. Why can't it just say "wrong password" rather than "Shhhh! Don't tell anyone." It sounded like virus talk to me.

The mad thing was that the first emails I got after sorting all this out were infected with the Klez virus. Norton grabbed them and stuffed them away before they could do any harm, but still!

Today I went to a funeral. One of my dogwalking acquaintances, Sandy, died suddenly last week. One of my neighbours (who also has dogs) called in this morning and offered me a lift there and back, which was nice. There was a good turnout -- Sandy didn't have much in the way of family, but he had loads of friends. I think the dogs should have been there too though ...

Crematorium funerals are quite odd. They try very hard to be as solemn and respectful as possible, but you can hear the clock ticking. We had to wait outside until the previous funeral ended and when we filed out there was another group of mourners gathering. The minister gave a nice little sermon, but it's kind of "funeral lite" -- a hymn, a couple of prayers, a homily and Bible reading and off you go. After the service we drove back and Lisa told me about how her husband died on the third day of their "holiday of a lifetime" in the Far East. They'd been married 38 years, very sad story.

Bertie had quite a traumatic walk -- a couple of little kids came scrambling up a bank with their mother, right under his nose, and he went mental, leaping around like a lunatic barking as if they were ... I don't know, monsters. Once I'd reassured them the children weren't too frightened -- "Give him a biscuit!" one suggested. The mother had a cap-gun and "shot" at him, which went down well! I managed to drive Bertie away from them in the end and get him on a lead. Then we met a whole class of children on the street and he backed out into a busy road in a big panic -- argh!

Early cut tonight, they're working on the presses again. Phew.

I've been having problems with my email -- I thought it was a virus, but it turns out it may be a problem with my ISP's servers, because I just phoned the support line and they're in a big flap. So ... email to bjagnew@hotmail.com in the meantime. Sigh.

I've just come back from seeing the radiologist who'll be doing the embolisation and it was very interesting. He had all the MRI scan pictures up, wow! My poor old innards. He's not sure when it will be done, says it may be early June or September. July and August are out because he and his colleague are on holiday and May is out because of various meetings. The radiologists don't have much of a waiting list, the main hitch is gynaecology beds. The radiology department doesn't move to the new hospital until next year, so the procedure will be done at the old hospital, then they'll whizz me out to the new one for a few days.

I took photos of the scans, ta da!


These ones are in cross-section, the round black blobs are the fibroids. There are loads of them, all the way through my uterus. Ewwww!


And here's the side-on view. The dark shape in this one is my poor bladder, squashed down on by the big bag o' fibroids. Double ewwww!

The radiologist wasn't fazed at all by my interest -- doctors have changed so much! He wasn't patronising in the least. The big revelation was his use of the phrase "chicken soup" in relation to the discharge I might experience. Guess what I won't be eating again in a hurry...

Stop cheering up! It's not good for you!

By WILLIAM L. HOLMES
Associated Press Writer
RALEIGH, North Carolina (AP) – Mildly depressed older women tend to live longer than those who are not depressed at all, a surprising new study suggests.
The findings are contrary to most other studies on the link between depression and mortality. Those studies have generally shown that depression increases the likelihood of death within a certain time period.
“This is totally counterintuitive to what you expect to see,” said Dan G. Blazer, a Duke University professor of psychiatry and behavioral science. “We know that depression in younger populations is very clearly associated with mortality. It’s not so clear in older populations.”
The results might support the theory that mild depression is a survival mechanism, he said.
The Duke study, to be published in the May-June issue of the American Journal of Geriatric Psychiatry, is the first known examination of mild depression and death, Blazer said. Other studies looked only at people with severe depression.
The Duke study was based on a group that started with 2,401 women and 1,269 men, all older than 65. They were interviewed about their health at roughly three-year intervals from 1986 to 1997 and were separated into three categories – depressed, mildly depressed and not depressed – based on their answers to a 20-question test.
Blazer said 10.5 per cent of the women were considered mildly depressed.
The women with mild depression were, on average, 60 percent less likely than other women to die during any three-year period, Blazer said. Researchers took into account age, chronic illness and other factors in calculating the mortality rate.
The researchers found that depression had no influence on the mortality of men.
“We don’t want to make too much out of this except that it’s a very interesting finding,” Blazer said.
Blazer said the study may support a theory advanced by University of Michigan psychiatrist Randolph M. Nesse that says mild depression may allow people to cope more easily with their problems and remove themselves from dangerous or harmful situations.
According to Nesse humans may need “low mood” or mild depression to deal with failure and disappointment. “People who don’t have it waste their whole lives trying to do things they won’t ever do,” he said.
A psychiatrist not involved in Blazer’s work, Dr. Richard Schulz of the University of Pittsburgh, questioned the findings, noting that previous research has shown that both mild depression and severe depression lead to increased mortality.

That reminds me of something else I read recently, that high self-esteem can be more of a social problem than low self-esteem, because ... well I forget now. I think it was that highly self-confident teenagers are more likely to go joy-riding than self-pitying pimply nerds. That kind of thing.

But the study itself is a bit depressing, isn't it? People who aren't depressed "waste their whole lives trying to do things they won’t ever do,” says Mr Nesse. But how wonderful if you succeed against all the odds! And people do, don't they? Whatever happened to "nothing venture, nothing gain"? Blimey -- imagine living in a world of mildly depressed old ladies...

Forgot to mention, I haven't managed to get the wee "movies" I can take on my camera to play on the television. I'm not sure why it's not working, it should according to the instruction booklet. I'll keep trying.

Despite a slow start and some rain, I've managed to get a lot done today. Weeded the front garden, mowed the back lawn and painted the retaining wall. I decided against using the antifungal wash -- reading the label it sounded so ghastly and lethal I thought I'd rather live with a bit of moss and slime than risk slaughtering the wildlife -- or Bertie.

So it's very smart, but probably only for five minutes. Here are the before and after shots:



Out the front things are looking pretty good. The daphne (below) is looking slightly healthier after its dousing with copper sulphate, though it might need another go.



The hosta isn't dead after all -- in fact it's coming up very vigorously, like a rhubarb, in fat buds. It's hidden by the bluebells at the moment. The himalayan poppy is also coming along very strongly.

Here are another couple of photos, while I'm at it: one of some blossom and one of the road bridge.

I keep meaning to post more pictures here and then forgetting. I made some more movies today (hah! movies! they are 30 second clips) and I'm going to experiment with the AV plugs that came with the camera. I think this means I can watch the movies on TV, because my new TV has AV sockets on the front.

The big question is, can I then record the result on a video tape? Brace yourselves for Bertie, an experimental film made according to the Dogme (hah! Dogme! woof!) rules: shooting on location (no imported props or sets); sound and image produced together; a handheld camera; natural light; no optical work or filters; no superficial action (murders, weapons); no temporal or geographic alienation; no genre films; no signature.

Sadly mine will have no plot, either -- or a very doggy one: eat! drink! run! sleep! eat again!

Woooo!

The universe is about 13 billion years old, slightly younger than previously believed, according to a study that measured the cooling of the embers in ancient dying stars.

But a lot older than Edwin Hubble thought it was, apparently. Back in 1928 he put it at two billion years old, give or take a few million.

In other news, this story has my dander up. Sounds all very well on the face of it, but then you get into the fine print.

The American church leaders said they would recommend a special process to defrock any priest who has become “notorious and is guilty of the serial, predatory sexual abuse of minors.” In cases that are “not notorious” they would leave it up to the local bishop to decide if such a priest is a threat to children and should be defrocked.

Oh, and apparently “a link between celibacy and paedophilia cannot be scientifically maintained”. Eh? Elsewhere, the good cardinals say “attention was drawn to the fact that almost all cases involved adolescents and therefore were not cases of true paedophilia”.

So let's see -- they'll think about defrocking a priest if he molests lots of really young kids and everyone knows about it. If not many people know about it, then the bishop will decide.

Here's my suggestion: call the police, put the alleged molester on trial and let the court judge the evidence. That should make it nice and easy to decide who should be defrocked.

Shop shop shop shop shop shop..... drop.

I had a megashoppng session. Bought a new TV -- a cheap and cheerful little Goodman portable. Bought some headphones so I can watch TV late at night without bothering the neighbours. Bought a new keyboard and speakers for Faye's computer. Bought dog food. Bought paint for the doorsteps, front and back, for the retaining wall at the back, for the back door, plus sandpaper and brushes.

Staggered home, set up new TV, walked dog. Now I'm dropping into a hot bath. Whew.

The new TV is great -- I didn't realise how awful the old one was.

One thing I didn't get that's on my list is a new monitor. I'm still fighting the temptation of a TFT monitor, one of the skinny flat ones. They're quite a bit more expensive than the regular ones, but don't take up nearly as much space. Can't decide.

Cathy emailed me an age calculator -- sadly it didn't work, but I was intrigued so I scouted round on the internet and found this one.

It is truly freaky watching your life whizz by in milliseconds.

Whew! Busy or something. The gas man came today and drilled a big hole in the livingroom wall. It's about the same size as the airbricks in the other rooms but it's down near the floor. It has a grille on it but outside there's just a hood thing, so I should be able to stuff a towel or similar in it to stop the flow of freezing air across the livingroom floor.

This is as close to crazy as it gets -- I pay them £200 to make my home safe from noxious fumes, then I fix it so it doesn't work. But really, it can't be energy-efficient to have bloody great holes in your walls. It's medieval.

My television's starting to go on the fritz -- the sound and colour go very high or very low without input from me, and the remote only works if you're standing right next to the set. I'll shop for a cheapo replacement on Saturday. I've had this one for years, nearly ten years I think, and it was second hand to start with. I want a portable set with Teletext, a SCART socket and a headphone socket. Should be able to get one for £100 or so. (Yes -- Currys and Dixons both have a Sanyo for £110 with all that.)

My trip to Oxford next month is firming up. Colin is OK to look after Bertie -- I have to leave him behind because a) he can't stay at Mrs Kahn's and b) there won't be any room in the car for him and his luggage. I'd wanted Colin and Jenny to have a practice run at hosting Bertie before I go into hospital anyway, so it works out well.

Speaking of hospital, there's still no word on when I'm going in. I'm supposed to meet the radiologist first, but I haven't heard from him either. They have moved out to the new hospital already, so maybe they're still getting themselves sorted out. I'm quite glad they've moved -- there's been an outbreak of the "superbug" at the old infirmary, all the cardio patients got it and one died. Brrrr.

I added a picture to The Mirror Project. It's a fun thing to do -- I have a couple of others to submit, also of reflections in water, I just haven't gotten around to sending them in.

Long day at work today -- 11am start and I'm still here at 9:30pm. I'll go home soon, just waiting for our Jerusalem correspondent to file some copy.

I absolutely must have this drug.

This is my favourite quote from the article: "It is possible it could become a drug of abuse because it would enhance the performance of athletes," he said. No! You really think so?

This site has a link to what it calls "a hugely inappropriate animated tribute to the Queen Mother".

I think it's sort of sweet, in a South Park way.

The weather continues to be glorious and I continue to spend most of my time off outdoors rather than writing to my family. Sorry about that. Today I washed the car -- after walking the dog in a solemn manner befitting the solemnity of the solemn event I was missing on the telly. The lull that fell over the land was quite noticeable, as was the feverish buzz of activity once the funeral was over.

Tesco was shut from 10.30am to 1pm! So was Marks & Spencer! Amazing! The local co-op supermarket Scottishly made do with a two-minute silence.

The gas man visited this morning to fix something I think is called the flue annulus. The previous gas man had quoted me for that work and for drilling a hole through my wall because the window vents are substandard (even after I nagged and nagged at the window firm to make sure the ventilation was up to scratch); but he said I didn't need to get the vent done, it was the flue work that made my gas fire AT RISK (as the yellow sign said that he left attached to it).

But (sigh) today's gas man said no, there's a regulation to say that you can get the ventilation put right without having the flue done, but not the other way round. The bill will be £200 rather than £67.

I gave in -- ok, just drill a bloody hole in the wall, I don't care. I'll care more next Thursday when they do the work, and even more than that when I get the bill. Joys of home ownership.

Saturday I spent at a wonderful spot north of St Andrews, Tentsmuir, which several people had recommended. It's fantastic. The forest borders the beach, making it perfect for walking Bertie. He enjoys running on the sand for about half an hour, then he's sick of it. At Tentsmuir we walked along the edge of the forest, so he was in amongst the trees hunting rabbits, and I was in the dunes enjoying the sunshine and the sight and sound of surf.

I took loads of photos, will post some soon. I have to do some work now, spot you later.

I love this story. How many chihuahuas is your child worth?

[Sadly the story's vanished off the Washington Post's archives -- a woman had tried to swap her baby for a chihuahua. The dog-owner only dobbed her in after she upped the price to two chihuahuas. Or something.]

Back at work, sigh. It's not so bad, I guess. The printing presses threw a wobbly and our deadlines were brought forward, which made for a last-minute frenzy; on the positive side I get to go home early -- and the early deadlines are in force all week.

The news is mainly depressing -- the Middle East situation just about reduces me to tears. I went through a strongly pro-Zionist phase as a teenager, after reading Exodus but gradually changed my views and now I'm more sympathetic towards the Palestinians. As sympathetic as you can be to people willing to blow themselves up in cafes crowded with families. I just don't think the Israelis' increasing aggression is going to do anyone any favours. They're reaping what they sowed.

Back in my mundane world, yesterday I dragged myself off to the shops to get some new clothes. It's an ordeal! I did very well though, I got two pairs of trousers (black), two blouses (one red, one pinkish stripes) and three t-shirts. Favourite purchase is probably a red long-sleeved t-shirt. The blouses are both the same style: short, fitted, with three-quarter length sleeves. This is a real departure for me. I'm paranoid about the size of my bum, so it's risking severe trauma to wear anything bum-revealing.

The paranoia's not entirely unfounded. I was in the changing rooms at the swimming baths in Edinburgh once when a little boy said in a piercing voice: "Mummy, come and look, there's a lady with a really, really big bottom!" And then last year I was strolling down the esplanade wearing comfy loose trousers and a short t-shirt a bloke behind me said: "There's a big arse arse arse."

So I'm trying to re-educate myself to accept my body and not feel bad about the harsh things ignorant people say, and not to cover up the bits I don't like. The blouses are cute. OK, I'm not wearing one of them today, I'm wearing a loose white linen shirt, but I WILL wear them.

I got a great book as a reward for getting through the gruelling task of clothes-buying (hey, it's hot in those changing cubicles!) -- The Years of Rice and Salt by Kim Stanley Robinson. He's one of my favourite SF writers, but most of his books are grounded in the here and now, even his series on the colonisation of Mars. My favourite of his is Antarctica -- even if you don't like science fiction you might enjoy this.

Time to go home!

YESSSSS!!!!!!

No, not because the Queen Mother is dead, bless her, but because I've finally got my printer working (touch wood). The computer shop didn't find anything wrong with the USB, and after a lot of tooth-grinding and uninstalling and reinstalling, I've managed to fix it myself. Just printed out a humungous picture very briskly. Whew.

The good thing about all the hassle was that in desperation at being offline for so long, I dug out my old computer and booted it up. And had a brainwave -- maybe Faye would like this! She's been talking about getting a laptop. So I phoned her today and she's thrilled. I was going to get a new monitor anyway, so that's just a mouse and keyboard to add and we're away. So the plan is to go down to Oxford in May, set the computer up for her and give her a crash course.

I've had an extremely lazy and enjoyable week off, didn't go away in the end but stayed in my favourite place -- home. The weather has been great, so I've been for lots of long walks. Also got the boiler serviced -- it needs some work on the flue, so the man left a DANGER AT RISK notice on it. Also had the car's handbrake fixed. Bertie ended up in the footwell a couple of times today due to the now excellent braking.

What else? Nothing! Hah! Lovely.

OK I'm just going to unplug my computer and take it into the shop, and since I'm on holiday this week that's probably it from me for a few days at least.

Ta ta!