That's my computer speaking. I'm about to reformat the hard drive, ha ha!! Either it will go swimmingly and I'll have a lovely new (software) upgraded machine with no annoying problems, or I'll have a broken mess. Tee hee.
My other bit of upgrading now in progress is my new phone. It all arrived in the post yesterday and I collected it from the post office today -- phone and software. The software was all as ordered, but the phone was a different model. I went into outraged consumer mode -- this is the second time this firm has mucked up an order, grumble grumble. I logged on, ready to send an outraged consumer email, but first I checked the specs of the phone I'd been sent. Oh .... it's worth almost twice as much as the one I ordered and actually has some rather good features .... hmmm.
I decided that if they want me to have this phone, instead of this one, who am I to argue? (And no, I didn't buy it through telephones-online.co.uk or rocom.co.uk.)
The handset has to charge for 24 hours before use, so I'm having to wait before playing with it. I'm using the answering machine that came with it though, but I haven't changed the pre-recorded message yet. At the moment a very posh woman says, "This is an answering machine. Leave your message after the tone." I'll be very surprised if I get any messages.
So, anyway, goodbye from clunky old Windows 98 -- this computer will be reborn as a dual-booting doozie, Linux and Windows XP! (I'll still be reachable by email -- just not on my days off.)
19 October 2002
17 October 2002
:: sdrawkcab
Just in case you were wondering, it's actually "Dogma I name Cilopraed." Which could be a clue!! If only I had Florian's phone number....
:: florian makes my day
I'm having a reasonably stressful day today filling in for my boss, but then a cheery young German who subscribes to the paper phoned up with a gem. He gets the paper by snail mail, so he'd only just caught up with our report on the "calling card" left by the Washington sniper: "Dear policeman, I am god".
"I don't know if you realise it, but you can read it backwards!" he gushed.
"Really."
"Yes, it says, 'dogma I man police read'. It's very interesting, isn't it?"
I laughed and laughed and laughed, then thanked him for brightening my day with his insight.
He wasn't bothered: "I know you probably get all kinds of crank calls!" he said, still cheerful.
His call really was a tonic, because the news all seems grim -- bombings, arrests, wider threats, the sniper still on the loose; even the director of the CIA is rattled.
I haven't killed my computer yet, but the new software is arriving tomorrow so I'll install it at the weekend and see if I can destroy it then. Ha ha. I had to get a new phone too, the old one has been playing up. It was extremely cheap and is very nasty and crackly to use. The new one is digital so should make for clearer conversations. Still haven't ordered a new sofa. I think about it every time I sit on the old one -- its bones are sticking out like an old horse.
Speaking of bony animals, Bertie has been acting up lately. He's started being aggressive to strange dogs. When I first got him he was timid and submissive, but as he's grown in confidence so he's become more bolshie. Yesterday we encountered a stray dog -- well, he's not stray exactly, he has a home, but he's let out to wander the streets on his own all day. So we met this dog and Bertie decided to challenge him. Nothing too physical, just lots of growling and shoving and posturing. And Bertie won! I was yelling at him to come, and once he'd driven off the other dog he came flying down the path, terrifically excited. He overshot me into the car park, and with me still yelling at him, went shooting past me back up the path. But now a jogger was coming along, and he understandably thought Bertie was running at him, so he stopped. Bad move! Bertie had lost his mind with all the yelling and running and beating the other dog, and started barking at the jogger. I told the guy to just keep running and he did, but he kept looking at Bertie, who took that as a challenge and followed him. "Keep your dog under control!" the guy snapped. I yelled at Bertie some more but didn't try and grab him -- he would have thought I was joining in the chase. Finally got him back and leashed.
Today we met a nice bouncy lab. His owner let him off the leash so he and Bertie could have a run around, and it degenerated into another growling, shoving match (also with lots of peeing). The other guy finally called it off after it looked like they weren't going to calm down. Bertie allowed himself to be removed from the scene -- he was about to lose the battle.
So -- I think I'm going to have to crack down harder on these challenges, otherwise he'll turn into a horrible bully. Oddly enough, his relationship with the dogs he met while he was a wimp hasn't changed at all.
And he's still scared of children, and sacks of onions, and street signs.
"I don't know if you realise it, but you can read it backwards!" he gushed.
"Really."
"Yes, it says, 'dogma I man police read'. It's very interesting, isn't it?"
I laughed and laughed and laughed, then thanked him for brightening my day with his insight.
He wasn't bothered: "I know you probably get all kinds of crank calls!" he said, still cheerful.
His call really was a tonic, because the news all seems grim -- bombings, arrests, wider threats, the sniper still on the loose; even the director of the CIA is rattled.
I haven't killed my computer yet, but the new software is arriving tomorrow so I'll install it at the weekend and see if I can destroy it then. Ha ha. I had to get a new phone too, the old one has been playing up. It was extremely cheap and is very nasty and crackly to use. The new one is digital so should make for clearer conversations. Still haven't ordered a new sofa. I think about it every time I sit on the old one -- its bones are sticking out like an old horse.
Speaking of bony animals, Bertie has been acting up lately. He's started being aggressive to strange dogs. When I first got him he was timid and submissive, but as he's grown in confidence so he's become more bolshie. Yesterday we encountered a stray dog -- well, he's not stray exactly, he has a home, but he's let out to wander the streets on his own all day. So we met this dog and Bertie decided to challenge him. Nothing too physical, just lots of growling and shoving and posturing. And Bertie won! I was yelling at him to come, and once he'd driven off the other dog he came flying down the path, terrifically excited. He overshot me into the car park, and with me still yelling at him, went shooting past me back up the path. But now a jogger was coming along, and he understandably thought Bertie was running at him, so he stopped. Bad move! Bertie had lost his mind with all the yelling and running and beating the other dog, and started barking at the jogger. I told the guy to just keep running and he did, but he kept looking at Bertie, who took that as a challenge and followed him. "Keep your dog under control!" the guy snapped. I yelled at Bertie some more but didn't try and grab him -- he would have thought I was joining in the chase. Finally got him back and leashed.
Today we met a nice bouncy lab. His owner let him off the leash so he and Bertie could have a run around, and it degenerated into another growling, shoving match (also with lots of peeing). The other guy finally called it off after it looked like they weren't going to calm down. Bertie allowed himself to be removed from the scene -- he was about to lose the battle.
So -- I think I'm going to have to crack down harder on these challenges, otherwise he'll turn into a horrible bully. Oddly enough, his relationship with the dogs he met while he was a wimp hasn't changed at all.
And he's still scared of children, and sacks of onions, and street signs.
13 October 2002
:: what I did today
Last night the sky was clear, after a few days of steady rain. Hurrah! But this morning a thick, chilly fog blanketed everything.
Scottish sunshine...
The bridge vanishes.
Sailors don't mind the weather -- the regatta went ahead regardless.
One nice thing about the fog was its effect on spiderwebs:
Bagpipers weren't bothered by the weather either ... the contest also went ahead regardless:
Scottish sunshine...
The bridge vanishes.
Sailors don't mind the weather -- the regatta went ahead regardless.
One nice thing about the fog was its effect on spiderwebs:
Bagpipers weren't bothered by the weather either ... the contest also went ahead regardless:
11 October 2002
:: too busy to shop
I've been doing housework, in honour of Jenny and her friend Bunty, who are coming for lunch tomorrow. It was meant to be today, but they decided it would make more sense to spend today sight-seeing around Edinburgh and come and visit me on their way home. Poor things, it rained steadily all day.
So anyway my house is spic and span, apart from the study which is always a mess. Creative clutter, you know. And I'm slowly grinding through my list of things to do. I took the old TV, stereo and chest of drawers to the charity shop for starters. This weekend's project is the computer and general dejunking.
Plus at least one long walk -- I thought I might try the Pentland Hills. I used to walk there a lot, but haven't since I've had Bertie. The hills are mainly farmland and sheep are roaming free, so he'd have to be on the lead the whole time. One time when a friend, Lucy, and I were walking in the Pentlands, her dog Jess shot off after a sheep -- it was right near the farmhouse too. Jess came back after a lot of shrieked commands, but Bertie wouldn't I'm sure. He's dying to make friends with a sheep! I'll take him on the flexible lead and see how he gets on. It really is lovely there and it's easy to get to. I miss it!
I've got a hard week next week -- three days standing in for my boss. It's one of the things I enjoy about the job, but it's also something I dread, because it can be stressful. The hours are long too -- 11am to about 9.30pm or 10pm. The following week I have a treat planned though -- a 90-minute massage from someone called Bavara. She sounds wonderful and comes highly recommended. I haven't had a massage for a few years, so I'm looking forward to this one.
So anyway my house is spic and span, apart from the study which is always a mess. Creative clutter, you know. And I'm slowly grinding through my list of things to do. I took the old TV, stereo and chest of drawers to the charity shop for starters. This weekend's project is the computer and general dejunking.
Plus at least one long walk -- I thought I might try the Pentland Hills. I used to walk there a lot, but haven't since I've had Bertie. The hills are mainly farmland and sheep are roaming free, so he'd have to be on the lead the whole time. One time when a friend, Lucy, and I were walking in the Pentlands, her dog Jess shot off after a sheep -- it was right near the farmhouse too. Jess came back after a lot of shrieked commands, but Bertie wouldn't I'm sure. He's dying to make friends with a sheep! I'll take him on the flexible lead and see how he gets on. It really is lovely there and it's easy to get to. I miss it!
I've got a hard week next week -- three days standing in for my boss. It's one of the things I enjoy about the job, but it's also something I dread, because it can be stressful. The hours are long too -- 11am to about 9.30pm or 10pm. The following week I have a treat planned though -- a 90-minute massage from someone called Bavara. She sounds wonderful and comes highly recommended. I haven't had a massage for a few years, so I'm looking forward to this one.
8 October 2002
:: upgrade
I've decided to go for a total upgrade: computer operating system, stereo, bed, sofa. I've already got the stereo, a JVC compact hi-fi:
My previous one was cheap, very cheap, and not terribly cheerful. The JVC wasn't expensive, but sound quality is streets ahead. Even Bertie has noticed: I put on some flute music and he woke up and stared nervously at the strange new howling boxes.
I've been meaning to get a new sofa and a new bed for ages. When I bought my flat, I paid the owner an extra few hundred pounds for some of the furniture, because I was poor and it was a bargain. So I have this worn-out stuff that was probably ten years old when I got it; I made a new loose-cover for the sofa and a new bed-frame, but now those are worn out too. Finally though, I'm replacing them.
The sofa is this one from Ikea:
But I have to wait two weeks for delivery ... and I haven't ordered it yet.
I haven't found a bed I like yet. I prefer slatted bedframes like the one I have (which is actually broken -- I fixed it myself but it's on its last legs, heh) but may go for a clunky divan base for reasons of comfort. What I'd really like is a wire-wove base, but they don't seem to have those here.
The other aspect to this furniture upgrade is getting shot of the old stuff. I phoned around charity shops today and found one that's happy to take the old stereo and TV as well as an old chest of drawers I have stowed away in a corner. But no-one will take the sofa, because it's not labelled as non-inflammable. I had suspected that would be the case.
This means I'll have to get the council's rubbish dept to cart it off. Happily I've been forewarned about their nutty bureaucracy: you can't just phone them up and set a date that suits you, oh no. They tell you when they will come. If that happens to be the day of your best friend's wedding, well tough -- call again in six weeks' time. That's right! You can only apply once every six weeks. So what people do is agree to the uplift date, then dump the piece of furniture on the footpath the day before. The other catch is that you have to say exactly what you want collected: you can't add something else later on.
It will be good to have a clear-out, I'll have a trawl through the house and see if there's anything else I can pass on to the charity shop. They don't collect from as far afield as my place but I don't mind dropping the stuff off to them -- I might even do it tomorrow.
My previous one was cheap, very cheap, and not terribly cheerful. The JVC wasn't expensive, but sound quality is streets ahead. Even Bertie has noticed: I put on some flute music and he woke up and stared nervously at the strange new howling boxes.
I've been meaning to get a new sofa and a new bed for ages. When I bought my flat, I paid the owner an extra few hundred pounds for some of the furniture, because I was poor and it was a bargain. So I have this worn-out stuff that was probably ten years old when I got it; I made a new loose-cover for the sofa and a new bed-frame, but now those are worn out too. Finally though, I'm replacing them.
The sofa is this one from Ikea:
But I have to wait two weeks for delivery ... and I haven't ordered it yet.
I haven't found a bed I like yet. I prefer slatted bedframes like the one I have (which is actually broken -- I fixed it myself but it's on its last legs, heh) but may go for a clunky divan base for reasons of comfort. What I'd really like is a wire-wove base, but they don't seem to have those here.
The other aspect to this furniture upgrade is getting shot of the old stuff. I phoned around charity shops today and found one that's happy to take the old stereo and TV as well as an old chest of drawers I have stowed away in a corner. But no-one will take the sofa, because it's not labelled as non-inflammable. I had suspected that would be the case.
This means I'll have to get the council's rubbish dept to cart it off. Happily I've been forewarned about their nutty bureaucracy: you can't just phone them up and set a date that suits you, oh no. They tell you when they will come. If that happens to be the day of your best friend's wedding, well tough -- call again in six weeks' time. That's right! You can only apply once every six weeks. So what people do is agree to the uplift date, then dump the piece of furniture on the footpath the day before. The other catch is that you have to say exactly what you want collected: you can't add something else later on.
It will be good to have a clear-out, I'll have a trawl through the house and see if there's anything else I can pass on to the charity shop. They don't collect from as far afield as my place but I don't mind dropping the stuff off to them -- I might even do it tomorrow.
3 October 2002
:: blue
This has to be the strangest story of the week: Senate candidate turns himself blue. I thought it was a leg-pull but it's true. This lady has the problem too, but she's blaming her doctor.
Maybe they should get together with the Sunny Delight kids and Peter Stringfellow ...
Maybe they should get together with the Sunny Delight kids and Peter Stringfellow ...
2 October 2002
:: books
There was a sale of review books at work this week and I scored some great bargains. The best book was The Blank Slate by Steven Pinker. It came out only recently and I'd been waiting for the paperback to be published -- so imagine how thrilled I was to get the £25 hardback edition for 50p.
It's a controversial book -- Pinker quotes rave reviews on his website but not everyone thinks it's a good book. Mary Midgley, a philosopher whose writing I enjoy, gave it a right good thrashing.
Another great book (and only 20p!) was the Rough Guide to Weather. I always wondered how hail stayed up in the sky long enough to get big, and now I know.
An even better bargain than the books was a French film, Betty Fisher and Other Stories: I asked how much the videos were and the woman said, "Oh just take it, I don't even know what's on them all." I wanted to see this film when it came out, but it was only on at the art-house cinema and I missed it. A friend told me the entire plot over lunch, and it sounded interesting if confusing. I haven't watched the video yet.
I've been doing some very concentrated computer work -- since fixing my irksome usb problem (I think), I've decided it's time I upgraded to Windows XP. My friend Kevin assures me it's much more stable than Windows 98, which would be nice. Because XP is very different from 98, I'm having to track down new drivers for my hardware and download them, time-consuming business. I should be ok with most of my kit, but some of my older software might not work.
The plan is to back up all my files, reformat the hard drive, divide it into two partitions and install XP on one and Linux on the other. (If any boffins are reading, I'll be sticking to the Fat32 file system.) The Linux version I'm looking at comes with office and graphics software included.
I'm quite excited about doing this, it's a major move. I've been wanting to try Linux for years, even did a Unix course to prepare myself.
It's a controversial book -- Pinker quotes rave reviews on his website but not everyone thinks it's a good book. Mary Midgley, a philosopher whose writing I enjoy, gave it a right good thrashing.
Another great book (and only 20p!) was the Rough Guide to Weather. I always wondered how hail stayed up in the sky long enough to get big, and now I know.
An even better bargain than the books was a French film, Betty Fisher and Other Stories: I asked how much the videos were and the woman said, "Oh just take it, I don't even know what's on them all." I wanted to see this film when it came out, but it was only on at the art-house cinema and I missed it. A friend told me the entire plot over lunch, and it sounded interesting if confusing. I haven't watched the video yet.
I've been doing some very concentrated computer work -- since fixing my irksome usb problem (I think), I've decided it's time I upgraded to Windows XP. My friend Kevin assures me it's much more stable than Windows 98, which would be nice. Because XP is very different from 98, I'm having to track down new drivers for my hardware and download them, time-consuming business. I should be ok with most of my kit, but some of my older software might not work.
The plan is to back up all my files, reformat the hard drive, divide it into two partitions and install XP on one and Linux on the other. (If any boffins are reading, I'll be sticking to the Fat32 file system.) The Linux version I'm looking at comes with office and graphics software included.
I'm quite excited about doing this, it's a major move. I've been wanting to try Linux for years, even did a Unix course to prepare myself.
:: weekend stuff
Another lovely weekend flies by, but at least this time I accomplished a few things.
1. Weeded the front garden. It was a mess. Now it's at least tidy.
2. Did some fruitful fiddling on the computer -- I'm still having problems with the USB connection (for the camera and scanner), but I may have sorted it out, with the help of the wonderful forums on the PC Advisor website. It's quite a good magazine too. I'm considering subscribing, but suspect the mag wouldn't fit through the letter slot and I hate being woken up by the postie dring-dringing on the door.
3. Posted Pinky's shopping to her. Lovely shoes, she has such good taste!
4. Got my hair done -- badly-needed trim and colour job. It's lovely to sit there sipping coffee and flipping through the latest Marie Claire. It would be a lot cheaper to buy the mag and sit in a cafe I guess, but then I wouldn't get Sandy's wonderful scalp massage.
Not a very long list, is it? Very enjoyable though. And I got some cheap videos at HMV's sale -- Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, Magnolia and The Man Who Wasn't There -- so that took up some time. The last one was the only one I hadn't seen before, so I watched that, and I've also watched half of Crouching Tiger, one of my all-time favourite movies. It's the sort of film you have to see on the big screen though -- the fight scenes are stunning.
I bought the videos during an abortive expedition to John Lewis to look at beds. I was mildly interested in this bed, which I'd seen in a brochure. But the Edinburgh branch is in the throes of a huge redesign and the furniture dept has been shunted off to a dim corner where they seemed to have mainly damaged stock and £700 mattresses. It was also horribly busy & I couldn't find anyone to serve me.
In the kitchenware department I looked at coffee makers. I want a filter coffee machine, but one that takes a paper filter. None of the coffee makers they had use paper filters, they have permanent nylon filters. I prefer paper-filtered coffee partly for the taste, but mainly because I've noticed that if I drink other kinds -- instant, percolated, plunger -- I get arthritic pains in my hips. With filtered coffee I don't have a problem. Some studies have noted a link between coffee, even decaffeinated coffee, and arthritis, so it's not just my imagination. I'll have to stick to my little plastic filter cup though, it seems.
So then I went back to the handbag department, where I had earlier found The Perfect Handbag. Perfect apart from the price tag -- £140. I almost put down my credit card, it was a close thing. Soft, buttery leather, mmmmm, stylish plain exterior with only one square buckle for decoration, comfortable strap. Sturdy zip, no horrid magnetised clip to wipe your cards. Lovely. Sigh. By my third visit (well, it was on the way!) the staff were started to ostentatiously tidy the bags next to me.
So I went and got cheap videos instead. And went home and had a filter coffee. And slept in my ricketty old bed. Harrumph.
1. Weeded the front garden. It was a mess. Now it's at least tidy.
2. Did some fruitful fiddling on the computer -- I'm still having problems with the USB connection (for the camera and scanner), but I may have sorted it out, with the help of the wonderful forums on the PC Advisor website. It's quite a good magazine too. I'm considering subscribing, but suspect the mag wouldn't fit through the letter slot and I hate being woken up by the postie dring-dringing on the door.
3. Posted Pinky's shopping to her. Lovely shoes, she has such good taste!
4. Got my hair done -- badly-needed trim and colour job. It's lovely to sit there sipping coffee and flipping through the latest Marie Claire. It would be a lot cheaper to buy the mag and sit in a cafe I guess, but then I wouldn't get Sandy's wonderful scalp massage.
Not a very long list, is it? Very enjoyable though. And I got some cheap videos at HMV's sale -- Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, Magnolia and The Man Who Wasn't There -- so that took up some time. The last one was the only one I hadn't seen before, so I watched that, and I've also watched half of Crouching Tiger, one of my all-time favourite movies. It's the sort of film you have to see on the big screen though -- the fight scenes are stunning.
I bought the videos during an abortive expedition to John Lewis to look at beds. I was mildly interested in this bed, which I'd seen in a brochure. But the Edinburgh branch is in the throes of a huge redesign and the furniture dept has been shunted off to a dim corner where they seemed to have mainly damaged stock and £700 mattresses. It was also horribly busy & I couldn't find anyone to serve me.
In the kitchenware department I looked at coffee makers. I want a filter coffee machine, but one that takes a paper filter. None of the coffee makers they had use paper filters, they have permanent nylon filters. I prefer paper-filtered coffee partly for the taste, but mainly because I've noticed that if I drink other kinds -- instant, percolated, plunger -- I get arthritic pains in my hips. With filtered coffee I don't have a problem. Some studies have noted a link between coffee, even decaffeinated coffee, and arthritis, so it's not just my imagination. I'll have to stick to my little plastic filter cup though, it seems.
So then I went back to the handbag department, where I had earlier found The Perfect Handbag. Perfect apart from the price tag -- £140. I almost put down my credit card, it was a close thing. Soft, buttery leather, mmmmm, stylish plain exterior with only one square buckle for decoration, comfortable strap. Sturdy zip, no horrid magnetised clip to wipe your cards. Lovely. Sigh. By my third visit (well, it was on the way!) the staff were started to ostentatiously tidy the bags next to me.
So I went and got cheap videos instead. And went home and had a filter coffee. And slept in my ricketty old bed. Harrumph.
27 September 2002
:: shopping
I did some shopping for Pinky today. Faye had sent Cathy a catalogue for Evans, the plus-sizes clothes shop, and I was picking up a pair of shoes Pinky wanted. I was supposed to do this last week and forgot in all the excitement. It got quite complicated, because the shop didn't have the slip she wanted and the internet site didn't have the shoes!
So anyway it seems like the only functioning branch in Edinburgh is at the Fort Kinnaird retail park, on the city's eastern outskirts. So today I drove out there. I thought I hadn't been before, but when I got there I realised I had -- I went to the bowling alley one time about ten years ago. It's definitely grown since then. It's enormous. Not only that, but the shops themselves are large. They're all the familiar High Street names though: Border Books, Comet, Boots, Gap, blah blah. There's a Pizza Hut and a McDonalds too. You could be anywhere in Britain.
Since I moved out of the city I've been to more shopping centres than in all the years before then, but it still feels like a strange experience. South Queensferry doesn't have any "proper" shops, it's all knick-knackeries and cafes, with a couple of supermarkets. I wish it was more like Stockbridge, which has several greengrocers, a deli or two, a butcher, a baker and a candlestick-maker. As well as cafes and knick-knackeries.
Fort Kinnaird also has a big cinema complex, and that reminded me of the one time I nearly saw a movie there. I was going out with a fellow from Fife at the time, it was one of our first dates. To get to Fort Kinnaird you have to drive through Craigmillar. This is one of the city's most deprived areas -- crappy council housing, lots of graffiti, bars on the shop windows etc. As we drove along the main street, my date became more and more agitated. Finally, he turned the car round, refused to go any further. I don't know what he though would happen to us: carjack? brick through the windscreen perhaps? I was NOT impressed. What he didn't understand was that Craigmillar is a really energetic community -- looks and money aren't everything.
While at Fort Kinnaird I lashed out on an impulse buy at Principles, next door to Evans: a black fake-fur gilet. It'll be lovely and cosy for winter walks with Bertie. I'll need the long sweeping skirt and Russian boots to go with it of course.
So anyway it seems like the only functioning branch in Edinburgh is at the Fort Kinnaird retail park, on the city's eastern outskirts. So today I drove out there. I thought I hadn't been before, but when I got there I realised I had -- I went to the bowling alley one time about ten years ago. It's definitely grown since then. It's enormous. Not only that, but the shops themselves are large. They're all the familiar High Street names though: Border Books, Comet, Boots, Gap, blah blah. There's a Pizza Hut and a McDonalds too. You could be anywhere in Britain.
Since I moved out of the city I've been to more shopping centres than in all the years before then, but it still feels like a strange experience. South Queensferry doesn't have any "proper" shops, it's all knick-knackeries and cafes, with a couple of supermarkets. I wish it was more like Stockbridge, which has several greengrocers, a deli or two, a butcher, a baker and a candlestick-maker. As well as cafes and knick-knackeries.
Fort Kinnaird also has a big cinema complex, and that reminded me of the one time I nearly saw a movie there. I was going out with a fellow from Fife at the time, it was one of our first dates. To get to Fort Kinnaird you have to drive through Craigmillar. This is one of the city's most deprived areas -- crappy council housing, lots of graffiti, bars on the shop windows etc. As we drove along the main street, my date became more and more agitated. Finally, he turned the car round, refused to go any further. I don't know what he though would happen to us: carjack? brick through the windscreen perhaps? I was NOT impressed. What he didn't understand was that Craigmillar is a really energetic community -- looks and money aren't everything.
While at Fort Kinnaird I lashed out on an impulse buy at Principles, next door to Evans: a black fake-fur gilet. It'll be lovely and cosy for winter walks with Bertie. I'll need the long sweeping skirt and Russian boots to go with it of course.
26 September 2002
:: poor bertie
I'm always spoiling his fun. There's this one table, a cheap Ikea side-table, that he chews. It's in "his" room, the spare bedroom. Soon after I got it, he gnawed on the corner, so I turned the table round so the gnawed corner was hidden. He gnawed on the next corner. I turned it again. Yup, next corner went. I gave up.
The other day I finally got a replacement table, same kind (only in cheapskate white rather than elegant birch), but this time I dabbed each corner with chew deterrent. Horrible stuff -- it was hard to wash off my fingers & I got a taste of it. The main ingredient is something called Bitrex.
Shortly after I put the new table in place, Bertie went upstairs. There was a brief silence, then a kind of stifled bark followed by loud gagging and retching noises.
The table is still as good as new.
The other day I finally got a replacement table, same kind (only in cheapskate white rather than elegant birch), but this time I dabbed each corner with chew deterrent. Horrible stuff -- it was hard to wash off my fingers & I got a taste of it. The main ingredient is something called Bitrex.
Shortly after I put the new table in place, Bertie went upstairs. There was a brief silence, then a kind of stifled bark followed by loud gagging and retching noises.
The table is still as good as new.
25 September 2002
:: terraserver.com
Satellite Photos, Aerial Photography, and Images -- Look at cities from outer space.
:: jam today, more jam tomorrow
I made some jam last week as well, from plums that came from trees at the farm. I gave a jar to Fiona and she's reported back that it's delicious (I haven't tasted it yet, I'm still finishing the last of the blackcurrent and some strawberry/raspberry another friend made). I only made five jars of plum jam -- originally six, but then it didn't set so I had to boil it again and a whole jar's worth boiled away -- because I only had five jars. I use jars from other things, like honey and pasta sauce, and hadn't managed to save up very many.
But! Today I discovered that Lakeland Plastics sells jam jars by the dozen, with screw-on lids. Hurrah! A bit late for this year's jam-making, but I'm thinking it might be nice to try making some marmalade. Once I've got a jam pan. Back on the internet I made an interesting discovery -- it may be cheaper to buy an old copper jam pan in an antique shop than a new one. The cheapest antique was a sturdy-looking one, beautifully blackened on the outside, for £32. The cheapest new one was a nasty aluminium job. Yick, and still £40. Stainless steel is about £50-£60, and copper? Fuggedaboudit -- £79.
I love making jam and people really appreciate it, because hardly anyone makes jam any more and store-boughten jam is mainly pumpkin and marrow, I'm told. So! I'll be cooking with gas next summer.
But! Today I discovered that Lakeland Plastics sells jam jars by the dozen, with screw-on lids. Hurrah! A bit late for this year's jam-making, but I'm thinking it might be nice to try making some marmalade. Once I've got a jam pan. Back on the internet I made an interesting discovery -- it may be cheaper to buy an old copper jam pan in an antique shop than a new one. The cheapest antique was a sturdy-looking one, beautifully blackened on the outside, for £32. The cheapest new one was a nasty aluminium job. Yick, and still £40. Stainless steel is about £50-£60, and copper? Fuggedaboudit -- £79.
I love making jam and people really appreciate it, because hardly anyone makes jam any more and store-boughten jam is mainly pumpkin and marrow, I'm told. So! I'll be cooking with gas next summer.
23 September 2002
:: I'm back!
Blimey, long time since I wrote -- apologies to my regular readers (hi Mum, hi John). I've been busy busy busy, either too busy to write (this past week), or busy doing things that aren't that interesting (the week before that).
This past week I was on holiday (back at work tonight, sigh) and had a great time. Ana arrived on Saturday and we met up for a drink on Sunday night -- her conference ran from 9am to 9.30pm, yikes. She stayed at the venue, a university hall of residence. The topic was medieval Spain, which is her specialty and she had to present a paper, which she was quite nervous about but which went really well.
On Monday I got stuck into the garden -- planted the onions, mowed the lawn, weeded furiously. It was the hardest physical work I'd done since getting out of hospital, so it was great to swing into it and feel ok afterwards. Exhausted, sure, but OK.
Tuesday's work schedule was even more gruelling: housework. Ugh. I cleaned and scrubbed and swept and dusted and mopped and vaccumed and polished. I changed sheets and washed dishes and wiped surfaces.
Then I packed my bag and Bertie's, loaded him into the car and drove into town to collect Ana from her conference and drove us all to Cawdor. We stopped for a coffee in Aviemore, and had dinner when we got to the farm at about 8.30pm. Everyone there was in good form, we had a great evening mooning over Ana's baby photos (Beatriz is nine months old) and talking our heads off. Ana and Andrew and I all shared a flat at one point, and he and I also know Ana's husband, Jose Manuel from back then. They're lovely, and I'm dying to meet Beatriz.
Wednesday was mad. After breakfast we had a long walk around the farm and along to Kirkton of Barevan (ruined churchyard). Andrew lay in the punishment grave for a photo op and Ana posed with cows because her Madrid friends could not believe a townie like her was going to stay on a farm. Bertie loved every single minute.
Next we drove (with Andrew as chauffeur, me in the back seat with Bertie -- "Hey! This is MY seat!") to Nairn to visit Jenny at the museum, where she's manager. Check out the picture of "Cawdor School Pupils with Mr Watson c1962" -- it could be Port Chalmers primary school c1962! Is that not Donald Knewstubb in the middle of the back row? And I'm sure one of those girls in the front row is a Hill.
After that we whizzed off to Cawdor Tavern for lunch -- yum. I had chicken escalopes with haggis, delish. Next stop was Cawdor Castle, which Ana hasn't seen before. I have, and Bertie was by now very bored with sitting in the car, so I took him for a nice walk instead.
On the way back we made a detour to Andrew's aunt's cottage and bumped into John there, who reported that all was well with the cattle. They're calving at the moment, and John swapped inspection rounds so Andrew could spend the day with Ana and I. Finally we got back to the farm. We meant to have dinner, but were all so full from the lavish lunch we just couldn't manage it.
So we talked until 7pm, which was when Andrew had to take on the evening inspection round and Ana, Bertie and I headed south. The plan was to visit a work colleague and his wife en route. They were renting a cottage at Insh, a tiny village on a back road near Kingussie. He'd emailed me a mobile phone number but it was out of signal -- a common thing in the Highlands. So we followed his instructions for getting there and we made it as darkness fell. And the colleague, John, drove up at the same time!
It turned out he'd given up on us and was driving to the pub for a drink -- but keeping an eye on oncoming traffic in case we were coming. He recognised my car, did a U-turn and followed us back. His wife had gone back to Edinburgh for a conference the next day. Their Cairn terrier Oz fell on Bertie with glad cries (he's only nine months old and loves big dogs) and they amused themselves running in and out of the house while we sat down to a cuppa and a chat. Great cottage -- it reminded me of an NZ crib.
We eventually got back to Queensferry at 11pm, whew. Next day I took Ana to the airport and then collapsed -- I was completely done in.
Friday I'd recovered sufficiently to get back out into the garden, this time to dig another new plot for the garlic -- the onions took up the whole plot I'd dug earlier. In the evening I went to see My Big Fat Greek Wedding with Fiona, an ex-workmate and a friend of hers. I enjoyed it -- very funny film, albeit full of stereotypes.
The last day of my holiday, yesterday, I bundled Bertie in the car and went to Tentsmuir, a beach/forest area we both love. He got into trouble for barking at some kids on bikes, but mostly it was ok. A lot of people were out picking mushrooms among the trees. I saw a lot of toadstools but nothing I would dare eating. On the way home I stopped in Anstruther for a fish and chip supper at the award-winning chippie there -- triple yum! It was superb.
This past week I was on holiday (back at work tonight, sigh) and had a great time. Ana arrived on Saturday and we met up for a drink on Sunday night -- her conference ran from 9am to 9.30pm, yikes. She stayed at the venue, a university hall of residence. The topic was medieval Spain, which is her specialty and she had to present a paper, which she was quite nervous about but which went really well.
On Monday I got stuck into the garden -- planted the onions, mowed the lawn, weeded furiously. It was the hardest physical work I'd done since getting out of hospital, so it was great to swing into it and feel ok afterwards. Exhausted, sure, but OK.
Tuesday's work schedule was even more gruelling: housework. Ugh. I cleaned and scrubbed and swept and dusted and mopped and vaccumed and polished. I changed sheets and washed dishes and wiped surfaces.
Then I packed my bag and Bertie's, loaded him into the car and drove into town to collect Ana from her conference and drove us all to Cawdor. We stopped for a coffee in Aviemore, and had dinner when we got to the farm at about 8.30pm. Everyone there was in good form, we had a great evening mooning over Ana's baby photos (Beatriz is nine months old) and talking our heads off. Ana and Andrew and I all shared a flat at one point, and he and I also know Ana's husband, Jose Manuel from back then. They're lovely, and I'm dying to meet Beatriz.
Wednesday was mad. After breakfast we had a long walk around the farm and along to Kirkton of Barevan (ruined churchyard). Andrew lay in the punishment grave for a photo op and Ana posed with cows because her Madrid friends could not believe a townie like her was going to stay on a farm. Bertie loved every single minute.
Next we drove (with Andrew as chauffeur, me in the back seat with Bertie -- "Hey! This is MY seat!") to Nairn to visit Jenny at the museum, where she's manager. Check out the picture of "Cawdor School Pupils with Mr Watson c1962" -- it could be Port Chalmers primary school c1962! Is that not Donald Knewstubb in the middle of the back row? And I'm sure one of those girls in the front row is a Hill.
After that we whizzed off to Cawdor Tavern for lunch -- yum. I had chicken escalopes with haggis, delish. Next stop was Cawdor Castle, which Ana hasn't seen before. I have, and Bertie was by now very bored with sitting in the car, so I took him for a nice walk instead.
On the way back we made a detour to Andrew's aunt's cottage and bumped into John there, who reported that all was well with the cattle. They're calving at the moment, and John swapped inspection rounds so Andrew could spend the day with Ana and I. Finally we got back to the farm. We meant to have dinner, but were all so full from the lavish lunch we just couldn't manage it.
So we talked until 7pm, which was when Andrew had to take on the evening inspection round and Ana, Bertie and I headed south. The plan was to visit a work colleague and his wife en route. They were renting a cottage at Insh, a tiny village on a back road near Kingussie. He'd emailed me a mobile phone number but it was out of signal -- a common thing in the Highlands. So we followed his instructions for getting there and we made it as darkness fell. And the colleague, John, drove up at the same time!
It turned out he'd given up on us and was driving to the pub for a drink -- but keeping an eye on oncoming traffic in case we were coming. He recognised my car, did a U-turn and followed us back. His wife had gone back to Edinburgh for a conference the next day. Their Cairn terrier Oz fell on Bertie with glad cries (he's only nine months old and loves big dogs) and they amused themselves running in and out of the house while we sat down to a cuppa and a chat. Great cottage -- it reminded me of an NZ crib.
We eventually got back to Queensferry at 11pm, whew. Next day I took Ana to the airport and then collapsed -- I was completely done in.
Friday I'd recovered sufficiently to get back out into the garden, this time to dig another new plot for the garlic -- the onions took up the whole plot I'd dug earlier. In the evening I went to see My Big Fat Greek Wedding with Fiona, an ex-workmate and a friend of hers. I enjoyed it -- very funny film, albeit full of stereotypes.
The last day of my holiday, yesterday, I bundled Bertie in the car and went to Tentsmuir, a beach/forest area we both love. He got into trouble for barking at some kids on bikes, but mostly it was ok. A lot of people were out picking mushrooms among the trees. I saw a lot of toadstools but nothing I would dare eating. On the way home I stopped in Anstruther for a fish and chip supper at the award-winning chippie there -- triple yum! It was superb.
8 September 2002
:: ow
I've got a blinding headache, but I'm not taking any paracetamol, no I'm not. In fact I'm pretty sure the headache is from paracetamol withdrawal. I've been taking pretty much the maximum dosage every day for nearly three weeks now. This morning I thought about taking some and decided against it. So far I haven't had any abdominal pain, just this headache. I'll take a codeine tonight maybe, if there are any twinges, and the anti-inflammatory pill. But that's it for paracetamol. Give my liver a break.
Yesterday I mowed both lawns, hurrah. Didn't get the onions planted though. Last night as I was walking Bertie down the road I heard a strange pattering in the trees across the road. Wow, what's that? I thought. Soon got the answer: torrential rain. It bucketed down! Not only that, but shortly afterwards a thunderstorm arrived, and raged through the night, right up to midday. So I didn't get the onions planted today either.
Yesterday afternoon's walk was a hoot: we met a couple of Bertie's young fans, twin girls who have an Alsatian at home so aren't afraid of big stupid dogs. They were intrigued by his fear of them, and begged me to let him off the lead so they could see him running. I explained about him barking at kids, then let him off.
They had a great time! The girls ran about shrieking and laughing while Bertie wore himself out chasing them. He barked at them at first, but soon ran out of puff. I don't know how therapeutic it was for him, he was absolutely terrified, but at least it reassured me that he'll never ever bite a child -- he wouldn't dare get that close.
Today I picked blackberries, there's a really good crop this year. Quite a few people are picking them but there are plenty for everyone -- there are several good stands at the park and some excellent patches at the back of the marina.
Yesterday I mowed both lawns, hurrah. Didn't get the onions planted though. Last night as I was walking Bertie down the road I heard a strange pattering in the trees across the road. Wow, what's that? I thought. Soon got the answer: torrential rain. It bucketed down! Not only that, but shortly afterwards a thunderstorm arrived, and raged through the night, right up to midday. So I didn't get the onions planted today either.
Yesterday afternoon's walk was a hoot: we met a couple of Bertie's young fans, twin girls who have an Alsatian at home so aren't afraid of big stupid dogs. They were intrigued by his fear of them, and begged me to let him off the lead so they could see him running. I explained about him barking at kids, then let him off.
They had a great time! The girls ran about shrieking and laughing while Bertie wore himself out chasing them. He barked at them at first, but soon ran out of puff. I don't know how therapeutic it was for him, he was absolutely terrified, but at least it reassured me that he'll never ever bite a child -- he wouldn't dare get that close.
Today I picked blackberries, there's a really good crop this year. Quite a few people are picking them but there are plenty for everyone -- there are several good stands at the park and some excellent patches at the back of the marina.
6 September 2002
:: more american opinions
While I'm about it, this -- Pax Americana with Michael Goldfarb : WBUR Boston -- is a link to something I heard excerpts from on Radio 4 this morning.
It was on a show called A World in Your Ear, in which they trawl English-speaking radio stations around the globe for interesting stuff. Today it was all about September 11.
The WBUR Boston site is particularly interesting, it's well laid out and has lots of links to all kinds of things related to the stories. As with BBC radio, you can listen to the programmes too, once they've been broadcast. Well worth a look.
It was on a show called A World in Your Ear, in which they trawl English-speaking radio stations around the globe for interesting stuff. Today it was all about September 11.
The WBUR Boston site is particularly interesting, it's well laid out and has lots of links to all kinds of things related to the stories. As with BBC radio, you can listen to the programmes too, once they've been broadcast. Well worth a look.
:: meanwhile...
Life goes on. I'm a bit tired, due to not enough sleep, due to Bertie's annoying habit of waking me up good and early so we'll get out on our walk at a reasonable hour. Midday is not reasonable, in his view. He realises it takes me a good hour to have breakfast and read the paper, so he usually wakes me up at about 9 or 10am or so (shaking his head so his collar tags tinkle, or whining if that doesn't work). Once I'm up he goes back to bed and sleeps until I say the magic words: "Are you ready?"
This morning, he woke me at 8.15am, which really is not on. But I had to get up early anyway, because I had an appointment with the chiropracter. So now I'm tired out.
Tomorrow's plan is to plant my onion sets (hope the rabbits don't like onions), mow the lawns and maybe go to a movie. Work on Sunday, and off again on Monday, followed by four days of work and then a week's holiday! Yay!
This morning, he woke me at 8.15am, which really is not on. But I had to get up early anyway, because I had an appointment with the chiropracter. So now I'm tired out.
Tomorrow's plan is to plant my onion sets (hope the rabbits don't like onions), mow the lawns and maybe go to a movie. Work on Sunday, and off again on Monday, followed by four days of work and then a week's holiday! Yay!
:: Drudge Report exclusive
Can't wait to read this in the Sunday Times this weekend.... Witty, savage -- and just what I've been thinking myself...
My favourite Mailer quote: "Clinton made a point of surrounding himself with people who might be 90% as intelligent as himself, but never his equal. Bush is smart enough to know that he couldn't possibly do the same, or the country would be run by morons."
My favourite Mailer quote: "Clinton made a point of surrounding himself with people who might be 90% as intelligent as himself, but never his equal. Bush is smart enough to know that he couldn't possibly do the same, or the country would be run by morons."
4 September 2002
:: back at work
Sigh, yes, I'm back at the coalface. I'm still taking paracetamol and a codeine at night, but I'm feeling 100%. Most of the floral tributes went into the bin today, apart from Mum's bouquet, which for some reason is still going strong. I picked out a few stems from the rest that were still ok and put them in with her bunch.
My real recovery started on Thursday, when I drove into town for a dental appointment. I left the car in the suburbs and bussed the rest of the way, not trusting myself to heavy traffic. It went ok though. I ended up walking a lot, did some shopping as well. I was a bit tired after all that, but not shattered.
Bertie arrived home on Saturday afternoon. He was pleased to see me, but wanted to go "home" when Colin left and seemed a bit confused for a couple of days. He's back into the routine again now though -- especially since we visited the pet supermarket yesterday and stocked up on treats. It's been good getting back to regular walking.
Also at the weekend I washed the car and mowed the lawn. For carwashing I used the hose I bought the day I went to the dentist. It turned out to be fiendishly complicated to fit all the bits on, so the whole operation took half the day. Again, it was tiring but not shattering.
Right now I feel like I could do with a nap -- it's 11pm, two hours to go before home time.
For anyone who's interested, here's a blow-by-blow of my hospital visit:
Day one: Caught the bus to town at some ungodly hour in the morning, walked through town to the old hospital. Made a tour of various departments before finding the right one. Stripped off in cubicle, donned chic hospital gown and was fitted with charming anti-embolism stockings by nurse. (Ironic given I was there for an embolisation procedure.)
The anaesthetist fitted me to the morphine pump and I lay around for a while on a trolley watching other patients coming and going. Finally I was wheeled into the theatre. Compared to the outer area this was a Star Trek set. I was offloaded on to a motorised table, next to a set of computer monitors on a motorised arm and under a huge X-ray camera, also motorised. All the personnel -- and there seemed to be dozens -- wore lead aprons or were behind glass in a separate control room, watching more monitors.
Dr Ingram arrived first and administered the local before making the incisions and getting the catheters set up. At least I think that's what she was doing. Before she set to work my table was whizzed back and the camera came down -- right in front of my face. After a bit Dr Gillespie arrived too and they really got down to business, which was threading the catheters through to the womb.
"You've got very weird anatomy," Dr Gillespie said. "Your arteries should come to a V, but they're like trouser legs."
"What he's trying to say is that you're a very complex woman," said Dr Ingram.
At one point Dr Gillespie said the catheter had "turned back on itself" and pulled it out. "Get me a Sidewinder," he told one of the nurses, and she went to a big cupboard full of long packets on hangers and brought him one. It seemed to do the trick.
After the procedure, the two doctors stood on either side of me with their thumbs pressed on to the incision sites for ten minutes, to make sure they didn't bleed. Then Dr Gillespie went through the pictures with me, showing me my wonky arteries and the big blobs of fibroids. It was very interesting and I wish I could have watched as it happened.
After that excitement I was flopped back on to a trolley and pushed back out to the recovery area, where I dozed away a couple of hours waiting for the ambulance to take me to my bed in the new hospital. The research sister, Helen Dewart, was with me through the transfer, must have been boring for her. Riding in an ambulance was odd -- you can't see out the windows so you have no conception of where you are.
But eventually I was wheeled in to the ward and slid on to the bed, where I had to lie flat for at least four hours. People kept asking me if I could eat. "I think so, I didn't have a general anaesthetic, and I'm very hungry," I'd say pathetically. "I'll just go and ask the nurse/sister/doctor," they'd say and disappear. Finally I was allowed to sit up and have some toast and soup. Delicious! After a little while longer I staggered off to the toilet unaided, trailing my little wheeled morphine dispenser behind me.
That night I slept like a log.
Day two: Pretty much a drug-assisted haze, with meals a highlight. In hospital the day starts early, about 6am it seemed, with a visit from the night nurse. Various medical personnel visited through the day: Dr Ingram; Sister Dewart; Dr West, whose ward I was in, and her entourage of students; the nurses.
I read most of the novel I brought in and chatted with my three ward mates. After they were discharged I succumbed to boredom and shuffled off in search of the machine that dispenses cards that work the bedside tv/phone combo. I didn't have the right change, so shuffled off further afield in search of the shop, where I had to buy something to get change. Shuffled back off upstairs and discovered the machine was out of £3.50 cards, so had to buy a £5 card. Shuffled back to bed, where I discovered the headphones didn't work right. Shuffled around the ward swapping headphones and found that mine were in fact the ward's finest pair. Sigh. Watched TV and dozed and read and ate. Faye's flowers arrived, a huge beautiful bunch with acres of cellophane and big ribbons.
There was a drama in the evening with the arrival of a young woman who I think was either miscarrying or had an ectopic pregnancy. She was very upset anyway, and so was her family -- husband and parents were all there. She was taken straight into the theatre.
Slept like a log again, after a slight hiccup. I hadn't used much of the morphine; so little in fact that the stent clogged up. I realised there was a problem after I clicked for my night-night dose and instead of drifting off I slowly become more and more alert. The nurse tried to clear it with an injection of saline, then called the duty doctor. She managed to clear it with an injection of blood-thinner, and gave it a click. Added to my earlier dose, still in the pipeline, that sent me off to dreamland like a mallet on the head.
Day three: A flurry of medical visitors in the morning, with a promise of early release. I called Leslie from the bedside bat-phone and she said she and Chad would collect me at about noon. And they did! I felt a tiny bit woozy, but walked to the van without any problem. Once home I even made them a cup of tea. Later in the afternoon I ventured out to collect some more flowers that had been left next door and also went down to the library.
So there you go: a big anticlimax given all the scare stories I've been given. I've been really very lucky as far as recovery goes, but I put at least some of it down to positive mental attitude. I think pushing the envelope a bit with gentle exercise and so on helps recovery by keeping the blood circulating.
Next step is to see Dr Gillespie again in a couple of weeks -- him or Helen Dewart, I'm not sure. Then at six months I have another MRI scan to see what progress has been made. I'm supposed to be keeping a diary of symptoms etc, but there hasn't been anything to report so far.
My real recovery started on Thursday, when I drove into town for a dental appointment. I left the car in the suburbs and bussed the rest of the way, not trusting myself to heavy traffic. It went ok though. I ended up walking a lot, did some shopping as well. I was a bit tired after all that, but not shattered.
Bertie arrived home on Saturday afternoon. He was pleased to see me, but wanted to go "home" when Colin left and seemed a bit confused for a couple of days. He's back into the routine again now though -- especially since we visited the pet supermarket yesterday and stocked up on treats. It's been good getting back to regular walking.
Also at the weekend I washed the car and mowed the lawn. For carwashing I used the hose I bought the day I went to the dentist. It turned out to be fiendishly complicated to fit all the bits on, so the whole operation took half the day. Again, it was tiring but not shattering.
Right now I feel like I could do with a nap -- it's 11pm, two hours to go before home time.
For anyone who's interested, here's a blow-by-blow of my hospital visit:
Day one: Caught the bus to town at some ungodly hour in the morning, walked through town to the old hospital. Made a tour of various departments before finding the right one. Stripped off in cubicle, donned chic hospital gown and was fitted with charming anti-embolism stockings by nurse. (Ironic given I was there for an embolisation procedure.)
The anaesthetist fitted me to the morphine pump and I lay around for a while on a trolley watching other patients coming and going. Finally I was wheeled into the theatre. Compared to the outer area this was a Star Trek set. I was offloaded on to a motorised table, next to a set of computer monitors on a motorised arm and under a huge X-ray camera, also motorised. All the personnel -- and there seemed to be dozens -- wore lead aprons or were behind glass in a separate control room, watching more monitors.
Dr Ingram arrived first and administered the local before making the incisions and getting the catheters set up. At least I think that's what she was doing. Before she set to work my table was whizzed back and the camera came down -- right in front of my face. After a bit Dr Gillespie arrived too and they really got down to business, which was threading the catheters through to the womb.
"You've got very weird anatomy," Dr Gillespie said. "Your arteries should come to a V, but they're like trouser legs."
"What he's trying to say is that you're a very complex woman," said Dr Ingram.
At one point Dr Gillespie said the catheter had "turned back on itself" and pulled it out. "Get me a Sidewinder," he told one of the nurses, and she went to a big cupboard full of long packets on hangers and brought him one. It seemed to do the trick.
After the procedure, the two doctors stood on either side of me with their thumbs pressed on to the incision sites for ten minutes, to make sure they didn't bleed. Then Dr Gillespie went through the pictures with me, showing me my wonky arteries and the big blobs of fibroids. It was very interesting and I wish I could have watched as it happened.
After that excitement I was flopped back on to a trolley and pushed back out to the recovery area, where I dozed away a couple of hours waiting for the ambulance to take me to my bed in the new hospital. The research sister, Helen Dewart, was with me through the transfer, must have been boring for her. Riding in an ambulance was odd -- you can't see out the windows so you have no conception of where you are.
But eventually I was wheeled in to the ward and slid on to the bed, where I had to lie flat for at least four hours. People kept asking me if I could eat. "I think so, I didn't have a general anaesthetic, and I'm very hungry," I'd say pathetically. "I'll just go and ask the nurse/sister/doctor," they'd say and disappear. Finally I was allowed to sit up and have some toast and soup. Delicious! After a little while longer I staggered off to the toilet unaided, trailing my little wheeled morphine dispenser behind me.
That night I slept like a log.
Day two: Pretty much a drug-assisted haze, with meals a highlight. In hospital the day starts early, about 6am it seemed, with a visit from the night nurse. Various medical personnel visited through the day: Dr Ingram; Sister Dewart; Dr West, whose ward I was in, and her entourage of students; the nurses.
I read most of the novel I brought in and chatted with my three ward mates. After they were discharged I succumbed to boredom and shuffled off in search of the machine that dispenses cards that work the bedside tv/phone combo. I didn't have the right change, so shuffled off further afield in search of the shop, where I had to buy something to get change. Shuffled back off upstairs and discovered the machine was out of £3.50 cards, so had to buy a £5 card. Shuffled back to bed, where I discovered the headphones didn't work right. Shuffled around the ward swapping headphones and found that mine were in fact the ward's finest pair. Sigh. Watched TV and dozed and read and ate. Faye's flowers arrived, a huge beautiful bunch with acres of cellophane and big ribbons.
There was a drama in the evening with the arrival of a young woman who I think was either miscarrying or had an ectopic pregnancy. She was very upset anyway, and so was her family -- husband and parents were all there. She was taken straight into the theatre.
Slept like a log again, after a slight hiccup. I hadn't used much of the morphine; so little in fact that the stent clogged up. I realised there was a problem after I clicked for my night-night dose and instead of drifting off I slowly become more and more alert. The nurse tried to clear it with an injection of saline, then called the duty doctor. She managed to clear it with an injection of blood-thinner, and gave it a click. Added to my earlier dose, still in the pipeline, that sent me off to dreamland like a mallet on the head.
Day three: A flurry of medical visitors in the morning, with a promise of early release. I called Leslie from the bedside bat-phone and she said she and Chad would collect me at about noon. And they did! I felt a tiny bit woozy, but walked to the van without any problem. Once home I even made them a cup of tea. Later in the afternoon I ventured out to collect some more flowers that had been left next door and also went down to the library.
So there you go: a big anticlimax given all the scare stories I've been given. I've been really very lucky as far as recovery goes, but I put at least some of it down to positive mental attitude. I think pushing the envelope a bit with gentle exercise and so on helps recovery by keeping the blood circulating.
Next step is to see Dr Gillespie again in a couple of weeks -- him or Helen Dewart, I'm not sure. Then at six months I have another MRI scan to see what progress has been made. I'm supposed to be keeping a diary of symptoms etc, but there hasn't been anything to report so far.
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