4 years

It's 4 years since I started this blog and really I don't have time for it anymore. It's been sort of cathartic writing a lot of the stuff but the creative side of my life has now been taken over by my new occupation, millinery. Not new as in a new skill, I've been doing it off and on for almost 15 years but only now have I taken it on full time. Relieved of running our building company since WH's accident, there really isn't much company left anyhow since his enforced retirement, I have time and energy to do what I want to do.

So hats it is then. I'll have a web site soon (when I get time for THAT) but as for this blog I'm afraid it's curtains. Thanks for reading and have a nice life, mine is definitely good right now.

Time flies

I thought that was only when you are enjoying yourself. Not true!

I'm STILL recovering from the nasty bug which I have now had since the beginning of November. My GP was forthright, OK I agree with the other chap you saw you have had Swine Flu. Well stone the crows, he hadn't told me that so I was gobsmacked to say the least. It did sort of explain why I am still suffering.

Anyway enough of me, it's been really hectic around here. This week we finally got got Mother in Law into a nursing home after several false starts and a run in with her newly appointed social worker who scuppered the whole thing more than once. Devon has a shortage of social workers so they are obviously now appointing chairs instead. WH got more sense from the chair than that guy spoke. It took 3 hours to fill out a form and if we didn't understand it the erstwhile social worker certainly didn't. If it hadn't been for the staff nurse from the PCT we would still be there now, a whole week later.

WH had his fractures reviewed and it was bad news, more time off work and he has little use in his right hand. More physio was called for, so feeling more hopeful he went to his next appointment. The physiotherapist told him to carry on doing the exercises he already was doing, no examination and nothing whilst he was there to check was he was doing, nothing, Nada. He could have had the consult over the phone and saved everyone some time and the NHS some money because God Knows they've wasted enough telling him absolutely nothing.

Meanwhile we've been planning a new strategy for this summer. We have to have some income from something, he hasn't worked since August and I haven't worked outside the home for 18 years now so we're going to do something together, each doing the bits we are able to. So far it's all under wraps but suffice to say we have bought a caravan, a temporary home for our new career and have been beavering away to prepare, OK not as hard as most people would beaver away but a little bit between rests, naps and doctors appointments.

More later.

Crocodile tears

I've had pneumonia for the last 3 weeks. On my second lot of antibiotics, the rot seems to have stopped and I am actually improving now which makes for a nice change. Once again however I am at the mercy of medication which I take 4 times a day and which must be followed by food an hour later. I tried to do it without the food and oh boy did I feel bad. So food it is, every six hours. Unable to taste anything since well before Christmas I've only been eating the barest minimum of a fairly boring diet of ham sandwiches, jelly and fruit, ice cream and the odd oven chip when WH has been catering for himself.

I've not been up to cooking, the last time I did cook was Boxing Day. So on Saturday WH really did fancy something different and something that he didn't have to provide himself so suggested an Indian meal. I remembered that we had had a new takeaway open in a neighbouring village last autumn, their menu had looked anything but the usual run of the mill and what is more they offered free delivery up to a mile radius. WH left the ordering to me, not a brilliant move as I have very little voice right now and they did have somewhat of a problem understanding me, but he was hospital visiting yet again, so I made the best of it and hoped.

Twenty minutes late the door bell rang and a charming chap whom I vaguely recognised apologised for the delay, reduced the bill and gave me a free bottle of wine, a perfectly respectable Pinot Grigio. By now we were both hungry, my meds had been taken almost 2 hours before and the need for food was getting urgent.

Wow, what food. Loads of it, nicely presented and with extras, always a good sign. It made up for the late delivery but as it was icy and snowy I certainly wasn't about to complain. I opened with seek kebab, it was manna from heaven, came with a really different dressing and a tub of green salad. WH had opted for Onion bhaji, a predictably mild choice (as expected really) but pronounced them gorgeous. For his main he had Tandoori chicken, a huge chicken half with a massive side salad and sauce and a stuffed kheema nan which was light, fluffy and full of spicy lamb. I didn't want a whole main course so had opted for another starter, one I had never heard of before, Chicken Crocodile Tears which according to the menu is apparently a Bangladeshi speciality, cubed, marinated and grilled chicken with roasted veggies in a pineapple sauce. To say it blew me away was the understatement of the century. It was divine. Maybe my taste buds had burst back into life at that precise moment, I don't know but whatever, it was the best Indian meal I've ever eaten. The 'free' popadoms with chutney were great too, the wine will have to wait until I'm off the meds.

One thing is for sure, my new year's resolution is to order Crocodile Tears from that place again (and again and again)!

Merry Christmas.

A whole month since I last posted here. No I haven't left you but it has been so hectic here I haven't had chance to write. and now I do it's yet another tale of woe.

My Mother in Law who is 89 has had to move into full time care this week after 9 months of in/out/in again hospital care and a continuing saga of 'events' which have had to be dealt with by family, district nurse, doctors or whoever depending on their nature. Finally the GP has said she is not safe at home mostly due to her refusal to accept appropriate help. The strain on the family has been immense and when she has been home it has been a near full-time job for 3 people. Luckily my input was mostly on the catering front so a little easier to cope with although it has felt odd this week not to be getting up at 7.30 and cooking. Three mornings a week since March I have cooked dinners, 2 on each of 2 days and 3 on a Friday. Full meals with hot puddings and custard which could then be cling filmed, labelled, taken 3 miles and then re-heated by the lunchtime carer.

I got quite organised producing batches of puddings and stews and the like which I then froze, so I could provide a variety of different home made dishes. Now we need to eat our way through all the ones remaining in the freezer, an awkward task as they are such tiny portions and WH will need 3 tubs of stew to feel like he has eaten anything.

Meanwhile we will be having a very odd Christmas, visiting Mother in Law and spending most of the day just the two of us, just youngest stepdaughter popping in for tea and to collect her presents. The main family are coming here on Boxing Day. Just as well it will be quiet really, I have a really bad dose of Bronchitis, picked up on one of the numerous hospital visits. Immuno-compromised by the methotrexate I left it a bit late to go and get antibiotics from the GP so now I am really suffering. At least cooking for 2 will be a doddle but we can always have a hot pudding from the freezer if it all become too much!

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Snippets

Sitting in the village surgery waiting room (just for a change) there was a long delay and the room was almost full. Three elderly ladies were putting the world to rights and debated the perils of autumn leaves in the garden, the old man down the road and the problems of getting a decent winter vest, over the course of fifteen minutes or so. They were then joined by another lady who told them that the postal-strike talks over the previous two days had now apparently broken down. "What?" said the hithertoo quietest of the other three, "God knows what they find to talk about," she said, "two whole days and they talk about absolutely nothing." Three single words came into my mind, pot, kettle and black.

Mother in Law was re-admitted to hospital after some stitches from her recent surgery started to bleed out. Naturally WH had gone in with her and had been away from here 8 hours or so dealing with it all. Half an hour after his return, the ward sister phoned to tell us of Mother in Law's admission as Mother in Law thought we might not know.

I found a lovely quote in a book I was reading by Santa Montefiore. Being questioned about his background, a chap who wanted to be evasive gave the following answer "My parents are in the iron and steel business, Mother irons and Father steals." I love it, just wish I had an opportunity to use it.

On a black, rainy, dismal day last week, the engineer arrived to set up our new stereo system. He'd come from Bristol and his sat-nav had sent him up some tiny country lanes but eventually he had hit the main drag so to speak, down the valley and into our small village. He was full of it, the narrow lanes and high hedges and the view from the top of the hill, the little village spread out below and he couldn't stop enthusing about it. "All we need is some sun and it would look like paradise," On a good day, I almost agree.

Is it really worth it

WH has his right arm in plaster, the result of his fall from the porch roof several weeks ago. Last Monday the wires were removed from the break in his wrist and he goes back to be assessed a week tomorrow. He hopes he will be having the plaster removed but it is not a given, he has to have the break X-rayed first. His left foot is not in plaster although he has a broken bone. After a week in plaster it was stable, so after scans and X-rays whilst he was under anaesthetic having his wrist wired, the plaster was removed. This to make his life a little easier although had he not had the wrist injury the leg would be still in plaster. He is not supposed to weight bear more than 50% on that foot and crutches are out of the question due to the broken wrist so he hobbles along with a stick.

Being self employed WH applied for Incapacity Benefit, as his is right as a payer of National Insurance contributions. He has no other income right now. You can't pay yourself Statutory Sick Pay so that is what you do when you're Self Employed. The forms were complicated and he had to send medical certificates etc in his case issued by the hospital on the day of his original accident. After about 4 weeks he was notified he would get a minimal payment. This week however he has been summonsed to attend a medical assessment interview by the Department for Work and Pensions (or rather their big buddies Atos Healthcare). If he had any questions he could phone a number. He did. He phoned. He asked why he had to be assessed given his spectacular, plain to see injuries and the fact he had a medical certificate describing this which more than covered him. He still has a black eye 6 weeks after the event.

He was told he has to be checked to make sure he really has broken his wrist etc. This check will be carried out by a "health care professional", NOT a doctor then. A certificate issued by a doctor is not sufficient. If he doesn't attend the assessment his benefit will be stopped.

His anger rapidly turned to disbelief was he when he was told that that the BA has to make sure that he is not capable of any work. He told them he HAS work when he is fit again, after all he runs his own business and strangely has had more enquiries from customers in the last 6 weeks than he has had all year. He questioned what sort of work a person could do who was immobile and can't use their dominant hand. "Oh there may be something."

So the appointment was made. A letter confirming this arrived yesterday along with a leaflet basically designed to scare the crap out of anyone who was thinking of not turning up. Attached to the appointment was a 'route plan' giving detailed instructions of how to get to the centre, which is 27 miles away, via public transport. Now we live in a rural area. Buses are not very frequent so the gist of this was that in order to arrive at a 2.10pm appointment he needed to leave home at 9 minutes past ten, take a bus 15 miles in the wrong direction, wait half an hour then take another bus past where he had come from followed by another 7 buses with finally a walk of 16 minutes duration. The route proudly proclaimed "Number of changes = 7, Journey duration 2hrs 44 minutes". You would then have to wait over an hour for the appointment which was likely to take a "minimum of 75 minutes but allow 2 hours in total". No return route was sent as as it can't be done on the same day. There is no public transport. There was no suggestion as to what he should do in that case. The booklet supplied states that "You will not be asked to attend an examination centre which would require a journey of more than 90 minutes each way by public transport" No problem with doing that then in the case of someone with their leg in plaster.

Well obviously I will be driving him there. It takes about 40 minutes and we can park quite close by in a public car park.

My question is this. If someone is desperate for the benefit, and given the parlous state of the NHS there are undoubtedly genuine claimants out there, how are they supposed to manage all this when they are going in the first place because they are ill? More to the point why is the Department for Work and Pensions wasting money paying fees to Atos Healthcare to assess people who clearly are very incapacitated but who fully intend to return to their regular job or business when they have recovered? A case of jobs for the boys I think and bugger the poor old public yet again.

Atos Healthcare? All they care about is their bank balance.

The colour purple

Christmas is a-coming. I know it's almost 2 months away but everything seems to be in the shops already. For once I've got my act together and got some stuff in hand but the one present that's concerning me today is my own.

I just saw this shoulder bag on a new Accessory boutique, Pretty and Witty, and I love it, me who normally spends £15 in Asda or Tescos top whack. Maybe it's something to do with the colour, maybe it's the style - I just can't do regular 'hand' bags with my arthritis - or maybe it's because it's not *that* far from my usual price range but I have to have it. I'm telling WH it has to go in my stocking this year.

Not that I don't just love all those other much more expensive ones but being sort of out of the market as it were with my rubbish hands I could never buy one as WH would be carrying it everywhere for me and moaning about the privilege. My 'hold' time for anything is 5 minutes max and that's no exaggeration. But a girl can dream. I defy anyone to not love some of them. For now I settled with a beautiful Saddler purse from the same boutique a couple of weeks ago, and you guessed it, mine is purple and soooo soft, it will look great in that handbag on Christmas morning.

WH you have been well and truly warned.

Home Sweet Home

I've finally sold my old house. Eighteen months ago I tried to sell, gave up and rented it, then had to kick the tenants out because they wrecked it and then I re-marketed. Now some 14 weeks after I accepted an offer I finally have the money in the bank and the paperwork all completed. Not a moment too soon. The estate agent was no help at all, and considering the huge fee I had to pay them, I still did all the chasing-up myself.

This week we have a gardener starting on the back at last. this was to be WH's project over a month ago but falling off the roof gave him a good excuse not to! Now, weeks of glorious weather wasted we have finally found a chap who can dig, put in fence-posts and lay a block wall. If it keeps reasonably dry I might have some plantable ground by November.

Who knows by next spring, after owning this house for two whole years, I may even have a garden to call my own!

Birthday presents

One of the various books the girls and their grandmother gave me for my birthday was Dear Friend and Gardener a series of letters between well known gardeners Beth Chatto and Christopher Lloyd. Written over a two year period some 12 plus years ago it's a lovely read and I find myself sitting up until all hours, visions of the varieties and the settings they each describe whizzing through my brain. Odd snippets of everyday life sneak in too, recipes, people met and meals shared along with a very few mentions of current affairs (the death of Princess Diana being a notable inclusion) which help to place it in context and time. I am amazed I had never read this before, it was on my 'list' but not a high priority. With about 60 pages left to go I will miss it when it ends.

My main present was a breadmaker and having now used it twice I am full of plans for future uses. When married in my twenties I used to make all our own bread and did so for about 10 years until newly single again I had no need of so much, nor the time to do it. I've never really taken it up again since mainly because of WH's love of white sliced! With a breadmaker I can indulge myself in a less time consuming way and make the beloved white as well. In fact I tried that first and it came out beautifully, so much so I was reduced to eating the crust myself along with homemade plum jam. This morning I had my first taste of a home-baked seeded loaf which was good but not as dense as I would like. Recently in Denmark I was eating good rye bread with wholegrains and it finally crystallised in my brain that this is the bread I really enjoy, so I can see I will be experimenting more and more until I perfect my own staple bread. Meanwhile, WH is more than happy with a white loaf from a Hovis ready mix.

Staying in

This last fortnight has been one long round of hospital appointments, plasters being removed and replaced, physiotherapy and an operation last Tuesday. WH is still in quite a bad way. The break to the wrist was a 'nasty' one and has had to eb wired into place. The foot is now plaster-less but hurts like hell, we're awaiting the 'Ortho Reg' to call with a new game plan. Plaster, CT scan or strapping. The head injury appeared to have subsided but the anaesthetic on Tuesday had some strange effects and even now he is suffering from vertigo or it's close cousin. The bruised cheekbone is still black. We even had the doctor out to the house on Thursday after a particularly spectacular session. I am learning to be nursemaid and normally have endless patience, having been fairly immobile at times in my past, but even I was weary last night and was thinking it would be lovely to have a cup of tea I had not made myself. Cooking which to me is a welcome distraction has gone out of the window as the patient just isn't eating.

Visitors have been fairly few, although the phone almost answers itself now and I don't mean the answerphone either. Sometimes I wish for more knocks on the door as it would no doubt cheer the patient up no end, we are in grave danger of a deep depression setting in.

One constant has been the presence of two grey fluffy nurses who are attentive at most times although they do have a habit of falling asleep on the job. Misty as Night Nurse snuggles in and stays put for 6 hours plus although if WH gets up to change position or for a shuffle about he's a bit reluctant to move at all. Nelson keeps watch from the back of the sofa, his tail curling down over WH's head. Unusually he has been home a lot, the retired major up the road has lost his furry doormat for the season.

As usual these things always come at the wrong time, not that there is a right time for an accident. I have finally sold the other house, after a 3 month spell of being messed about by the potential purchaser we exchange contracts next week and complete the following one. Hope I have not hexed this by finally putting it in print here. It's not a moment too soon. However and there is always an however in my experience, we had left the removal of some pretty hefty tool shelving in the garage until the last. Now of course it has to be removed and in a hurry. WH was due to do this the day after his accident. Today I hope that Brother in Law and his Best Mate will be coming to dismantle it all and to hopefully remove it to our business lock up for use up there. The grill, bacon and fresh bread are waiting, small price to pay if a few butties help get the job done.

As for the rest of my day it will be very quiet, a planned supper with a few friends cancelled in the light of WH still at risk of throwing up any second. Strange way for me to spend a birthday but hey, there's a first time for everything.

Broken and brusied

WH fell off the porch roof yesterday. The complaining painter (CP) and I were indoors when we heard a strange thud and a muffled cry. CP rushed outside, he was nearer the door, and immediately shouted for me to call an ambulance. WH was strangely silent and was in a crumpled heap on the floor. An ambulance trip and 4 long hours at the hospital confirmed the damage: a broken wrist, badly bruised face and eye, sprained ankle, torn foot ligaments and concussion. He has cuts and bruises over his whole body. It seems the ladder moved away from the wall as he was climbing off the roof and that he had twisted and hit the front step as he fell, hence the huge black eye. The doctors were bemused by the fact the injuries are diagonal, usually they all one side. The worst problem right now is the head injury, every time he moves he feels dizzy and WH is not one for keeping still. Short of chaining him down I don't know the answer to that one.

Additionally we now have a large plaster and instructions to keep it on for 8 weeks. It's going to be a toughie. I just ordered a new wide screen tv online. I think he's going to need it. As for the building work, we just finished the porch, the rest looks like it's on hold until next year now. Late November will not be the time to start projects outside. The work will have to go on into a third summer.

Excuse me whilst I do some screaming.

Welcome to our world

Yesterday our second granddaughter was born. She is as yet nameless, her parents didn't really consider she might be a girl, but she weighed in at almost 8 pounds and is gorgeous. I'm bound to say that as I'm her grandmother but she really is gorgeous, skin like a ripe peach. It was not quite the smooth birth her Mum had hoped for, in then end she born by C-section after days of will she/won't she and a nerve racking time for her Dad, but at 10 days late she is worth the wait. Her big brother is due to meet her today for the first time. I wonder what he will make of her?

WH meanwhile is counting the cost of his 5th Grandchild being born whilst I was already on a shopping expedition, but you know what, he doesn't begrudge a single penny.

Where did 4 weeks go?

I don't seem to have stopped recently. Taking a pause for breathe right now I realise I haven't been here for a while and I haven't really done that much else unless you count having to cope with feeling like death warmed up for most of the time. I think we survived the swine flu outbreak round here but we both definitely had 'something'.

We have a new grandchild due any moment and it looks like next week we may be toddler sitting for a few days. Or rather WH will be, owing to his far superior skills in that department.

In other news I think I have sold the other house. Having kicked out the tenants due to them completely ruining all the decorations in just 7 months and the whole place looking permanently like a rubbish tip, I was told that my estate agent had 'lots of people just waiting for a house like that'. Of course he lied and a painful 4 months later I have agreed a sale although the purchaser (of course because it is me they are dealing with) is now acting at a snail's pace and 6 weeks down the line we seem no nearer to exchanging contracts. My solicitors are baffled that things can proceed sooooo slowly but in these days of such financial uncertainty at least it is a sale and this purchaser does on the face of it seem unlikely to chuck at the last minute.

On the building front we now have a porch and shortly I might be able to get the front driveway done and see and end to the red sand and mud which is all pervasive and driving me nuts.

We were due to go to Denmark next week to see Ms A but sadly for all sorts of family reasons we're going to have to give it a miss. My £1 flights will go to waste. Greece in September looks doubtful too although I will move heaven and earth to get some sun before the winter sets in. We also have some properties lined up to view over there, another reason for getting over there if we can.

Anyway it's back to the kitchen for me in a minute as I dish up Mother in Law's dinners for another couple of days. I've been doing a mini meals-on-wheels service now for the best part of 4 months so cooking 2 main meals every other day at 7am no longer seems abnormal. I have 40 odd old fashioned puddings in the freezer too, making them in batches of single portions. Trouble is I want to eat them too and have hard time resisting and I probably need to buy another freezer to keep all this stuff in. Sods law, I gave my old freezer away at the beginning of the year.

'Sod's law' seems to sum up my life just now anyway. I'll let you know when it changes!

Happy Birthday Babies

Misty and Nelson are 7 today. I can't believe how old they are and the struggle we had to keep them alive when they were little. 2 of 6 kittens born to a feral cat at the top of our garden, one died within 24 hours and 4 of the rest all had cat flu and other nasties. Three months and £400 later we had managed to keep all 5 alive and were advised by the vet not to rehome these two for a while as they were so sickly. 7 years later they are still here. Jack and Lula are in London and Toby is down the village.

Tonight we celebrate with tins of tuna all round.

Happy Birthday Babies.

A special meal

On our last night in Pelion this last time (I know it was over a month ago but hey, I'm busy) we went to a highly recommended little taverna in the square of our nearest 'big' village. We had been told several times that if we wanted brilliant food to go there and our German neighbours appeared to be eating there almost every night.

We had sussed it our earlier in the week and realised it was a former 'greasy spoon' where we had eaten before and had eaten (or rather left) a terrible meal. This time however it had had a clean-up, was newly painted, had a new menu and fancy tables and vases of flowers were set up under soft lighting outside under a plane tree. It seemed to have a new sign too so we reasoned it must have changed hands although the waiter was obviously the same one we had seen before. We decided to give it a go.

When we arrived for our farewell dinner, one other couple were already eating and drinking with gusto. We realised they were a local English builder and his wife whom we had been told about and who ate there very regularly. It all looked very promising. Deciding to forego starters in favour of the delicious local deserts for once, we asked what the specials of the day were expecting to be asked to inspect them in the kitchen. The surly waiter (well you can't have everything) reeled off a list in broken English. So no kitchen inspection tonight then. I asked him to repeat it in Greek. WH then decided on grilled lamb cutlets with lemon potatoes and vegetables. I plumped for the fish soup Kakavia which is more like a stew and which I had been dying to try. The thought of fragrant mixed fish in a broth of garlic, tomatoes, herbs and onions with a few potatoes and other veggies was very tempting in the still 30 degree heat. As usual the bread came first with our cutlery and I resisted the temptation to eat it immediately and kept it to go with my soup.

WH's cutlets arrived and the warnning bells began to ring. The portion was generous, perhaps 5 or 6 slim lamb chops were heaped up over a pile of roast potatoes. The problem was that the meat was absolutely black, the edges turning to cinder, 'overcooked' didn't even begin to describe it. That sight had just begun to sink in when the fish soup was announced.

I looked down to the bowl placed in front of me and immediately had to look away. An absolutely horrendous sight met my eyes. A whole dogfish head was looking up at me, mouth agape and teeth bared menacingly, eyes protruding. It was swimming in a lake of what looked like oily water. A lone boiled potato joined the fish head along with a couple of branches of the local wild greens. WH looked hesitant then asked if I was OK. "Yes " I said stoically dipping my spoon into the tepid liquid, "It must be a different sort of soup, maybe lemony judging by the colour".

It was not to be lemon either. I tasted it and Oh My God what a taste, dish water topped with rapidly congealing fish oil. There was no taste of anything at all other than rancid, fishy water. No seasoning, no herbs and no savoury garlic or onion. Zilch. WH said later he thought I was about to throw up over the table. How I managed not to I'll never know. I must be stronger than I give myself credit for.

Somehow I ate the potato and some of the fish which was on the bone behind the head. The liquid stayed in the bowl. WH ate his veg and left most of the charcoal pile of meat. The waiter came and took our plates away and asked what we would like next.

"The bill," said WH rather forcefully. We paid up and scarpered quickly; into a bar around the corner for some strong drink to take away the taste. An hour later I still had the taste of fish oil and really I was quite hungry having eaten very little in the heat during the day so I bought a very sickly pre-packed cake from the supermarket, stupidly I didn't think whilst the bakery was still open, and ate the lot. At least the sugar hit took away the taste for a while. Then I went back on the Metaxa.

Next morning I could still taste fish and later it started to repeat on me. Ugh. Later still that day I began to suffer from an upset stomach which carried on for a couple more days after that. Even dinner the next evening in Thessaloniki's hottest shopping mall's Delicertessen,which was a feast for the eyes and all the other senses too, failed to get rid of that fishy feeling.

We've made one decision already about our next visit to the area, probably in September, we will not be dining there again whatever anyone tells us.

Only 8 sleeps

until we see those crazy Hayseed Dixie boys for the first and probably only time this year. They're mostly resting and doing festivals this year but we're able to see them during their short tour of southern England.

Can't wait. Must find some energy from somewhere to have a good bop on the front row, who cares if I'm bedridden the rest of the week.

Rock it to us Deacon Dale!

Hungry cat

Nelson

Why is it that when I feed Misty in the morning he is always hungry again 10 minutes later when Nelson arrives for his food? I fed Nelson in a different room this morning and gave Misty his second meal of the day at the same time. A few minutes later Misty's dish is empty and he is now polishing off Nelson's as well, Nelson having retreated under the table and looking longingly at his rapidly disappearing breakfast.

Seeing as this happens almost every day and at both meal times can anyone tell me why Misty is half Nelson's size?

Back on the meths - Do it yourself style

I saw a locum consultant last week, my brilliant Arthritis one having returned to the country of his birth and a research post. Damn, I knew he was good. Seven months after my last appointment I had my 'early' review, with a stand in doctor at a different hospital 40 miles from home. Such a nice man I had been told, a real gentleman. Well he did stand up when I entered the room and he shook my hand but.... what a load of old cobblers.

He announced he was a retired consultant from Scotland, helping out, before asking me why I was there. I haven't had time to read your notes much. He certainly hadn't read the 5 page later the last chap wrote and had copied to me with his 'plan of action' regarding tests and treatment.

It's not worth the bother of relating much about this poor consultation for consultation read diatribe for the doctor about why I should lose weight. He gave me a cursory examination, apparently could find no evidence of psoriasis or indeed anything much and suggested he do a raft of the same tests the previous chap had ordered in December, just to check. Carry on taking the tablets. I asked about my skin problems, "I can't see any," he said from 6 feet away, "we'd have to refer you to a skin person,"

"For Psoriasis? That's why I am here, "

"Well I don't do skin."

I glumly asked him how long before I could get any treatment, "Well we could put you on a trial but I don't think it's worth it."

Not worth it when I have been like this for 9 months and am getting worse by the week. I burst into tears and sat back. Something about his God like manner and the demeaning way in which he spoke to me made me give up in an instant. I just wanted to be out of that room and I was angry that after being told last year and even having had it confirmed in writing that in the opinion of the last consultant no-one was looking at the whole picture and from the evidence he had found in my notes I had had psoriasis ignored since 1966 no less, yet again I was going away demoralised and with no hope of relief.

Thankfully I had taken WH with me. Usually I go to ALL his appointments, he rarely attends mine. WH began to get annoyed and questioned why I needed to go through the whole lot again after the last round when a treatment had been proposed but no one had wanted to prescribe it after the previous bloke left. "I am not he, was the reply I need to do these things for myself." WH asked him if he would be here in a month's time to review the results then. Er..... NO. He was only a stand in. WH told him the effect of the PA on me (and him) said I could lose weight if I could actually move a bit after all I had lost 40 pounds on my Lyme treatment. The eyebrows raised and he visibly shifted in his seat. I know that disbelieving look. WH told him every time I did lose weight I was put back on medication whose chief side effect is weight gain. I was fighting a losing battle. Why could I not start the original proposed treatment for a trial period and see if it helped. Eventually the chap agreed, I think mainly to get rid of an increasingly irate WH and a tearful me. Then he couldn't get us out of the room fast enough albeit clutching a note to the GP to prescribe and a note for a blood test.

I duly started methotrexate again on Saturday. I was not given the treatment card I had to carry last time and there was no mention of the weekly or fortnightly blood test I was supposed to be getting to monitor my liver. I made an appointment for myself and another to see my GP, the earliest of which was 20th July. Today I realise that the instructions on the bottle of pills are different from what he had written on the GP note and had told me verbally. I will have to check with the pharmacy (whilst I also checked the dose of WH's meds which he suddenly discovered is double the usual strength, but that's a whole other story.)

I had a follow up appointment in the post on Saturday; this time another new doctor but at the same distant hospital in 3 months time. That looks like a good start anyway. Yesterday I felt a burning sensation on my scalp which was driving me nuts. I asked WH to investigate, after all you can't see the top of your own head. 2 seconds later he announced massive psoriasis spots all over. Funny that, 3 days before there was no sign whatsoever when the locum looked. He did shake my hand again when I left, what a gentleman.

Life is just a bowl of cherries

Outside my window is a large bird-cherry tree. It's actually in my neighbour's garden but right now it's full of ripening cherries and a family of four baby blackbirds with their long suffering parents. The babies fledged last week after two days of the parent birds feeding them with cat food which I had put out in a bowl on the patio. Each time the dish emptied (helped along by our own grey twins) Father bird tapped the bowl so we would go out and refill it.

The current antics start about 6am just as the day is starting to warm up and few shafts of sunlight bathe the branches. The fluffy babies fly in awkwardly crash landing on the bendy branches knocking cherries to the floor, or more correctly onto my front driveway. Then the squawking starts. The babies peck anything, branch, leaves, twigs and the occasional cherry. They haven't quite yet got the hang of retrieving a whole fruit and time and time again their intended breakfast slips to the ground. The more they lose, the more they squawk until finally an anguished parent hops in and deftly pokes a whole cherry into the gaping beak. Sometimes baby doesn't know what to do with this, should he swallow it or not? Eyes bulging they finally gulp the cherry down. Then a sibling starts up, he wants one as well and the poor parents hop from branch to branch, clucking and whistling at their offspring and stuffing them full of the ripe fruit.

These babies are almost twice the size of the parents and sit uneasily on the branches and gingerly move along the stems in search of the fruit. They lose their balance and sometimes their grip, at times sliding down until a flapping, flurry of wings renders them airborne and they find another branch to start the whole thing again.

Later, tired and full of fruit the babies doze amongst the branches and drunk looking heads with rolling eyes peep out from between the leaves. The parent birds use this time to feed themselves and leave the tree for an unhindered trip round the district or for a bit of worm digging on the lawn. Finally they've had enough too and a loudly clucking parent chivvies up the fat little babies and they are shepherded back to their nest in the eucalyptus tree opposite for a long rest until they get hungry again.

Back to reality

Our holiday seems a lifetime away, almost 3 weeks since we returned now. This last weekend we were away in Southampton and visited the Hillier Gardens at Romsey. So many trees and so little energy to walk round them all. I did get a few photos of some of the stranger ones though.

Tomorrow I see my new (yet again) consultant. The lovely chap I saw in December has apparently left and I'm seeing a locum once again. I just hope he decides to go with the other chaps plan of action or else I'll be having another boat load of tests again. I just want to start some proper treatment, after all I've been waiting 7 months over which time I have put on weight after the steroid trial, have begun to seize up and and now can't walk very well. Additionally the excruciating skin itch is back with a vengeance. What started as a minor irritation when I was bitten on holiday has developed into a large red, raised patch on my arm which itches intensely. It wakes me up it's so bad. Surely a sign of galloping psoriasis if ever I saw one. Fingers crossed that matey tomorrow agrees and finally does something about it. Nothing I have tried works at all. I can't believe that last year I was so well (and so thin - for me anyway) and now I am almost back to square one, just the Lyme symptoms are still thankfully absent.

The last few weeks I have done what I can to help with Mother in Law, saw the death of a very old friend whom I shall miss intensely and provided bacon sandwiches and tea on tap to the other friend who is helping WH to build our porch. At least at home normality rules, it still looks like a building site!