So, I went back to work on Wednesday feeling as rough as a badger's arse, but figuring that was probably just natural, especially as I have been feeling under the weather now for best part of the last 6 months. However, by 1pm, I was sitting there thinking that I felt considerably worse than I had all week. My boss told me to go home at 3.20, after school had kicked out, and I got home and promptly fell asleep for an hour.
I got up Thursday and still felt as unsmooth as an indigenous black and white mammal's anus, but persevered. I got into work and felt quite light-headed - a little like being stoned but without the elements that make it good. I got to my office, fired off some emails, dealt with some problems and told my boss how I felt when he saw me in the corridor. "If you feel any worse, go home," he said and one of my other colleagues was hovering behind him looking concerned. The support I've had from work has been really good and I've been humbled and feel my usual guilty self. At 1.30 I came home and collapsed on the sofa for about 90 minutes. The wife, who was off, glared at me quite a lot.
Phoned the doctor's this morning, got a call back from a locum (hmm...) and will hopefully be seeing her in about 40 minutes or so. I'm thinking that the antibiotics haven't worked and I'm also thinking I need to do so much before the end of the school year and if I'm not there they won't get done; but equally, everyone is telling me I need to get myself sorted out. The way I feel at the moment, I can't really argue with that.
So, I might end up with an extra long summer holidays - no change there then - and I'll miss some of the fun planned for next week; but maybe I won't. Maybe this doctor can come up with something that solves the problem finally. We shall see...
to be continued
After a long wait, I had a long appointment, which I won't bore you with the details. In a nutshell: infection still there; been experiencing something along the lines of a long continuous asthma attack; low blood oxygen levels; mild concern; new drugs. Week off. Oh and the promise of a 'new drug' something that could be a game changer...
Holding a Grudge
Let me tell a little about my boy Murray. He's a bit of a windy poof, yet he's also this strange presence in the house. As the only man amongst the dogs, he is both cooed over and revered by the three girls. He gets away with things they will not let each other get away with and I have suggested at times that in our dogs' peculiar hierarchy, he's actually top dog, like male lions in a pride - he's there but detached, leaving the girls to do all the donkey work while he sits around looking regal - except, he prefers curling up on the wife's lap and being a cuddly boy.
Because he's mainly collie, he has these strangely instinctive 'abilities'. He's never been trained to do anything yet he walks to heel better than any dog I have ever seen; he does everything in circles and he herds things. He is also incredibly obedient, quite wilful and plays on the fact that he's everybody's baby boy (he'll be six soon).
Since he was about a year old, he's had this fatty lump on his leg, which was removed but not completely and has since returned bigger and more noticeable. There wasn't anything wrong with it when it was tested last time and suggestions are that it isn't anything but a fatty lump; but to put the wife's mind at ease we had him admitted for tests and a biopsy yesterday, which meant he was out of the house all day and left the girls a bit confused.
Now, Murray being a collie means that he's pretty intelligent - he doesn't always show it, but you just know there's more in his bonce than the other three put together. Possibly his most peculiar habit is he holds little grudges; he gets offended by things and he shows it by a unspectacular expression of being disgruntled.
When I got made redundant last year, I was at home for 12 weeks and he grew accustomed to me being there; when I got the new job, he ignored me for a week until he got used to it. I'm not joking; he didn't greet me when I got in; didn't give me any cuddles and glared at me like the wife does when the subject of smoking crops up. It was so obvious both of us were aware of it.
The wife is getting the same treatment at the moment. Murray got back from the vet's and he was not happy. If looks could kill we would have both been six feet under by now; so feeling a little hurt, I said to him, "It wasn't me boy, your mum took you to that nasty place, I didn't have anything to do with it. It's all her fault!"
Two minutes later, he's curled up on my lap, eyes facing the wife, throwing daggers at her across the living room. I laughed.
That was all written yesterday and now it is Sat'dee and it is raining, so it must be a Sat'dee.
This morning has been a bit of a procrastination exercise. Because of the rain, I've used it as an excuse to sit in my office, listen to music and do various things but write this. I did a couple of hundred words for Roger's latest prog rock article and I've looked at the hoover several times, trying to decide if I have enough oomph in my to push the little fucker round the entire house.
The new antibiotics appear to be doing something. I'm just not going to stick my neck out and say whether this is positive or negative something. I'm growing to a stage where I'll be happy when I feel like Phil Hall again, rather than someone just using a rather crap clone body of his...
I also have a cheesecake to make. I have never made a proper cheesecake before and as I had 2½lbs of fresh raspberries in my fridge, I decided to be adventurous. So, I left the wife in charge of cooking and reducing the berries down to a syrupy blood red goo. She burnt the saucepan and ¼ of it boiled over onto the cooker. This is predominantly the reason why I never let her anywhere near my kitchen unless its with a dish cloth.
There's a Reason I Call Him Fuckwit
Honestly, some of you think I'm exaggerating the density of Fuckwit's intelligence; but he really, truly, is a twat to place on a pedestal for other twats to aspire to. Yesterday morning, I was pottering around on the patio, not really paying much attention to the conversation going on next door - which is strange as it usually has me in stitches.
I could hear this Irish bloke telling Fat Bird what he can do and what he thinks needs doing to their garden. Suddenly intrigued, I nip upstairs and have a gander out of the window to see what's going on. Fuckwit chimes in with the following, "Jack, don't listen to him. Just tell him you have £300 to spend and see what he can do for that. He'll only try and get more money from you." For a split second I actually thought that Fuckwit had said something profound mainly through his apparent suspicion of Irish Traveller Gardening Specialists; then it dawned on me just what he had said, especially when the bloke trying to explain to Fat Bird what he could do stopped in his tracks and said, "Yeah, I can do all you want me to do for £300." But the look on his face suggested he'd just got a £100 bonus.
The thing is Fuckwit probably walked back into the house thinking he'd just been Donald Trump, when in reality he was more like Donald Duck.
Later that morning, I was out doing my own bit of weeding when the bloke walks over to the fence and says, "Is there anything you'd like us to do in your garden, sir? A trim perhaps?"
Now, we're both quite proud of our garden, even if it really needs a good roll. It is established and at this time of the year is quite colourful, what with the shrubs, roses, poppies, raspberries and foxgloves, so being asked a question like this sort of pissed me off. The wife would have looked at him aghast and said, "Why, are you suggesting that my garden is untidy?" As I had noticed both Fuckwit and Fat Bird standing about six feet away from the Irishman, I just said quite loudly, "No thanks, mate. I'm more than capable of doing my own gardening."
Then I got back on my airboat and sailed across the waterlogged garden towards the duck ocean. It was originally a pond...
Today I have mainly been coughing up my lungs, or making coffee. But the rain has stopped; there is a hint of blue sky and I might have to take my cup of java, a small roll-up, the newspaper and myself out onto the patio; get the lilo, fishing rod and windcheater out and relax for a while...
- Most of the week has been a mixture of Triple S, Maxxess and Hammock, so today, as stated I had a Rush moment (and I'm still having it).
- I received a big box of the George RR Martin books; the ones about the Beatles meeting the Hobbits or something like that...
- I don't fucking believe it! Fishwife is having a big family bbq. A slither of blue sky appears and there they are loading unpleasant looking foods into this gazebo construct that has just appeared in the garden. I suppose I've just announced that I might go and sit out in the garden for a while, so what they're doing isn't that unusual and I am co-hosting a similar kind of thing next weekend; where if nothing else I will finally get to meet Will!
- Garage door.