People Dropping Dead or Trying To

Listened to the Mighty 'Ding overcome the stoical (but thankfully goal-shy) Swansea yesterday in the League Cup ... and also heard across the radio waves that the Nottingham Forest v. Leicester match was abandoned at half time, due to one of Leicester's players (Clive Clark) suffering two heart failures during the break (he's still alive thank goodness). This comes on the back of a 22-year-old Sevilla player collapsing during a match and dying shortly afterwards (again from heart failure), along with a 16-year-old Walsall youth player suffering the same fate during training but a few weeks back. What is going on? Is this proof that being uber-fit is actually bad for you???

I find the Tour de France pretty grotesque for this reason. When you watch a 20-something cyclist ascending the Pyranees, literally foaming at the mouth from the effort, I'm not so much impressed as freaked out. Why put your body through that? And marathon runners??? How is pushing your body so hard, that you morph from a normal person into a string bean, actually good? It seems like a weird kind of masochism to me. Now I know football is not quite on the same level but these days footballers do seem to be pushing themselves ever harder. Is this the payback??

On a similar note I heard that Owen Wilson (a former favourite of your truly) is currently hospitalised, having tried to kill himself. Oh lordi. Money and talent and fame don't get you nothing but heartache. Getting super-fit just gets you dead. Suddenly being a slightly chubby nobody seems a very cosy thing indeed!

Wide Open Space

The Mighty 'Ding lost today so we won't talk of them. Instead I will mention Staff Day which took place yesterday. You spend the morning listening to lectures (not too taxing thank god as was nursing monster hangover due to the Swiss Miss and a jug of Long Island Ice Tea. Ugg) followed by an afternoon on Hampstead Heath. I've said this before but Hampstead Heath rocks. Nice weather, lie back, stuff your nosh hole with free food and wine, and just enjoy the company. Still have a slight hangover mind.

Also you may have noticed I've made a few wee changes to the layout of the blog and whilst looking for a suitable piccie for my profile, I found the place I would most like to live in. I came across this ruined church a few years back in Belfast. But if you want to read its sad tale click here: www.cavehill.freeuk.com/campaigner.htm.

Chances of me ever living in a place like this (and thus probably featuring on "Grand Designs") are, I realise, very very low. But I can dream. Cavehill and the surrounding country park is absolutely one of my favourite places. If you're ever in Belfast, you must take a look...

Today I Will Be Mostly...

Cleaning out the work coffee filter and bringing it back to life, so I never have to be not wired again. And telling people to go and see "The Bourne Ultimatum" because it's bluddy marvellous.

Suddenly...

When I am "accidently" browsing the internet, I discover that there is no longer a dearth of Leonardo Nascimento de Araujo piccies. Most are still rubbish but here's one to make me smile. I need a little cheer. Today was so dull I nearly fell into a trance. I hate boredom. I am full of better things than boredom. I browsed some jobs on the internet today but they were BORING.

EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT WHINGE WHINGE WHINGE EDIT EDIT EDIT BLAH BLAH EDIT WHINGE WHINGE RANT RANT

Looking at the lovely Leonardo might well help. Ooooooh yes it does. Goodo.

Mexican Man in Pants

Am just recovering from the first (should I make it an annual event??) Gael Garcia Bernal night. Mmmmm mmmm mmmm and a hubba hubba hubba etc. Three GGB films in a row, accompanied by much cheese and booze. The belly is feeling a little worse for wear now but never mind.

First off was Amores Perros. Very good, very long, very hardcore, and might inspire a personal vow never to go to Mexico City (unless it's full of GGB lookalikes). GGB very hot, got quite injured at one point. Top marks.

Then onto Dot the I, a truly stupid Brit film made bearable only by the presence of the Mexican hottie. Almost in the category of so bad it was good. Scripting, acting, everything, very very stupid. GGB still very hot though, and sporting a very mysterious/attractive half Brit/half Brazilian accent.

Finally El Crimen Del Padre Amaro which I had been looking forward too much. Not since that bloke out of Thornbirds (maybe) and "Father Fit" in Sunset Beach has there been a hotter priest doing bad things on the small screen. GGB donned the dog collar and looked lovely doing it. Although it was quite perturbing seeming him play such an irredeemable character.

As someone who thinks ALL religion is a nonsense I would like to say that I would seriously consider converting to Catholicism if GGB was the local priest. Especially if he was offering the special "bible" classes Father Amaro was offering!!

A lil message to Bems, who couldn't make it to GGB night, and said that she thought GGB was a "little too pig-faced" for her liking. I respect your right to individual taste. But that is poor judgement!! And Monky I am looking forward to your "The Rock" night. He may be a terrible actor, but sometimes that just isn't important!

Finally. just to rectify my lack of "Ding" talk lately, the mighty ones got their first win of the season yesterday (1-0 over Everton). Lurch (Bikey) and the Evil Leprechaun (Hunt) were on sparkling form, and it saw the return of the much missed Bobby Convey. And can't forget to mention Mr Hahnemann, who Monky might be interested to know has "written" a book:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Marcus-Hahnemanns-Premiership-Diary-Hahnemann/dp/190544933X/ref=pd_sxp_f_r/026-3821088-7713212

My God, it's even got a topless picture of him on the front. Ugg.

DIY Carnage

Everything covered in paint. Smell of turps everywhere. Skin and hair manky. I still hate decorating. Am still nowhere near finishing.

Note to self: never attempt to strip a door with several layers of paint on. One full bottle of stripper won't suffice. Door will be left looking like shite. Bedroom will be left looking like battlefield. Smell also very bad.

Should I Watch....

"Malcolm and Barbara: Love's Farewell" on ITV tonight?

http://www.alzheimers.org.uk/malcolmandbarbara/index.htm

I think I am going to, though I know that this is going to be immensely grim viewing. My grandparents both have dementia, and recently have been taken out of their home, following a long and humiliating struggle to live independently, and together. This weekend I will visit them for the first time in a long time, and I will have to gather my courage for this. But as Ma Ding can bear witness to it's so important to know what you're getting into, when you start caring for relatives with this disease. The stress of it can break a family up. Ma Ding had to preside over the dividing of their belongings a few days ago (everyone apparently forgot that it also happened to be Ma Ding's birthday, and instead it dissolved into unsavoury scrapping and sniping). What a way to say goodbye to the family home, eh? Here's praying that the future for this generation holds something better. Best to get prepared for the worst though...

Recovery Time (Another Boring Installment).

Being officially sick is no bad thing. Not properly sick, just officially sick you understand. Though can't say my days off have been super relaxing. Trouble is with time off is there's just so many things to do. And deciding to redecorate my bedroom seemed such a good idea.

Ma Ding came over to assist the last couple of days, with the stripping down and preparing of the walls, telling me on the phone how she would not be allowing me to do anything strenuous. However her sympathy pretty much ran out when she saw I was fine, and when Schwesty gave her the low down on how I'd spent a fair part of my recovery lying in Regent's Park drinking cider, and jigging around to the (as always marvellous) Seth Lakeman (a word to Shaggy who visited me over the weekend, who is having a shitty time at the mo, and who survived my company, my frankly awful Spinach Frittata - grit in your omelette is not a sign of a good chef I hear - and the baffling entertainment we offered, with ever good heart).

HOWEVER NOW I AM ON MY OWN, I AM SICK OF ALL THE DUST AND NOT BEING ABLE TO GET TO MY CLOTHES WITHOUT UPSETTING AN INCH THICK LAYER OF GRIME, OF NOT HAVING AN ACCESSIBLE BED, AND WORST OF ALL, HAVING GOT NOWHERE NEAR FINISHING, WITH ALL ASSISTANCE HAVING GONE HOME / GONE ON HOLIDAY. ARGGGGGGGG. IT LOOKS LIKE A DERELICT HOSPITAL.

Am currently trying to persuade myself to continue sanding before going down the shops to buy some samplers. Oh but it will be beautiful (better than the wonderful pink and yellow colour scheme of the previous owner). This is what I am telling myself. Over and over again. Reckon I've got at least another day or so of hard graft before it's even ready for the final finish. And that's completely ignoring the bare, untreated, rough as shit, floorboards.

Post-Op Update

Well hurrah I am back home following my visit to the chop-shop, and already indecently bored. Once the soreness subsides I must not waste my two weeks off (sadly the four weeks promised has been downgraded boo!). Anyway here is my lovely (and rather long) review of abdominal surgery:

Anaesthesia is cool. They didn't ask me to count backwards like they did last time, though, which was very disappointing. Instead, they suddenly remembered that they hadn't yet consented me for the op, so with my mind already starting to go a bit woo-hoo, I scribbled where they pointed and then blacked out.

When I woke up in recovery I had a nice male nurse chatting to me. I then inexlicably burst into tears. He looked suitably concerned, and asked if it was the pain. In fact it was just anaesthesia related lunacy. But you can't beat a good non-sensical weep every so often, so as they wheeled me to the "Stepdown" ward, I had a good sob and then got over myself. How at this point I staved off the sickness I do not know, because for the next few hours all I could think about was how I was just about to spew, and that they'd not given me a spew-pot. Schwesty then appeared with grapes and jam doughnuts, having wandered the corridors aimlessly for a good while, as did a man with the most unappetising plate of Macaroni Cheese EVER. And then, after feeling grim for a bit longer, and seemingly sweating out the drugs, I finally came out the other side of the mist, and felt rather better, nibbling on some grapes, and feeling sympathy for the lady opposite, who appeared to be in rather a worse state.

The doc then came round, and explained what they'd done, and showed me some actual photos from my operation, which were simultaneously gross and brilliant. If you've never seen your insides, I wouldn't overly recommend it. They're not pretty. However I was in agreement with the doc that they looked better after the surgery than before it, which was ultimately the aim I suppose. So having gathered my wits, my clothes, and my spirits, I was allowed home. The half hour taxi journey was slightly challenging, and all the spew that had threatened earlier, made an appearance pretty much as soon as I got home. Ugg. But then I happily lay myself down on the sofa, watched shite TV, and poked my belly gingerly (the doc said they'd put lots of liquid in it, to stop everything "sticking together" and that I wasn't to be concerned if it made squishy sounds for a day or so).

I had to change one dressing this morning, which I found was a bit of an ordeal, because I discovered that they'd made one of the incisions in my beloved belly button, and now it looks a bit maimed!! What is also odd, is that when I cough or laugh, not only does it hurt, but it also feels like my insides might pop out of the newly created holes. Now that would be disturbing if it happened...

But things that are definitely cool about surgery... two weeks off work. Yes!!!! And also knowing that you've got lots of lovely friends who care about you. Thanks esp. to Monky, who had no such support from me when she went through surgery a few years back.... only one person remains notable in their silence. I just hope for their sake that it's not a sign of a personal crisis, but rather just thoughtlessness, cos I would gladly hear from them again and rebreak the ice.

Two-Bit News

Well, just when the day couldn't get any better, the hospital rang up to tell me that a slot for surgery had come up for tomorrow and could I make it in? Talk about short bleeding notice. I asked the nice lady how long it would take to recover, and she said four weeks. Apologies for all the italics here but I was a little shocked. I thought a day or two of whimpering on the sofa ought to be sufficient. So I broke the news to my work colleagues who were suitably sympathetic, but will surely be cursing my name tomorrow when they see the stack of half done work I've left them to do. Luckily my boss is on holiday so I didn't have to witness a nervous break down in progress. Oh dear. What timing.

I'm not the sort to get nervous about going under the knife, but the thought of staying overnight in hospital doesn't fill me with joy either. I know too much about the way they're run these days to rest truly easy. But such is life, and some prodding and poking is essential to stop the innards falling apart. And the time off work. Now that has got to be a good thing ... Mrs Pedro has already been discussing the daytime TV schedule with me, to make sure I don't waste any precious hour that could be spent watching a repeat of ER or Deal or No Deal.

The biggest worry has to be that I've got a front row ticket for Seth Lakeman this coming Sunday. I'm sure I will be well enough (I WILL be well enough) but possibly I won't be able to jig along as merrily as I would wish to. Poor show. But I can be comforted by the good news that the Devon Nerd Boy will be supported by none other than Mr Teddy Thompson for his autumn tour. Two "folk" idols one night. Bluddy brilliant!

Now off to pack my little bag of jim-jams and pants and other essential things, and to begin my fast. Blurggghh. I wonder if anyone will bring me grapes. Naz offered but I put him off by telling him I was having my eye removed. He's a little squeamish...