I’ve gained 1kg this week (2.2lbs). I am not happy.
However, I’m off to the Lake District to do some walking, which will probably help with damage limitation. See you later in the week. xx
Archive for December, 2006
No, I have not been trapped int he condiments aisle of Tesco. I made it out alive, and put together a lovely summer fruits pavlova for Boxing Day.
I survived Christmas with the various families, and I will post more on that later.
Today I went back to work, and it was fab. There were parking spaces and everything!! Got lots of letters out to people who’ve been off sick for six months, telling them we’re going to cut their pay. Hurrah. Happy New Year!
xx
Christmas Eve.
I’ve iced my christmas cake and decorated it. (God knows why, its not going on display anywhere, and its only us eating it!!). I’ve got to make one last mad-dash to Tesco for a second pavlova base because the pacakging people lull you into a false sense of security with the size of the box, and then, when you open the box, what you thought was a hubcap-sized pavlova, is in fact the size of a small tea-plate. Shit. That’s never going to feed six people…………
There had better not be long queues. I need as much time as possible today to revise for the very competitive evening of Trivial Pursuit I will be subjected to tomorrow.
Wish me luck!
Last night was our christmas dinner and dance. Good food, good company and good dancing – though the DJ was a bit rubbish. Not enough decent cheesy 80’s music to dance to.
Anyway – I spent most of last night in the bathroom as my digestive system rejected its intakes for the previous 24 hours. Meh. At least I won’t have to count those calories……
What’s worse is that the germs (probably a virus) that gave me my chest-infection are no longer sitting dormant, and have reared their mucous-inducing heads again. I am full of cold, cough – and dangerously, the chest infection is on its way again so much quicker than before.
I refuse to take any more antibiotics. If I’ve got a virus, they’re pointless anyway. I don’t want another bout of thrush for christmas, either.
Meh. I’m gonna try and ride it out.
xx
I’d like you to bring up an image of Vikki Pollard from Little Britain in your mind’s eye. Think chubby girl, blonde hair, too much make-up, dressed in pink.
This is Lisa.
She even talks like Vikki Pollard. Every conversation, every phone or text message begins with ‘OK. ….’. You wouldn’t believe how close the Little Britain character is to real life.
Anyway, Lisa was a sickly child, who grew into a sickly teenager, and then a sickly adult. You know the sort – always too tired to do anything, except going clubbing. She wasn’t hugely bright, but if she had paid more attention to her studies than to her eye-liner, she could have been something. Anyhow, she tried being a nursing auxillary for a while, but eventually it all became too much for her (you know, the getting up and going to work every day) and she went off sick.
For months
And Months.
Until finally they let her go.
I lost touch with her for a while, but then she turned up with LowlifeWaster, a lad who seemed less bright than her, who had promised her the world, but hadn’t really thought about how his plans would work out in real life. He didn’t have a job, but he’d proposed to her, and she’d accepted. In short, he was a Twat.
Having heard very little from Lisa for months, I suddenly got a message to say she was pregnant. Surprised? Me? Of course not. How long would Mr Twat stick around, I wondered……
Baby Tyrone was born in July 2006, and Mr Twat is still around. They’re waiting for the Council to find them a house, but in the meantime she’s started working in a shop for a bit of pocket money, and he’s found himself a job in a pub. I wonder what that poor little child will grow up into with role-models like that, but I remain guardedly optimisitc.
Badger bumped into Lisa in McDonalds this week. It was the first time he’d seen her in well over a year, and obviously the first time he’d seen the baby. Lisa appeared to have grown up a bit, he says. The responsibility of bringing up a child appears to have woken something up in the girl.
Lets try to hope so. Otherwise, she’ll be like Vikki, on her own with six or seven kids in a council flat, telling people that her situation is the government’s fault.
I’ve probably mentioned before that I live in Essex. What’s more, I was born and raised here. If you meet me (and you’re not local), you’ll probably not be able to place my accent, because although I sound like I’m definitely from the South East, I don’t have the stereotypical Essex accent.
I should explain to those of you who are not familiar. There are at least three distinguishable Essex accents. Mid-Essex (that’s me); Northern, Rural Essex, which has a country twang and blurrs the edges of Essex and Suffolk in its sound; and lastly the Southern Essex ‘London Overspill’ accent, which is a slightly softer and more lazy version of East London. Think about the way they speak in Eastenders, but a bit softer.
Southern Essex is the accent of the Essex Girl and Essex Boy. It has too many vowel sounds in it, and not enough consonants. Say “Leeeeve id Ahhhhhyyttt” (leave it out), and you’ll get my drift. Visit Romford, Grays, South Ockendon, Corringham, Basildon and Southend, and this is how people will sound. They will probably also be wearing a variety of ill-fitting sportswear, too much jewelery and if female, too much pink.
Since I’ve lived here all my life, you’d think it wouldn’t come as a shock to me – but its still a surprise when I spot a couple or an entire family of true, sterotypical Essex people while out shopping. Its all I can do not to stand and stare. ….
Today I went to Lakeside, so I have only myself to blame.
I was surrounded by them. 14 year-old girls with more eye-make-up on than your average drag-queen at a seaside gig, lads in jogging-bottoms with shoulders so rounded, I was concerned about their bone-structure as they sloped and shuffled round the place. Women with double-buggies in pink body-warmers with fur hoods, their babies and toddlers dressed in matching furry pink outfits with expensive Nike kiddy-trainers. They were bad enough to look at, but when they spoke, I was transfixed.
One lady (must have been about 21 ish) was sprawled over the Catalogues in Argos, with her hoody-top wearing boyfriend who looked about 17 (he was probably older).
“Eeer, whassit called that fing ya want, then?” Says she
“Look.” says the lad, jabbing a page in the book with his finger “Thassaone. Wiv the dymons onnit.”
“Kendo!” screams the woman, her eyes looking about the floor. I assume she’s calling some male child of hers, rather than the martial art. “Kendo – go and find err!”
Again, I think she must be asking small male child to find smaller female child, though I can see neither at this point. Woman and lad preoccupy themselves with the catalogue once again. From their conversation she is going to buy him some item of hideous jewellery – something they both seemed really excited about.
Then, small pink child (must be the female one) starts grizzling to mummy. She doesn’t make any articulate sounds. The woman says to the lad as she’s filling in the catalogue number on the little slip ”Gaaah raaahhnd the corner, Chris, an’ take errr to the toilet. You can just wait for ahhh, ahhhyt-side, while I get this.”
The lad says nothing and carries on looking at the catalogue while the woman wanders off leaving three kids wandering about the store. The small boy (I’m guessing this is Kendo) is running and skidding along the polished floor on his knees, while the smallest girl who appears to be known as ‘Errr’ is trying to climb up the shelves while still grizzling. The third child, an older girl of about seven, suddenly launches herself up at the catalogue station, so she can hook her arms up and look at the pages next to Chris.
This seems to wake Chris from his diamante-admiring trance. “Right, come on Tanyaaaah, we’re gahhhn-ah take Lills to the toilet.” He turns and ushers the two girls out of the shop with the younger one screaming.
Unbelieveable. You just couldn’t make it up.
I refuse to be tarred with the same brush as these people.
Following a 3 course meal at a restaurant this week, I’m still doing ok. Another half kilo has gone, so in 4 weeks I’ve lost 4 kilos. (That’s 8.8lbs and well over a half-stone).
Not bad. Not bad at all.
Week 5 ends in another Christmas Meal, but there’s dancing involved – so hopefully that will help burn some calories off! Next weigh-in is Christmas Eve……
Hopefully I can at least shift another half kilo (1lb) in the coming week.
xx
Although its well before 10pm, I’m off to bed. I’m exhausted.
Its been a busy few weeks and its starting to catch up with me.
Today my team and I went out for Christmas lunch at a very nice local Italian restaurant. It was lovely, and I haven’t felt the need to eat a third meal today. A little worried I’ve overdone the calories for Cakewatch, but I didn’t have any chips, or pasta – so perhaps I’ve got away with it.
Off work tomorrow (yay!) and an unplanned weekend stretches before me……
MmmmmmZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz………………………….
I’ve been invited to a ‘Hag Party’.
I believe it means a combined Hen and stAG party. There will be much drinking and falling over.
Sounds like a laugh.
Anyone been to one before? Any tips?
Well, since I had my chest infection, it took me around seven weeks to shift the germs, helped by two prolonged periods of antibiotics and a Becotide inhaler to try and calm the lively asthmatic lungs down a bit. Side effects = one bout of thrush (*), fading and returning voice and feeling very tired for over a month. (Mind you – work has been very busy too).
I booked an appointment at my GP’s Asthma Clinic, which is a somewhat grandiose title for meeting a nurse on a Tuesday evening to make sure you know how to take your meds and sort out any new prescriptions you might be running out of.
I knew it had been a while since I’d visited the Asthma Clinic, since my Dr’s receptionist had started leaving ransom notes on my repeat prescriptions with phrases like “We will not give you any more meds until you book in with the asthma clinic”.
Yeah right. Anyone would think asthma wasn’t a life-threatening illness.
Anyway, since I’d had asthma problems as a side-effect of my chest infection, the time was right to get a check up, so I went along this evening. I told the nurse I was pleased to be better after nearly two months and two lots of antibiotics, and now that I was better I’d stopped taking my Becotide(**). She grimaced.
“Not good?”
“Well no. Do you think you’ve been a bit naughty in stopping your steriods so early? A bit premature, perhaps?”
“Not really. Until this episode I haven’t taken the Becotide for about 5 years, and I’ve managed fine. “
She explained that if I caught another cold, perhaps I should at least have a spare one to get going with straight away. I think she realised she wasn’t going to win an argument with me, but she twisted my arm about being prepared for next time, and I agreed to a repeat prescription.
I did my peak flow and I was fine. Up to 430 again. Great.
The she said I could go.
Really? Is that it?
Yes.
Could I come back in a year’s time, though? Just to make sure I’m seen once a year.
Turns out today was my first clinic appointment for nine years. Since I last went along in 1997 I’ve got married, seperated, got divorced and have started a new long-term relationship that’s already three years in.
But then the clincher – It transpires that the surgery get paid for every preventative health-care appointment they have – they get bonus points if they can get their chronic patients (asthma, diabetes, hypertension etc) in once a year too.
And there was me thinking they were doing it for my benefit.
*I won’t go into too much detail, but imagine rubbing sand into your most delicate areas, especially the areas you pee from. That’s kind of what thrush feels like. Very uncomfortable. I don’t recommend it.
**Becotide is a steriod and a ‘preventer’ drug, often taken in an inhaler format. It helps to reduce the inflammation in the asthmatic lung when used regularly and reduces the frequency of asthma attacks, so you need your blue reliever inhaler much less often.
