It’s a MR E

I’ve always been forgetful and absent minded, but living with Whizz has made me more aware of my shortcomings in this area. It’s not that he ever criticises me, but he has such an amazing brain that I can’t help comparing my own to his. Lately, probably due to work overload, I have become TERRIBLE at keeping to appointments. I have an electronic diary, it bongs at me (when the sound is turned on), but somehow I still get things wrong. About three weeks ago I got home from work and was pottering around while planning dinner, when the phone rang.

‘Mrs Lil?’

‘Ye-e-es?’

It’s Tinkle Dental Surgery here.’

A pause then, ‘Oh my God. Am I supposed to be there?!!! I am aren’t I? I’m SO SORRY.’

The voice smiles, ‘Don’t worry. We can make another appointment.’

We did.

Now the problem with my dentist is that her days off coincide with mine, which means that I have to go to her after work, something I am not in the habit of doing. I made a new appointment on a Monday evening, and spent the next week terrified of forgetting it again.

Monday came and I was delayed slightly at work. When I escaped, I dived into my car, parked, sprinted across the car park and up the stairs to the dentist’s reception desk gasping for breath. ‘So sorry I’m late.’ I panted, ‘ I got held up at work .’

The young and very chipper young man behind the desk, looked at me over his computer monitor and asked for my name, then he stared at the screen for a minute and looked worried.

I got that sinking feeling. ‘Have I missed it again?’

‘I don’t seem to have… Oh wait a moment, here you are… Your appointment’s next week not tonight.’

Dammit!

The following week  I managed to arrive after the poor Hygienist had gone home. ‘I hate my life,’ I moaned to the amused receptionist, and banged my head on the desk several times.

We decided that Monday evenings wouldn’t work for me, and then it transpired that I could have a weekend appointment – who knew?’

My new appointment will be on 29th December. Lovely way to spend part of the Christmas break.

Despite my mental shortcomings, Whizz and I get along pretty well, mainly because, in some areas, our interests collide, and we share the same, sad sense of humour. When we walk the dog our discussions can be quite lively as I have reported here in the past.

On a recent tromp around the quarry I remarked that historically, love songs by men about women have focused on their looks only. I didn’t quote it but in fact the worst case of this I can think of, came from a childhood  78 record called The Girl That I Marry, who, according to the lyrics, ‘…will have to be, as soft and as pink as a nursery,’ and  ”stead of flittin’ I’ll be sittin’ next to her and she’ll purr like a kitten.’ Yuck. I wonder if he found her and whether she became suicidal after a week of marriage.

Anyway, Livin’ Doll is pretty naff: ‘Got myself a cryin’ walkin’ sleepin’ talkin’ livin’ doll.’ and Poetry in Motion, walkin’ by my side,’ etc. I felt that things have changed for the better until Whizz pointed out that in modern times, women  say or rap about men in a similar way. Could they not sing about their partner’s brains for a change? I need another walk with Whizz to devise some lyrics.

(By the way, I’m not old enough to have purchased 78 records. We had a collection of 78s handed down by my grandparents. The collection shrank each time we moved house, when many were broken.)

Back to our walk. I started picking on Happy Families – you know -the card game. I realised the all the men had the jobs, and the women were their wives: Mr Bun the baker, Mrs Bun the baker’s wife, and so on.

Happy Families - Family Fun Playing Cards

Whizz and I began to explore what a modern Happy Families pack might comprise, and this kept us occupied for ages. Here are some of the cards we came up with:

  • Master Race, the Neo-Nazi
  • Miss Tified, the Quantum Physicist
  • Major Cost, the plumber
  • Mrs Singh, the choir leader
  • Dr Facts, the US President
  • Professor Doubt, the Consultant
  • Councillor Couple, the Sex Therapist
  • Pastor Sellbydate, the Health Inspector
  • Mr Call the contact Centre Operative

Then Whizz got that twinkle in his eye. ‘And not forgetting,’ he grinned, ‘ Mrs Appointments, the Author?’

Haw haw, very funny.

Tripping (not the kind that takes you up, but the one that plummets you down)

I found this post in my drafts. I’d written it a couple of months ago. I am no longer taking Warfarin, but a new drug. I am still going to the gym though and have lost 1st 3.5 lbs in weight.

Recently, through chanting Nam Myoho Renge Kyo, I determined to change my eating karma and lose weight. This declaration of intent was partly because of a second pulmonary embolism and the subsequent need to take anti-coagulants for the rest of my life – I am now on Warfarin.

For the uninitiated, Warfarin, as well as being rat poison, makes you bleed more easily. Ridiculously, since I have been on the medication, I have tripped and fallen three times (I can’t remember anything about the first fall now). It might be true to say that the Mystic Law intervened to protect me when I had the second two falls.

Fall number 2:

Because of my tablets, and because it makes me fat, I am told to drink only in moderation – well that should apply to us all but I’ve never been a great one for listening to advice on what is best for me. To paraphrase the doctor or at least to translate to something more acceptable to me: Ideally don’t drink, but if you must drink then don’t fall over.

The occasion was a funeral wake. The deceased was a lady of nearly 101 years, and her demise was not a shock so there wasn’t an enormous amount of sadness. We all sat in the garden, and the sun shone. Children played, wine flowed and I, who was ‘trying not to drink too much’, accepted a large glass of wine. Later I agreed to a top-up, and when a second top up was not forthcoming and the alcohol had its grip on me, I decided to help myself to a third glassful from the fridge in the kitchen (hangs head in shame).

I jumped from my garden chair and hastened to the doorway, whereupon I tripped on the threshold and pitched head first onto the kitchen floor. My glass shattered and everyone rushed to my assistance as I lay, winded and prone (prone to accidents, ha ha).

Be Careful What you Wish For
What else would I use as an image for spilt wine than my book cover? Click on it to buy it

 

This fall  was clearly intended by the Universe, to help in my quest to cut down on my drink. It did. I had the only big glass in the  house so I had to move on to a smaller one (boom, boom).  Also, I had forgotten to take my Warfarin the evening before so bleeding was not such a danger.

Fall number 3:

Since that fall and not because of it, I have joined Mince Monde. If you read this blog regularly you will know that I have run the gauntlet of diet writers and organisations since I was about 16, so I’m not going to reiterate my much repeated determination that this time it is for life. Anyway, my membership of the slimming organisation is free, thanks to my local NHS authority, who want to help the overweight for, I assume, preventative reasons. Not only have I received 12 weeks free at Mince Monde but am entitled to 3 free sessions with a personal trainer and reduced rates, at a local gym – also for 12 weeks.

determination.jpg
Tried to find the source of this image. Thanks to this website https://www.nationoflights.com/the-shift-blog-2017/2017/11/20/ohhh-the-rat-race-i-am-in-and-the-greater-understandings-thru-it and also this video maker https://veblr.com/watch/361d909a7938/rat-gym-workout-most-funny-video?lang=mr. Many thanks to its creator.

The gym was the scene of my next tumble. I started my exercise session on the cross trainer. After the recommended 5 minutes, and breathing a little more heavily,  I dismounted and headed for the weights. Sadly, I failed to notice a small step down from the area where the cross trainers and treadmills sat, and crashed to the floor. There was more concerned rushing to help, with suggestions that I sit for a while and drink water. ‘I’m absolutely fine,’ I insisted, oh my ego, and scuttled off towards the location of my next activity, round the corner, to examine the damage.

I had bashed my knee, and my shin had landed painfully on the edge of the step, but I was still standing. I did worry a bit about the potential size of the bruise, and the impact on my already over-worked knee. Amazingly, when tested the following day, my INR (clotting rate) had dropped to 1.8, too low. I had been protected again.

The most ignominious part of the above tale is that the following day, when my knee felt as though I should be a bit careful, I went to the pharmacy to buy a tubular support bandage. They had many sizes, the largest of which, was XL. I rolled it over the damaged joint and pulled down my trouser leg to cover it. Through the fabric could be seen the deep channel encircling my lower thigh, where the top of the bandage dug into the fat and, it has to be said, it was bl**dy uncomfortable. Many thanks to the staff at Windmill Pharmacy for letting me try it on then refunding my money. Oh well, this time next year Rodney…

I hadn’t made the connection before but I started falling over in November 2015, see this post. I think this was about the time when I had my varifocals upgraded because my eyesight had become significantly worse (sigh).

I insist that alcohol and age were not factors.