A' Shaving Grace!

Grace had to go for an overnight to London last week for a hospital check up. Nothing serious we hope – results next week and I’ll let you know. In the meantime she has come back very glossy, fit and happy but with a rather odd shaved bit on her side and tum where she had been strapped to a heart monitor.

'A Close Shave' (c) T.Bush 2010

‘Couldn’t they have shaved in a logo...given her a ‘Nike flash’? My friend asks peering over a deceptively innocent Pimms. ‘You could have got some advertising revenue.’
There is a pause where we all wonder where we can get our hands on a stencil... Grace sighs.

Talking of shaving, Dad, who has already lost most of his hair to the chemo, texts me to say he has run out of eyebrows. I have to email my cousin in New York as I have run out of bad hair puns. (She is more ‘highbrow then I. ‘Nuff of that! Ed.) He goes back in for his treatment tomorrow with less hair but just as much chutzpah. My marvellous father!
Image from internet
Today I nip to the supermarket. I have assiduously prepared an ‘austerity list’ in line with my current finances which basically reads

1. Potatoes

I leave Grace at home knowing I will be faced by crowds of sullen, exhausted England fans mooching half-heartedly along aisles of buy-one-get-one-free BBQ sets, pushing trollies of screaming toddlers and aggressively blocking the frozen pizza aisles.

The World Cup would normally pass me by entirely except that this month I care about South Africa purely because my Dad is in Pretoria and I suspect if they lose a match the crime rate in will escalate exponentially. Very unfair of me I know......

Image from internet

I suppose I also have to care about England only because the madness infects people to the extent that when/if they are rubbish the entire country will feel like Asda did this morning.

Thinking about it makes me add ‘gin’ to my list. Image FIFA Poster

And so and so...I am now prepped and ready for a week of writing. I am trying for 1000 words a day on the novel just to get the blood flowing this week. But that’s tomorrow..today I may just hang out with the semi-shaven hound and watch the Dr. Who episodes I missed on IPlayer. Have a good week folks!

Pooling Resources

There has been a disruption in my blog flow and I must apologise. I am having a rather hard time with a minor bout of depression due to my continually walking into things I am sure I wasn’t walking into a few months ago. This, exam-material hand-in-time, Tories, Dad’s illness, phone bills, and weariness from the Bath-Cambridge commute have all conspired to dull any creativity or witty banter these last couple of weeks. But fear not! Summer has struck and I am rallying.

Iris In Rain (c) T. Bush 2010

Also I am happy to report that Dad has got through his first stages of treatment and although it was very tough and at times pretty hairy (well no longer ‘hairy’ sadly...but it will grow back..) he did it and the doctors did him proud! He is on a rest now for another couple of weeks to build his strength and weight back for the stem cell infusion. His partner D has been by his side all through this time and doing an excellent job of care, cajoling and encouraging. She is force feeding him steak and chips as I type!

Last weekend was glorious and although I was stuck inside on the computer I thought it only fair to buy Grace a paddling pool as she was struggling a little in the heat. Being a black dog she absorbs heat like an fat eskimo in a burkha.
At first she wasn’t sure.
Suspicous in fact...

But then she figured it out. (check the tail wag!)

Grace and Pool x 2 (c) T. Bush 2010

Dirty Girl

My flat is a tip. I am wading through teetering piles of paper, mostly study notes, bills and election leaflets. I ran out of hoover bags about..err...1998 actually and the dog has shed me a new carpet. There is stuff congealed on the cooker that seems to be sprouting tentacles and the fridge won’t open in embarrassment.
And it’s a bank holiday which means we woke to lashing rain and howling winds.
By midday the sun has made an effort and although there is no difference to the temperature, outside looks less arctic. Apart from that wind......As I watch a pigeon is blown backwards across the garden with a slightly baffled look on its face. I suit up for a brisk, bracing walk pulling on long johns, a big cardigan, extra socks and a rain coat and square my shoulders bravely harnessing up Grace but outside I am hit across the face by icy sodden blasts and my resolve dissolves. I whimper. Grace looks at me with disgust but I am defeated and retreat back into the warmth of the living room with its towering piles of detritus. Perhaps I could set fire to some for extra warmth?

(image from internet)
Dad skypes from Lusaka and we have the ‘Zambia’ skype conversation
‘....Can you see me?..’
‘Yes..no ..now I can..’
‘..... I’ve lost connection...Can you hear me?’
‘Yes..no ...now and now and...oops lost video..can you see me? ‘
Repeat to fade.

He is heading to Pretoria for his treatment next week which is both exciting and terrifying. Six weeks of tenter-hooks for us and tender bits for him. With the World Cup kicking off flights to visit him are exorbitant and impossible so I am going to check on the costs of sending myself by registered post.

We, Grace and I, are up to Bath again tomorrow and so with rather a lot of reading and marking up to be done I can see that the spring cleaning isn’t going to happen today. Perhaps when the sun comes out for real and the birds (and the pigs) start flying the right way round.

(I have to say so myself but isn't this the greatest photo of the hound to date!! )
'This Dog Has My Heart' (c) T.Bush 2010

H'Ash Browns

Why do they keep coming to the door when I am mid nap?
Obviously they clutch some kind of Star Trek scanning device to scour flats and houses for people who are in deep slumber (or what I like to term ‘research’.) They ring the bell again and again knowing that the person shambling towards the door is going to be at their most vulnerable, confused and potentially apathetic having been woken up from a deep unconscious and only wanting to return to the warmth of their beds. Like pirates they rely on the element of surprise giving them the edge and pounce with pens poking from their fingertips, clipboards activated, eyes narrowed in case of defensive manoeuvring.

‘Ah. Hello. May I ask if we can count on your vote? ‘

Me, with matted hair, smeared make up and creases from the pillow still on my cheek just dribbling and nodding.

‘Absolutely.’

Each time.

I think I’ve agreed to vote for the main three now and possibly the Greens. I might have signed up for the residents association, a local dairy delivery and Sky TV too...I forget..

Only the Labour canvasser had the audacity to try and get me to actually tick a box and take a poster, gently leaning forward and trying to insert it between my inanimate fingers. She touched me. A crucial mistake. I began to wake up.
‘Eh?’ I burbled. ‘Wha...? ‘
She saw I was rousing from my semi conscious and fled.

But then again there have been more pressing things then listening to insipid white men in ties on TV. My nephew whom we cherish because he is lovely and smart but also, if we are honest, mostly because he is very, very tall (and for us in the family under 5’ 4 ‘’ this is a truly marvellous thing.. we are genetically programmed to worship anyone over 6 ‘ 2’’ as a minor deity); anyway my nephew has been trying to get back from Lusaka for days. He went to visit my Dad for a couple of weeks over Easter and started back on Thursday. He got as far as Nairobi before ‘Iceland’s Revenge’ struck with a sky full of pumice ash and then had to improvise Cairo, Istanbul Rome...where he got stuck looking for space on a train. He has run out of phone battery, is low on dosh and not quite sure what and where to go next. There is a plan afoot for my Mum’s partner Silent John to go and pick him up from the Italian border.... its all sounds very exciting but possibly more than a little harrowing Hopefully he’ll be back afore my next post!

The sun came out at the weekend and immediately everyone got drunk. Kids went berserk on bikes and skateboards, roller-skates, and scooters. Exhausted parents clutching bottles of wine hunkered down on pavements to watch. Pub gardens overflowed with woozy adults, shoulder straps slipping off, t-shirts discarded, sunlight blindingly reflecting off fish-white skin.
Grace and I walked down by the river. Since her illness she has become quite shy and defensive with other dogs. She desperately wants to play and will whine and yelp and start a nervous approach before losing her nerve and jogging back to me looking embarrassed. I had met up for a quick shandy with a pal (I am keeping my toxicity levels as low as possible as the mo) but my friend on her second pint of Leff (an extremely strong wheat beer) got leery. As Grace edged towards a handsome retriever attached to a man and his two young daughters she started howling what she thought would be encouragement.
‘Go get ‘em Grace! Grrr!! Yeah Grace! Take ‘em down!’

This as you may guess is rather against the ‘guide dog code’.

‘Shut Up!’ I hissed furiously noting that the man was standing between Grace and his children with his hands spread out in a protective gesture and Grace was tearing towards him wagging her tail and thinking his outstretched arms were for her. In the end all was fine and Grace and the retriever went for a leisurely lollop and we got home before we were arrested.

I am staying in Cambridge this week ensuring that Grace rests and has fully charged mojo before we begin trekking back and forth to Bath again. I am missing my seminar group but the manuscript is slowing coming along and I have found my Tonga researcher who has accepted payment in Arsenal T-shirts! This is wonderful as my main character is a Tonga child from Monze who has found herself on the streets of Lusaka.
With thanks to her and in light of current events I thought these might tickle you

For the politicians out there: ‘Basokwe bakasekana bukolo’ ( equivalent to the pot called the kettle black but translates literally into 'The monkeys laughed at each other's backsides')

An for the voters: ‘Sibuzya takolwi bowa’ (one who asks never got poisoned by mushrooms - as in, you need to ask questions/directions and you won't ever get lost)

Thank you Beene! And thank you readers. How are you all doing out there under the ash cloud? Do let me know.

I see Spring!

Hito koishi hitobushi koro wo sakara chiru

'Yearning fills my heart

When the candles are lit:

Cherry blossom fall.'

Shirao Kayo (Edo Period)

A Ward Blog

Thanks all – my cold is long over and I am healthy as an ox. (And sadly beginning to look rather like one too. Time for spring diet. Sigh.)

OK, so do pray tell what this means -and apologies for those of you who get rigid with boredom when people open with the words ‘I had this really weird dream...’
Only I had this really weird dream. It wasn’t the first bit which began as a marvellous swash buckle of an adventure but which quickly became too surreal and annoying to be much fun.

I woke up.
Or thought I did.

Sleepily I followed Grace into the kitchen to feed her and noticed she had a large notice in pink writing stuck to her back. Realising I was STILL dreaming I looked closely and although blurred saw it was an invoice for my previous swash buckle dream.
My subconscious had just invoiced me for a rubbish dream?! How long has this been going on? Where can I complain?
How weird is that?
*******************
So that appointment for the sleep clinic rattled up to my door pretty quickly. After finding a dear friend to take the hound for the night I arrived somewhat anxious unsure of where they were going to stick what monitor.
Turns out I needn’t have worried. I was not on the ward with the rest of the sleep deprived. I was in the ‘disabled’ ward down by the nurses’ station with en-suite and a dud radiator. It was freezing but worth the privacy.

My Sleep Study (c) T. Bush 2010

A skinny, nervous man came down and stuck electrodes all over my head and legs and strapped some device to my chest. It is a strangely intimate process and the man insisted on rather gushing small talk.

‘I always try to chat with the patients,’ he said reaching under my arms to pass several wires down my t-shirt. ‘It helps put them at their ease.’

‘Really?’ I asked, feeling a little like I was in a play and there was a line I should respond with but hadn’t learnt. What does one say?
‘Well done. Does it ever actually work?’

Eventually I blagged an extra blanket from the nurses and was hooked up to the lap top by the bed and told to get some sleep.
The next day they did additional sleepiness tests which involved being asked to go back to sleep for 20 minutes every two hours but half way through I had a call from my lovely pal who had taken Grace. Grace was sick and I had to end the study and get back home. I did learn I have mild sleep apnea and my circadian sleep pattern is up the yazoo but more on that anon. I had to rush home.

And Grace was very sick. Voiding from both ends and exhausted. If she lay still she was alright but any movement caused her so much discomfort that she became agitated trying to lie, sit, stand, walk and climb up into my lap.

She has now seen the vet and is on the mend but it was a pretty horrible time for her and we are still not sure what caused it or if it is in anyway connected to her previous bouts of sickness.
So she is on a very strict rice and boiled chicken diet and was looking perkier ...until I nipped out to the shops last night and she managed to find and eat almost an entire pat of butter plus foil wrapping that I had left in the kitchen to defrost. Oddly enough she is now looking a bit uncomfortable again.... Ahh the joys of a dog’s digestive system. Dontcha just LURVE my blog?!!

Grumpy, Sleepy, Bashful and Doc.

Is it me or is it a little creepy that for the last four days here in UK all news has been been head-lining the kidnap and release of the little five year old lad in Pakistan? It is a two day story at most and surely doesn’t lead over the breakdown of the Israeli-Palestinian talks, the near extinction of the tuna fish or Beckham’s Achilles heel? I just don’t get it and immediately suspect massive conspiracy and cover up...

Well, I am grumpy.

I have a cold.

Its the kind of cold that blocks one and a half of your ears when you blow your nose making you list to one side usually into other people walking along the pavement. Its the kind of rubbish cold that threatens the imagination with flu and strep throat and bronchitis but only ever really produces phlegm. It hope it will sod off and I will wake up tomorrow fresh and without the puffy and unformed face of semi sucked jelly baby but now I worry that is just the state of my face

Anyway, its one of those things right. Like spending a small fortune on bird food then dropping a 6 litre bag of premium bird seed on the kitchen floor mid sneeze and managing to kick half of it under the fridge whilst skidding around trying to keep upright.
My, how we laughed.

That was until I tipped a plateful of warm melted butter into my lap trying to eat fish one handed whilst playing catch with the dog. I know, I know...I really do need to find a responsible adult to be on call at all times....

And talking of that I did get to spend a few days with my Mum who popped over from France. She flew into Bristol, spent a couple for days with me in the vicarage and trained with me back to Cambridge. It was lovely to see her and not really long enough but she left me with a new cafeteria, a bunch of sweet narcissus and some excellent new cleaning products – which given the buttery fish stains on the carpet, was the perfect present.

Mum and Sister: (c) T. Bush 2010
Today I also had a most interesting trip to another hospital,, where (unlike the last place I wrote about hiss boooo) the staff seem to genuinely be quite interested in the patients. I was so taken aback when the doctor actually introduced himself and offered to shake my hand I nearly fell off my seat.
I was there to have an interview about sleeplessness and sight loss and I have agreed to go back to their sleep laboratory in a few weeks time where they are going to wire me up to a load of machines that go ‘beep’. . I can’t believe they will find anything exciting and I have already apologised for wasting their time but they all seemed terrifically eager. And it might be quite good fun; a night out with someone else cooking and half a dozen people analyzing your snoring.

image from internet
‘I’m afraid you can’t bring your dog though,’ The doc looks apologetically at Grace.

‘ I’ll break it to her gently,’ I say.

Back in the full waiting room the woman behind the reception desk waves wildly in my direction and then in a stage whisper hisses; ‘As you can’t bring you dog, will you require any,,,,’ ( here she makes large circles around her eyes and head for emphasis) ‘,,,,Special Treatment?’

The room goes quiet.

‘Yes’ I say ‘I’d like everyone to be exceptionally nice to me.’

The receptionist nearly falls off her seat with giggles and I get a spattering of applause from the rest of the waiting room.

Sometimes the old lines are the best....