A party pooper. Yep in the immortal words of Britney Spears "Ooops we did it again".
After spoiling the Hibs CIS Cup win party at Fester Road on the 1st April us Jambo's managed to put a dampner on the Celtic League victory party at Darkheid yesterday with a nice 3-1 over them.
It was made all the sweeter by the fact we were give a penalty (nicely donated by the self styled Mr Hearts Steven Pressley). Penalties given at Darkheid against the 'Tic are few and far between. The last one being some 16 months ago.
We've had an up and down season us Jambo's and that poor spell back in autumn has cost us but we are the only team to have beaten Celtic twice this season and we are the only team to have put 3 past them (in fact we were the last team to put 3 past them as well with a 3-0 victory at Tynie exactly a year ago today).
Say what you like about Mr Romanov and his behaviour but these last 2 seasons have been the first I can recall were I have gone into games against either half of the Old Firm and not felt a draw would be a good result. We no longer fear them. And that has made a huge difference to us.
This season is all but over. But we're not in the place of playing games which mean nothing though. Nah the Jambo's like to take things to the wire nowadays and we're still in with a shout of disposing Aberdeen and stealing European football from them next season. We play them next in what is a massive game....just as we played them last season to clinch our Champions league spot. It's all still to play for!
'Mon the JT's!
Jenny xx
Monday, April 30, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
My Opinion...
So Ross (all round good guy and great with oap's) and his sacking made it into the local press. Ross admits in the piece he regrets the whole episode and good for him that he seems to be big enough to admit that maybe he made some errors in judgement.
Now the thing is, I know first hand what Ross has gone through and how and why this all came about. You see I have been there and done that myself with the same people. Calm down readers (for readers - read members in high places within a certain establishment which has grass you can't walk on without special shoes)I am not about to spill all on what happened with me, but I am about to write a wee opinion and as they say on the news when they do the football scores, if you don't want to know then look away now.
Anyway my point is this, this whole mess (and believe me it is a mess) could have been sorted out with just a smidgen of common sense and a sprinkling of intelligence.
The Club has had it's name dragged into the press. There's a whole load of Bloggers who have read the piece and are now typing away on their own Blogs about the Club and what the decision means for Bloggers. In addition the comments left about the article on the paper's website show a number of people who are in support of Ross and it seems a fair few of them seem to be members. So in effect the Club, in their decision to sack Ross rather than try to handle and discuss the matter in house, have only suceeded in their actions to draw even more attention to the Blog and to heighten Ross' stature as a Blogger. I'm sure his stat count will show a fair number of new hits to the site over these last few days...I know mine's has rocketed since my own sacking. In effect then the Club have only gone and made the matter a hell of a lot bigger and more public that it ever needed to be.
Let's take it a step further. There have been comments relating to the article which have pointed out that Bowling is indeed a subject which is openly ridiculed. That fact cannot be disputed. Two out of the four comments which were highlighted as being offensive referred not to individuals but to a satirical look at the world of bowling and the people who participate in it. Top comedians take the piss out of bowlers all the time. Tv programmes have comedy sketches relating to bowls....take our very own Scottish made Chewin' The Fat as an example. They have featured a series of sketches in the location of "Mosspark Bowling Club" which takes the piss out of not only the pomp and ceremony of bowling clubs but also the punters who play the game and I'll bet my ass that the very same people who have caused such a fuss over Ross' comments sit in front of their tv's with a grin on their face while they're watching thinking to themselves as they look at the characters "Oh he/she is like so and so". It's a basic fact that bowlers get slagged. Here's a wee bit of proof for you...The following is an extract from an online chat on the BBC Scotland website featuring Ford Kiernan and Greg Hemphill (stars and writers of Chewin' The Fat)...
Question from Ian Bowie: In your new series have you done any sketches involving Mosspark Bowling Club?
Ford: Naw, we've switched it for a new source of material - the golf club. Cos there's just as many a**holes there as in a bowling club.
So are we imediately assume that Ford will now be barred from all Bowling Clubs across the country? I think not. But what he's saying is there's loads of arseholes in Bowling Clubs is he not? Well yes but it's funny cause he's a funny guy. So to is Ross. Granted two of the comments were ill thought but the other two? Read them. They're actually very good descriptive bits of writing and not, to any one with an open mind or sense of humour, offensive.
Fred: I think I might take up bowls
Harry: Naw pal I wouldn't if I were you. It's very dangerous.
Fred: Dangerous? How is it dangerous?
Harry: Buggered if I know but it must be cause someone dies every other week.
It's a running gag isn't it? Thing is I know a lot of bowlers and they are all able to take a bit of banter and laugh at themselves. If only the beaks at the Club had been able to do the same... If indeed they find comments about the age of bowlers and their uniforms and their sport offensive then perhaps it's time to drag Bowling (kicking and screaming if need be) into the 21st century and show us all that the ridicule, comedy and comments are not justified. Sadly while the beaks that control the clubs continue to throw hissy fits and take offensive to every little thing the comedy value will remain. This Club had a great opportunity to show itself as a modern thinking, breath of fresh air but didn't want to know. Damn it , how 21st century would it have been to capitalise on Ross (or myself) being Bloggers and asking one of us to set one up for the Club? A totally interactive area for the members, where club news and events could have been posted. It could have been a great addition to what is frankly a dull and unintresting club website.
Of course let's not forget a few fundamentals. In losing Ross the Club have lost a good barman. A popular barman. One who always had a smile for the "old farts" and a compliment to the ladies. A barman who knew their drinks orders before they had to ask and who knew how they liked it served. They had an asset there whether they want to admit it or not.
And they've lost that. Like they've lost other good staff over petty things which they refused to acknowledge or change. If I cast my mind back, even to 2 years ago, it makes for a strange picture. Back then this Club had a body of staff who worked well together. A team of Bar Staff that any owner of a Public House would have been glad to have behind their bar. A team of Bar Staff who regularly received praise from visitors from other club's and words of thanks from their own customers. Now? Well I can't comment first hand but given the amount of people who make the comment "It's not the same without X, Y & Z behind the bar" I am assuming there's something lacking. It's just another example of a loss of asset to the Club through silly decisions.
The membership are a great bunch. They have a great Club there. They deserve not to see it splashed about the press and dragged to court but to be able to rely on those they elect to run it for them being ready, willing and able to make good judgement calls on their behalf. I fear some feel let down badly by events over the last year, regardless of the outcome of Ross' Tribunal and that's a shame.
What's more of a shame is the fact that some of those who made the decisions were once people who both Ross and I would have classed as friends. They were not just employers but people we'd have sat with and had a chat and a drink. Sadly there can be no happy ending. There can never be the day where Ross and I are back behind the bar. There could though be the chance of conciliation and a chance to put all this behind us. That though would require those who make the decisions to loosen their ties and be big enough to admit that enough is enough.
I can't see it happening somehow. Another opporchancity lost.
Jenny xx
Now the thing is, I know first hand what Ross has gone through and how and why this all came about. You see I have been there and done that myself with the same people. Calm down readers (for readers - read members in high places within a certain establishment which has grass you can't walk on without special shoes)I am not about to spill all on what happened with me, but I am about to write a wee opinion and as they say on the news when they do the football scores, if you don't want to know then look away now.
Anyway my point is this, this whole mess (and believe me it is a mess) could have been sorted out with just a smidgen of common sense and a sprinkling of intelligence.
The Club has had it's name dragged into the press. There's a whole load of Bloggers who have read the piece and are now typing away on their own Blogs about the Club and what the decision means for Bloggers. In addition the comments left about the article on the paper's website show a number of people who are in support of Ross and it seems a fair few of them seem to be members. So in effect the Club, in their decision to sack Ross rather than try to handle and discuss the matter in house, have only suceeded in their actions to draw even more attention to the Blog and to heighten Ross' stature as a Blogger. I'm sure his stat count will show a fair number of new hits to the site over these last few days...I know mine's has rocketed since my own sacking. In effect then the Club have only gone and made the matter a hell of a lot bigger and more public that it ever needed to be.
Let's take it a step further. There have been comments relating to the article which have pointed out that Bowling is indeed a subject which is openly ridiculed. That fact cannot be disputed. Two out of the four comments which were highlighted as being offensive referred not to individuals but to a satirical look at the world of bowling and the people who participate in it. Top comedians take the piss out of bowlers all the time. Tv programmes have comedy sketches relating to bowls....take our very own Scottish made Chewin' The Fat as an example. They have featured a series of sketches in the location of "Mosspark Bowling Club" which takes the piss out of not only the pomp and ceremony of bowling clubs but also the punters who play the game and I'll bet my ass that the very same people who have caused such a fuss over Ross' comments sit in front of their tv's with a grin on their face while they're watching thinking to themselves as they look at the characters "Oh he/she is like so and so". It's a basic fact that bowlers get slagged. Here's a wee bit of proof for you...The following is an extract from an online chat on the BBC Scotland website featuring Ford Kiernan and Greg Hemphill (stars and writers of Chewin' The Fat)...
Question from Ian Bowie: In your new series have you done any sketches involving Mosspark Bowling Club?
Ford: Naw, we've switched it for a new source of material - the golf club. Cos there's just as many a**holes there as in a bowling club.
So are we imediately assume that Ford will now be barred from all Bowling Clubs across the country? I think not. But what he's saying is there's loads of arseholes in Bowling Clubs is he not? Well yes but it's funny cause he's a funny guy. So to is Ross. Granted two of the comments were ill thought but the other two? Read them. They're actually very good descriptive bits of writing and not, to any one with an open mind or sense of humour, offensive.
Fred: I think I might take up bowls
Harry: Naw pal I wouldn't if I were you. It's very dangerous.
Fred: Dangerous? How is it dangerous?
Harry: Buggered if I know but it must be cause someone dies every other week.
It's a running gag isn't it? Thing is I know a lot of bowlers and they are all able to take a bit of banter and laugh at themselves. If only the beaks at the Club had been able to do the same... If indeed they find comments about the age of bowlers and their uniforms and their sport offensive then perhaps it's time to drag Bowling (kicking and screaming if need be) into the 21st century and show us all that the ridicule, comedy and comments are not justified. Sadly while the beaks that control the clubs continue to throw hissy fits and take offensive to every little thing the comedy value will remain. This Club had a great opportunity to show itself as a modern thinking, breath of fresh air but didn't want to know. Damn it , how 21st century would it have been to capitalise on Ross (or myself) being Bloggers and asking one of us to set one up for the Club? A totally interactive area for the members, where club news and events could have been posted. It could have been a great addition to what is frankly a dull and unintresting club website.
Of course let's not forget a few fundamentals. In losing Ross the Club have lost a good barman. A popular barman. One who always had a smile for the "old farts" and a compliment to the ladies. A barman who knew their drinks orders before they had to ask and who knew how they liked it served. They had an asset there whether they want to admit it or not.
And they've lost that. Like they've lost other good staff over petty things which they refused to acknowledge or change. If I cast my mind back, even to 2 years ago, it makes for a strange picture. Back then this Club had a body of staff who worked well together. A team of Bar Staff that any owner of a Public House would have been glad to have behind their bar. A team of Bar Staff who regularly received praise from visitors from other club's and words of thanks from their own customers. Now? Well I can't comment first hand but given the amount of people who make the comment "It's not the same without X, Y & Z behind the bar" I am assuming there's something lacking. It's just another example of a loss of asset to the Club through silly decisions.
The membership are a great bunch. They have a great Club there. They deserve not to see it splashed about the press and dragged to court but to be able to rely on those they elect to run it for them being ready, willing and able to make good judgement calls on their behalf. I fear some feel let down badly by events over the last year, regardless of the outcome of Ross' Tribunal and that's a shame.
What's more of a shame is the fact that some of those who made the decisions were once people who both Ross and I would have classed as friends. They were not just employers but people we'd have sat with and had a chat and a drink. Sadly there can be no happy ending. There can never be the day where Ross and I are back behind the bar. There could though be the chance of conciliation and a chance to put all this behind us. That though would require those who make the decisions to loosen their ties and be big enough to admit that enough is enough.
I can't see it happening somehow. Another opporchancity lost.
Jenny xx
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Read All About It....
Read all about Ross and his sacking as well as comments from the esteemed public of the Lothians and beyond Here.
Jenny xx
Jenny xx
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Keeping Up Tradition...
Saturday was a good day in other ways for me as well.
It was Grand National day. That day when everybody and their Granny picks a horse and heads to the bookies to stick their money on.
My Dad loved the horses. One of his legacies is that he taught me a bit about form and how to calculate odds and weight! This is right up there with him teaching me the finer points of the offside rule and how to arm wrestle!
When he was alive Dad tried on 2 different occaisons to go to Aintree for Grand National day. The first time he booked he had an accident a few weeks before the event, he tore his cruciate ligaments and damaged his knee so badly it ended up in him having to retire. Needless to say the trip was cancelled! The second attempt didn't happen either...that was the year it was cancelled due to a bomb scare and although he made it to the hotel near Liverpool he didn't actually get to Aintree!
This year Mum had booked to go with a load of pals. I'm pleased to say it was 3rd time lucky and she made it! So she has been able to tick that box on her To Do list!
So we, like millions of others, headed to the Cream Cookies (as my Dad would call them) and bunged our money on after a quick view of the form and headed home to watch the race.
I'd picked my usual 4 as had Better Half, with the kids picking one each based on nothing more than a number. The race didn't start well with one of mine going at the first fence. I was a bit pissed as it was one of my more faniced nags! Another, my outside shot, fell a few fences later and Better Half didn't fare much better when one of his went as well. 10 year old had picked one of mine...one of my fallers...so she was out and 6 year old's hadn't been mentioned, which gave the impression it was dragging up the rear!
Into the home straight though and it was all different. One of mine had hit the front but was tiring a bit and Better Half's was finishing strongly. They hit the finish line and I had gotten third at 33/1 with Better Half getting second at 14/1. As we'd stuck our bets on each way, we had a wee windfall coming back, in total it was £40. Not bad for a wee flutter.
I have a good wee history in the National. I can only recall one year when I haven't had a horse in the top 4. Saturday kept up my tradition of doing well!
Jenny xx
p.s Bizarre but true. I picked the horse that came second due to the fact that the jockey shares my married name and as such my daughters surname. It's not a common surname and so it catches the eye when you see it. My step daughter told me on Saturday night she won money back as well...she'd gone and backed the same horse due to the surname connection!
It was Grand National day. That day when everybody and their Granny picks a horse and heads to the bookies to stick their money on.
My Dad loved the horses. One of his legacies is that he taught me a bit about form and how to calculate odds and weight! This is right up there with him teaching me the finer points of the offside rule and how to arm wrestle!
When he was alive Dad tried on 2 different occaisons to go to Aintree for Grand National day. The first time he booked he had an accident a few weeks before the event, he tore his cruciate ligaments and damaged his knee so badly it ended up in him having to retire. Needless to say the trip was cancelled! The second attempt didn't happen either...that was the year it was cancelled due to a bomb scare and although he made it to the hotel near Liverpool he didn't actually get to Aintree!
This year Mum had booked to go with a load of pals. I'm pleased to say it was 3rd time lucky and she made it! So she has been able to tick that box on her To Do list!
So we, like millions of others, headed to the Cream Cookies (as my Dad would call them) and bunged our money on after a quick view of the form and headed home to watch the race.
I'd picked my usual 4 as had Better Half, with the kids picking one each based on nothing more than a number. The race didn't start well with one of mine going at the first fence. I was a bit pissed as it was one of my more faniced nags! Another, my outside shot, fell a few fences later and Better Half didn't fare much better when one of his went as well. 10 year old had picked one of mine...one of my fallers...so she was out and 6 year old's hadn't been mentioned, which gave the impression it was dragging up the rear!
Into the home straight though and it was all different. One of mine had hit the front but was tiring a bit and Better Half's was finishing strongly. They hit the finish line and I had gotten third at 33/1 with Better Half getting second at 14/1. As we'd stuck our bets on each way, we had a wee windfall coming back, in total it was £40. Not bad for a wee flutter.
I have a good wee history in the National. I can only recall one year when I haven't had a horse in the top 4. Saturday kept up my tradition of doing well!
Jenny xx
p.s Bizarre but true. I picked the horse that came second due to the fact that the jockey shares my married name and as such my daughters surname. It's not a common surname and so it catches the eye when you see it. My step daughter told me on Saturday night she won money back as well...she'd gone and backed the same horse due to the surname connection!
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Blast From The Past...
There's nothing like a wee blast from the past to shake away your cobwebs.
Saturday night, I'm bored out my skull. I've changed my bed linen in a vain attempt to pass 30 minutes or so, having earlier stripped it in a vain attempt to pass 30 minutes or so and I'm sat on the sofa looking at Dr Who thinking to myself "Where did I leave the sharp knife?" and seriously contemplating stabbing myself just to see if it's more fun.
All of a sudden the phone starts ringing. It's my friend Mary on the phone. Mary is the Mum (actually she's the Granny but that's a whole other story!) of my daughters pal. Daughter is currently round at Mary's, where she's been since Thursday night on a bizarre ever-extending sleep over! Mary sounds a bit breathless and launches into telling me what she's ringing for. We're on the phone for all of 3 minutes before I put it down. I'm in a bit of a state of shock. I explain the conversation to Better Half as I am raking in the fridge for a chilled bottle of wine. Minutes later I'm on my way round to Mary's with my wine in hand. Although to be honest I'm not heading for Mary's but rather for her friend's house which is where Mary is right now. It's only a few doors away.
The walk only takes a few minutes and on the way there my mind is wandering. I'm being transported back in time and memories are flooding my head. Truth be told I'm a bit apprehensive. I can hear Mary and her friend before I see them. I walk along the pavement and my pace slows down a bit. I take a deep breath and I'm there. Mary let's out a shout of "Hiya, have you come round to see me? I'm having a wee drink here with my pal. Do you want to join us?". Mary knew I was coming but this is all part of the pretence. Everyone is out on the doorstep. It's a lovely spring night and the sun is still out.
Mary's pal introduces herself and offers me a drink. I'm looking at who else is here. Apart from Mary and my new hostess there's 2 teenage girls. I look at them both and I find myself staring at one of them. I know instantly it's her. She's beautiful. Her face hasn't changed at all. I say hello as my hostess tells me their names and tells them mine. There's a flciker of recognition is her face as she hears my name. Nothing else is said and we launch into general chit chat as women do. There's no sign of my daughter or her pal until an hour or so later. Mary has spent much of the hour engaging me in conversation and looking a bit nervous. The pretence it seems is getting to her as well. My daughter and her pal make a brief appearance and then head away again. They go to Mary's house with a few more pals in tow to listen to music. A warning from Mary ringing in their ears that she can see right into her living room from where she is so they better behave.
Another hour goes by. The sun is setting and the vodka and wine have been flowing. Between us we've covered a range of subjects but the main one and the reason for my visit is left unspoken...for now. Another 30 minutes goes by and the teenage girl who I had caught myself staring at and who has since been staring at me when she thinks I'm not looking gets up to go to the toilet. "I take it she knows who I am?" I ask Mary. "Aye. I think she's sussed it out. It might be time to say something" she replies. I nod my head. Mary's pal nods as well "Aye. It's as good a time as any. It'll be fine she's as...". Mary interrupts with an over noisy "Ssshhhh" and points to the door.
The girl is making her way back down the stairs and is within earshot. She steps outside. I'm standing up and decide it's now or never. She's looking at me and pauses at the top of the steps as if she knows I'm about to speak. "I take it you know who I am?" I ask her. "Yeah I think so, I wasn't sure. Your hairs much longer" she looks a bit nervous. I laugh "You haven't changed a bit" I tell her "even in 10 years". She smiles. I ask her if she's met my daughter. "Yes" she says. "Does she know who you are?" I ask. I'm a bit nervous of the answer. "No, I haven't said anything to her" she replies. I smile and feel a wee bit relieved. "Well do you want to meet her properly?" I ask. She looks to the ground and I look at her face trying to read it, I am transported back a decade and I see a much smaller version of her in front of me, a little 8 year old who could be so shy and quiet. "Yeah" she replies in a voice barely more than a whisper. "It's up to you" I tell her "there's no rush. If you want to leave it to another time then it's fine." She looks over towards Mary's house "I'm fine with it really. I'm grown up as long as you think she'll be ok with it" she says. For the love of me I am struggling to see past the little 8 year old of a decade ago. "She'll be fine. She's been dying to meet you" I tell her. She nods at me and smiles. "I'll go and get her then".
I walk over to Mary's house and 10 year old is on the stair. I tell her there's someone I want her to meet. On the short walk back I point out the girl now sitting on the step and ask 10 year old is she's met her. She tells me she has. I ask if she knows who she is. She tells me she's a friend of the girl who lives there. I whisper to 10 year old that I know her as well. "How?" enquires 10 year old. We're on the path now and she's sitting in front of us on the step. There's no time to answer the question. 10 year old is a bit in front of me and her face is in line with the girls face. You could almost have heard a pin drop as everything went quiet. People round about seemed to be holding their breath. The two girls staring at each other for a second or so. I put my arm around 10 year old's waist and my face near to her ear, took a deep breath and said quietly "Honey, this is your big sister". The girl smiled at her and said hello. 10 year old smiled back. My apprehension disappeared. It was going to be fine.
And that was my blast from the past. My step-daughter. My 10 year old's big sister.
It's been a decade since I saw her last. I've seen her just once in those 10 years and that was only for a minute as she passed me in a shop about 6 years ago. She's now an 18 year old only a few months away from her 19th birthday. The story of why I haven't seen her is a whole post in itself but suffice to say that from the age of 3 until she was 8 she was a big part of my life. She was my first "bairn". One of the family. Her and 10 year old have the same Dad. Her mother was his first wife and I was his second. We would have her to stay every weekend and as often as we could outwith then such as holidays and the like. 1996 rolled round and 10 year old was born. We saw her only a handful of times after that and by the time 10 year old's first birthday came round her Mum had decided not to let us see her anymore. It was a sad time. I was very attached to her and that decision all those years ago meant that 10 year old has no memories of her sister...only photographs of the two of them together. I've been seperated from their Dad for nearly 8 years now although we are still married having never gotten divorced. 10 year old hasn't had any contact from him in 2 years. 18 year old hasn't had any since she was 8.
I looked at the two of them last Saturday night as they sat chatting and getting to know each other tentatively and I felt a sadness. Here were 2 beautiful girls. Both different (18 year old has blonde hair and blue eyes where 10 year old has dark brown hair and eyes...she looks a lot like their Dad) yet both similar as well and they had a Dad out there who didn't know what he was missing. A Dad who has at one time or another denied both of them and claimed they did not exist. Here were his two gorgeous daughters together for the first time in a decade and it was me there to see it and not him.
It's early days but there are plans in place for 18 year old (and her boyfriend who we met as well and who seems really nice) to take 10 year old out for the day in a few weeks to get to know her better. 10 year old is happy with that...especially when she heard they'd take her in the convertible!
I knew one day their paths would cross. I expected it to be at a funeral. A funeral for the man who doesn't want to know. I thought it would be a long way off in the future. It's happened now though. We'll take it a step at a time and see what happens...It's made me feel old....having a step daughter of 19 when your only 33 can do that!...but it's also made me happy to see her again.
Jenny xx
Saturday night, I'm bored out my skull. I've changed my bed linen in a vain attempt to pass 30 minutes or so, having earlier stripped it in a vain attempt to pass 30 minutes or so and I'm sat on the sofa looking at Dr Who thinking to myself "Where did I leave the sharp knife?" and seriously contemplating stabbing myself just to see if it's more fun.
All of a sudden the phone starts ringing. It's my friend Mary on the phone. Mary is the Mum (actually she's the Granny but that's a whole other story!) of my daughters pal. Daughter is currently round at Mary's, where she's been since Thursday night on a bizarre ever-extending sleep over! Mary sounds a bit breathless and launches into telling me what she's ringing for. We're on the phone for all of 3 minutes before I put it down. I'm in a bit of a state of shock. I explain the conversation to Better Half as I am raking in the fridge for a chilled bottle of wine. Minutes later I'm on my way round to Mary's with my wine in hand. Although to be honest I'm not heading for Mary's but rather for her friend's house which is where Mary is right now. It's only a few doors away.
The walk only takes a few minutes and on the way there my mind is wandering. I'm being transported back in time and memories are flooding my head. Truth be told I'm a bit apprehensive. I can hear Mary and her friend before I see them. I walk along the pavement and my pace slows down a bit. I take a deep breath and I'm there. Mary let's out a shout of "Hiya, have you come round to see me? I'm having a wee drink here with my pal. Do you want to join us?". Mary knew I was coming but this is all part of the pretence. Everyone is out on the doorstep. It's a lovely spring night and the sun is still out.
Mary's pal introduces herself and offers me a drink. I'm looking at who else is here. Apart from Mary and my new hostess there's 2 teenage girls. I look at them both and I find myself staring at one of them. I know instantly it's her. She's beautiful. Her face hasn't changed at all. I say hello as my hostess tells me their names and tells them mine. There's a flciker of recognition is her face as she hears my name. Nothing else is said and we launch into general chit chat as women do. There's no sign of my daughter or her pal until an hour or so later. Mary has spent much of the hour engaging me in conversation and looking a bit nervous. The pretence it seems is getting to her as well. My daughter and her pal make a brief appearance and then head away again. They go to Mary's house with a few more pals in tow to listen to music. A warning from Mary ringing in their ears that she can see right into her living room from where she is so they better behave.
Another hour goes by. The sun is setting and the vodka and wine have been flowing. Between us we've covered a range of subjects but the main one and the reason for my visit is left unspoken...for now. Another 30 minutes goes by and the teenage girl who I had caught myself staring at and who has since been staring at me when she thinks I'm not looking gets up to go to the toilet. "I take it she knows who I am?" I ask Mary. "Aye. I think she's sussed it out. It might be time to say something" she replies. I nod my head. Mary's pal nods as well "Aye. It's as good a time as any. It'll be fine she's as...". Mary interrupts with an over noisy "Ssshhhh" and points to the door.
The girl is making her way back down the stairs and is within earshot. She steps outside. I'm standing up and decide it's now or never. She's looking at me and pauses at the top of the steps as if she knows I'm about to speak. "I take it you know who I am?" I ask her. "Yeah I think so, I wasn't sure. Your hairs much longer" she looks a bit nervous. I laugh "You haven't changed a bit" I tell her "even in 10 years". She smiles. I ask her if she's met my daughter. "Yes" she says. "Does she know who you are?" I ask. I'm a bit nervous of the answer. "No, I haven't said anything to her" she replies. I smile and feel a wee bit relieved. "Well do you want to meet her properly?" I ask. She looks to the ground and I look at her face trying to read it, I am transported back a decade and I see a much smaller version of her in front of me, a little 8 year old who could be so shy and quiet. "Yeah" she replies in a voice barely more than a whisper. "It's up to you" I tell her "there's no rush. If you want to leave it to another time then it's fine." She looks over towards Mary's house "I'm fine with it really. I'm grown up as long as you think she'll be ok with it" she says. For the love of me I am struggling to see past the little 8 year old of a decade ago. "She'll be fine. She's been dying to meet you" I tell her. She nods at me and smiles. "I'll go and get her then".
I walk over to Mary's house and 10 year old is on the stair. I tell her there's someone I want her to meet. On the short walk back I point out the girl now sitting on the step and ask 10 year old is she's met her. She tells me she has. I ask if she knows who she is. She tells me she's a friend of the girl who lives there. I whisper to 10 year old that I know her as well. "How?" enquires 10 year old. We're on the path now and she's sitting in front of us on the step. There's no time to answer the question. 10 year old is a bit in front of me and her face is in line with the girls face. You could almost have heard a pin drop as everything went quiet. People round about seemed to be holding their breath. The two girls staring at each other for a second or so. I put my arm around 10 year old's waist and my face near to her ear, took a deep breath and said quietly "Honey, this is your big sister". The girl smiled at her and said hello. 10 year old smiled back. My apprehension disappeared. It was going to be fine.
And that was my blast from the past. My step-daughter. My 10 year old's big sister.
It's been a decade since I saw her last. I've seen her just once in those 10 years and that was only for a minute as she passed me in a shop about 6 years ago. She's now an 18 year old only a few months away from her 19th birthday. The story of why I haven't seen her is a whole post in itself but suffice to say that from the age of 3 until she was 8 she was a big part of my life. She was my first "bairn". One of the family. Her and 10 year old have the same Dad. Her mother was his first wife and I was his second. We would have her to stay every weekend and as often as we could outwith then such as holidays and the like. 1996 rolled round and 10 year old was born. We saw her only a handful of times after that and by the time 10 year old's first birthday came round her Mum had decided not to let us see her anymore. It was a sad time. I was very attached to her and that decision all those years ago meant that 10 year old has no memories of her sister...only photographs of the two of them together. I've been seperated from their Dad for nearly 8 years now although we are still married having never gotten divorced. 10 year old hasn't had any contact from him in 2 years. 18 year old hasn't had any since she was 8.
I looked at the two of them last Saturday night as they sat chatting and getting to know each other tentatively and I felt a sadness. Here were 2 beautiful girls. Both different (18 year old has blonde hair and blue eyes where 10 year old has dark brown hair and eyes...she looks a lot like their Dad) yet both similar as well and they had a Dad out there who didn't know what he was missing. A Dad who has at one time or another denied both of them and claimed they did not exist. Here were his two gorgeous daughters together for the first time in a decade and it was me there to see it and not him.
It's early days but there are plans in place for 18 year old (and her boyfriend who we met as well and who seems really nice) to take 10 year old out for the day in a few weeks to get to know her better. 10 year old is happy with that...especially when she heard they'd take her in the convertible!
I knew one day their paths would cross. I expected it to be at a funeral. A funeral for the man who doesn't want to know. I thought it would be a long way off in the future. It's happened now though. We'll take it a step at a time and see what happens...It's made me feel old....having a step daughter of 19 when your only 33 can do that!...but it's also made me happy to see her again.
Jenny xx
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Blonde Ambition...
Yesterday I decided to dye my hair blonde.
I've been colouring my hair since I was about 11 years old. Over the years I have been everything form platinum blonde to black and everything in between, including a spell with purple hair which occured by accident!
I have, as I got older, generally settled in the region of red. Naturally I'm a sort of strawberry blonde/auburny blonde colour but I like to emphisise the red in my hair. By emphisise I mean I dye it much redder than it is naturally. Watermelon Red, Copper Sunset, Autumn Red...all favourite shades! Last month I had a notion for a dark red so I promptly went out and dyed my hair. Thrity short minutes later and it was bye bye Watermelon Red and hello Chocolate Cherry, which was a brown/red/maroon colour. I liked it...but red hair is a pisser to keep looking healthy and the colour faded way too quick. It doesn't help that my hair grows faster then the speed of light and 3 weeks later I had one inch roots in my natural shade coming through.
My decision to go blonde was partly due to the fact it's nearer my own colour and partly due to the fact that I'm looking very pale just now and darker hair makes me look even more washed out. I slapped on a peroxide hair stripper and waited. One hour later I rinsed it off. Now I've done this before so I know how it works. I hadn't mentioned to my family though what happens when you try to strip red dye from your hair! They were in stitches as I emerged from the bedroom with my bright orange hair! You see red is bugger to get rid off and takes a couple of applications of peroxide before your done. Better Half didn't know what to do when I asked him what he thought of the colour. It took a few seconds before he realised it wasn't a finished product.
However, the laugh was on me in the end. I got through the stripping process and I'd bought a Honey Blonde shade to put over it. That worked a treat. Not. Instead of coming out a lovely honey colour like it said it would on the packet my hair went to a delightful bright ginger! For those of you in Scotland who know what I'm talking about, I'd call the end result See You Jimmy Ginger!! Definitely not the Honey Blonde I'd been after!
Now I'm not vain and I'm in no way precious about my hair, after all if you feck it up you can just cut the buggering stuff off or dye it again. I've never been one of those women for whom their hair is their crowning glory. My philosophy on hair is that it's there to be played about with. However, unvain as I am, I decided against going out myself to buy a new colour to put over my See You Jimmy Ginger, mainly because I didn't want to scare small children and because my hair was like straw...dying it 3 times in day can do that!...and my hair was at this point so straw like that I resembled Worzel Gummidge's sister. So I sent Better Half out to buy a new colour armed with instructions that it should be darker than my current colour and not a cheap brand other than that he was on his own and had free reign as to what colour it ended up. He returned in lightning time with a colour that I was reasonably happy with. He's good like that. I sent him for tampons once and he bought the right brand and absorbency without being told! He's a credit to his mother!
Thirty minutes, a good conditioner, a bit help from John Frieda in the form of some frizz ease, a blast of the hairdryer and a 20 minute session with my GHD's (the best hair straighteners in the universe) and all was well again!
So I'm not Honey Blonde but who cares? Blonde is so last season! I am now Coffee Delight. A nice warm brunette! My hair is silky smooth and so shiny people better wear shades to come near me! According to my magazine this week brunette is where it's at right now anyway. I haven't been brunette in about 6 years. Of course it means I can now change all my make up to suit my new hair! There's my cue to spend some money! Every cloud and all that!
Jenny xx
I've been colouring my hair since I was about 11 years old. Over the years I have been everything form platinum blonde to black and everything in between, including a spell with purple hair which occured by accident!
I have, as I got older, generally settled in the region of red. Naturally I'm a sort of strawberry blonde/auburny blonde colour but I like to emphisise the red in my hair. By emphisise I mean I dye it much redder than it is naturally. Watermelon Red, Copper Sunset, Autumn Red...all favourite shades! Last month I had a notion for a dark red so I promptly went out and dyed my hair. Thrity short minutes later and it was bye bye Watermelon Red and hello Chocolate Cherry, which was a brown/red/maroon colour. I liked it...but red hair is a pisser to keep looking healthy and the colour faded way too quick. It doesn't help that my hair grows faster then the speed of light and 3 weeks later I had one inch roots in my natural shade coming through.
My decision to go blonde was partly due to the fact it's nearer my own colour and partly due to the fact that I'm looking very pale just now and darker hair makes me look even more washed out. I slapped on a peroxide hair stripper and waited. One hour later I rinsed it off. Now I've done this before so I know how it works. I hadn't mentioned to my family though what happens when you try to strip red dye from your hair! They were in stitches as I emerged from the bedroom with my bright orange hair! You see red is bugger to get rid off and takes a couple of applications of peroxide before your done. Better Half didn't know what to do when I asked him what he thought of the colour. It took a few seconds before he realised it wasn't a finished product.
However, the laugh was on me in the end. I got through the stripping process and I'd bought a Honey Blonde shade to put over it. That worked a treat. Not. Instead of coming out a lovely honey colour like it said it would on the packet my hair went to a delightful bright ginger! For those of you in Scotland who know what I'm talking about, I'd call the end result See You Jimmy Ginger!! Definitely not the Honey Blonde I'd been after!
Now I'm not vain and I'm in no way precious about my hair, after all if you feck it up you can just cut the buggering stuff off or dye it again. I've never been one of those women for whom their hair is their crowning glory. My philosophy on hair is that it's there to be played about with. However, unvain as I am, I decided against going out myself to buy a new colour to put over my See You Jimmy Ginger, mainly because I didn't want to scare small children and because my hair was like straw...dying it 3 times in day can do that!...and my hair was at this point so straw like that I resembled Worzel Gummidge's sister. So I sent Better Half out to buy a new colour armed with instructions that it should be darker than my current colour and not a cheap brand other than that he was on his own and had free reign as to what colour it ended up. He returned in lightning time with a colour that I was reasonably happy with. He's good like that. I sent him for tampons once and he bought the right brand and absorbency without being told! He's a credit to his mother!
Thirty minutes, a good conditioner, a bit help from John Frieda in the form of some frizz ease, a blast of the hairdryer and a 20 minute session with my GHD's (the best hair straighteners in the universe) and all was well again!
So I'm not Honey Blonde but who cares? Blonde is so last season! I am now Coffee Delight. A nice warm brunette! My hair is silky smooth and so shiny people better wear shades to come near me! According to my magazine this week brunette is where it's at right now anyway. I haven't been brunette in about 6 years. Of course it means I can now change all my make up to suit my new hair! There's my cue to spend some money! Every cloud and all that!
Jenny xx
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Not So Healthy Service
Last week I had the pleasure of spending a night in one of our fine hospitals. To those of you now wondering, it was nothing serious. A re-occurence of an illness I had last year. To those of you who wish it had been serious...better luck next time!
Anyway suffice to say I had a bit of pain for a few days (I knew almost straight away what was causing it but to be honest I wanted to try and pretend it wasn't there!) and eventually decided to seek help. One quick trip to the docs later and I was heading to hospital with the words "emergency surgery" ringing in my ears.
Now I'm a fan of the Health Service, I mean there's not many countries left where you can get sick or injured and be treated without having to check your bank balance first to see if you can afford it. I'm also a fan of our underpaid and overworked nurses who are the backbone of the NHS. However, I'm not much of a fan of whoever dictates the policies they need to follow.
See I go to the Acute Receiving Unit and as I'm an emergency I'm seen straight away. So far, so good. I'm then put in a room which to be fair was minging in all ways from the mint green painted and badly flaking walls to the hairs on the floor which belonged to god knows who right through to the chipped tiles and horrible strip light. Anyway I digress, fact is the whole area was not really akin to making one feel better! A nice bit of paintwork, some pretty curtains and maybe a few fresh flowers about the place might do more good!
Surroundings aside, I'm instructed to strip off and put on one of those hospital gowns that tie up the back. Nice. Then it's the usual barrage of tests - pulse, blood pressure, blood sugar, temperature, heart rate before we get to the good bit when the Doc appears and decides he wants to run some blod tests. Sigh. There's a couple of reasons why this does my head in, a) I don't bleed well. I'm very tight about giving away my blood and it just refuses to come out without a fight. I mean stab me all you want but it'll be a while before I bleed...although to be fair once I start... and b) They can never, ever find a bloody vein. Which would make me a crap heroin addict I suppose. Anyway the cocky Doc goes in for the kill and lo and behold 5 attempts later (and 5 puncture holes later for me) he goes off and asks a nurse for help. She gets it first time. So Doc does his stuff drawing his blood from me and filling up his various tubes. I meanwhile come over all dizzy and sick and promptly pass out as he does so. Turns out (once Doctor Dimwit read my notes) that my blood pressure was down round my feet somewhere and that drawing blood at that time might not have been the best thing to do!
Now because I've passed out (albeit I came round in seconds) and because I'm a bit dehydrated they decide to stick a drip in. Anyone who knows me will tell you I detest getting this done. I have been known to leave hospitals because they've wanted to bung one of those damn needles in bits of me. However on this occaison because he's in the hole (so to speak) I let him get on with it.
Minutes later (and still none the wiser as to what they are planning on doing with me) I am stuck in a chair and wheeled out into the corridor and promptly dumped there. Still I'm not alone...there's about 30-odd other people sitting there too which was nice given I am wearing nothing but a bloody hospital gown and a pair of socks (that's a Thyroid thing...keep your socks on cause your feet get freezing!). Me and my drip are sat there alongside another 2 in similar states of undress.
Fifty-Five minutes later and I'm being moved to a ward. "Am I being kept in then?" I ask. "I don't know" is the reply. Helpful. Another load of tests later (all the same ones as before) and I'm all tucked up in bed. Still none the wiser as to why of course!
Anyway I'm in a room which has 3 other beds in it, all occupied. Next to me is an old woman, she looks like death warmed up and within 30 minutes of me being there she's moved away to another ward. Opposite me is another older woman. She's about mid 60's and is chatty and full of life. Turns out she has liver cancer and has had an op to remove a small non-cancerous growth in her abdomen which may have caused problems for her later. In the bed beside her is a woman in her 40's. She kind of freaks me out a bit. Now she seems nice enough and I'm sure in normal circumstances she's a lovely woman. However, she is in a fair bit of pain and is waiting for surgery and it seems to have affected her somewhat. She informs us loudly that she has an abcess just inside her anus. I'm thinking "ouch" when she says it, as given the look on her face it's gotta be hurting. Trouble is though she finds it most comfortable to lie with her legs wide open. Fair enough and all that but she's wearing the same hospital gown as I am and her preferred way of getting comfort is to be on her hands and knees on the bed with her knees as far apart as she can get them. Like I said she's probably far more dignified in other circumstances but really I could have done without her nether regions being on display at the same time as those who were not nil by mouth were eating their smoked fish in cheese sauce.
Eventually, the Registrar shows face. By now I have been given an injection to stop me getting a dvt in surgery and I have again asked the question "So what's happening then?" to the nurse but was met with a reply of "Oh haven't they told you? They're not very good at keeping patients informed are they?" which didn't really help.
The Registrar, accompanied by 6 flunkies, checks me out and informs me he will be taking me to surgery later that night. Well now I know! He goes on to tell me it will be an "exploratory operation" to see if they can find the root of the problem and fix it. He procedes to tell one of the fulnkies to mark a spot on my back with felt pen so he can find it later! I ask what he means by an "exploratory operation". He tells me he's going to cut me open and have a look and if he finds what he's looking for then it's all good and he'll fix it, if not he'll try again in a day or so before comfirming to me that the surgery (when he does find what he's looking for!) will be "fairly extensive but relatively simple" and will mean a removal of a wider area of tissue. "But you're not sure what your looking for or where it is?" I ask, more than a little bemused by his tone. "No, but we'll keep digging until we get it" is the response. I think not. "Nope, not having it, sorry. If your going to be cutting me open then I'd prefer you do it just once and get it done right first time" I tell him. He looks a bit puzzled. "Ok, we'll leave it for now and re-assess you tomorrow and in the meantime we'll give you some antibiotics and pain relief". Whatever. And with that he's off, still holding his felt pen in his hand.
Later that night as I'm no longer being wheeled to surgery they move me to another ward, me and my drip that is. See I'm still having bags of fluid pumped into me every 2 hours, which worries me ever so slightly because I am now swelling up something rotten and seem to be retaining fluid all over the place...and quite frankly I am peeing for fun...which is another hassle as I am now at the total opposite end of the ward from the loo (one toilet and 12 beds, that is just wrong!) and I need to call a nurse every time I want to go because I am hooked up to this drip which is plugged into the wall and won't come with me to the toilet. Still I'm in a room on my own now and I've got a tv so I mustn't grumble! On the upside they had officially told me at 7pm that I could now eat and drink again, which was nice as I hadn't eaten anything since 9pm the night before and I was now starving. On the downside they didn't have any food to give me as I'd missed dinner...cue a text message to Better Half demanding he come for his visit bearing a sandwich!
The following morning I am awoken at a hideous hour (5.30am), after a night of interrupted sleep getting up and down to the toilet, fighting with my drip which didn't extend to let me sleep on the side I normally do and being woken every time one of the nurses came to give me a new bag of whatever it was..oh and being woken to ask if I wanted pain killers...em I'm asleep so why not just leave me? Following that I was given a cup of tea for breakfast because I hadn't been in the day before to order my breakfast (?) and so they had nothing to give me. Superb. I spend the next few hours playing deal or no deal on my phone and shouting abuse at Noel Edmonds everytime I blew the big money. By now (9am) I am seriously swollen from all the fluids they've been giving me and a nurse finally decides enough is enough after I show her my massive, puffy, swollen hand and ask her if she thinks I am still dehydrated! So it's goodbye drip and hello toilet without the need for assistance! They leave the needle in place though just to piss me off.
At 10.30 the consultant strolls in, with his various flunkies. He looks the business, all suited and booted and he looks well over 18 which is always a bonus, unlike the pre-pubescent looking Registrar I had encountered the night before. Anyway he asks how I'm feeling. Sore. Says he thinks surgery is an option but would like to see how IV antibiotics work for 3 days. Oh shit. He says he can't see any reason to rush into "extensive" surgery and tissue removal before giving other options a chance to work. I like him. He explains the recovery time would be about 8 weeks and after surgery I could be looking at 3 days in hospital and explains why he feels this doesn't warrant "just digging in without knowing where or what we might find". I'm liking him more although a bit pissed at his 3 days of antibiotics by drip decision. Anyway he tells the nurse to continue with the IV antibiotics, she pipes up to tell him I'm actually getting oral antibiotics just now and not IV ones. "Do you have kids?" he asks me. Yes. "It's Easter Sunday this weekend" he says. Yes. "Now regardless of your religious beliefs that is at least a day for families to be together and eat chocolate". Yes. "Why the hell should we confine you to bed for observation then, Who are we to keep you here when you could be eating chocolate eggs with your kids? You seem like a clever woman". Thanks. "I imagine you know that if the pain gets worse you should return immediatley and I will perform your surgery same day don't you?" If you say so. "So I say we let you escape from this dreary room with the ward telephone number tucked in your pocket, a plentiful supply of painkillers and oral antibiotics and with a promise from you that you return as soon as the pain gets any worse". Great idea. And he walks out the room with a big smile to me and a nod of the head. I am liking this man heaps and plenty!
2 hours later and the needle is gone, I'm dressed, tablets and phone number in hand and I'm heading for the hills...and the fridge cause I'm starving!
Since my release last Friday I've had the sorest pain ever. However, I made a decision to try and bear with it to see if the antibiotics would do the trick and Hey Presto they seem to be doing their stuff. A week later I am almost pain free and able to drive, sit and stand with very little discomfort. I'm putting part of my recovery down to being surrounded by nice paintwork, pretty curtains and fresh flowers of course. Cheery yellow Daffodils. That's the secret. I may just send some to the hospital to put in that dreary, minging little room.
Jenny xx
Anyway suffice to say I had a bit of pain for a few days (I knew almost straight away what was causing it but to be honest I wanted to try and pretend it wasn't there!) and eventually decided to seek help. One quick trip to the docs later and I was heading to hospital with the words "emergency surgery" ringing in my ears.
Now I'm a fan of the Health Service, I mean there's not many countries left where you can get sick or injured and be treated without having to check your bank balance first to see if you can afford it. I'm also a fan of our underpaid and overworked nurses who are the backbone of the NHS. However, I'm not much of a fan of whoever dictates the policies they need to follow.
See I go to the Acute Receiving Unit and as I'm an emergency I'm seen straight away. So far, so good. I'm then put in a room which to be fair was minging in all ways from the mint green painted and badly flaking walls to the hairs on the floor which belonged to god knows who right through to the chipped tiles and horrible strip light. Anyway I digress, fact is the whole area was not really akin to making one feel better! A nice bit of paintwork, some pretty curtains and maybe a few fresh flowers about the place might do more good!
Surroundings aside, I'm instructed to strip off and put on one of those hospital gowns that tie up the back. Nice. Then it's the usual barrage of tests - pulse, blood pressure, blood sugar, temperature, heart rate before we get to the good bit when the Doc appears and decides he wants to run some blod tests. Sigh. There's a couple of reasons why this does my head in, a) I don't bleed well. I'm very tight about giving away my blood and it just refuses to come out without a fight. I mean stab me all you want but it'll be a while before I bleed...although to be fair once I start... and b) They can never, ever find a bloody vein. Which would make me a crap heroin addict I suppose. Anyway the cocky Doc goes in for the kill and lo and behold 5 attempts later (and 5 puncture holes later for me) he goes off and asks a nurse for help. She gets it first time. So Doc does his stuff drawing his blood from me and filling up his various tubes. I meanwhile come over all dizzy and sick and promptly pass out as he does so. Turns out (once Doctor Dimwit read my notes) that my blood pressure was down round my feet somewhere and that drawing blood at that time might not have been the best thing to do!
Now because I've passed out (albeit I came round in seconds) and because I'm a bit dehydrated they decide to stick a drip in. Anyone who knows me will tell you I detest getting this done. I have been known to leave hospitals because they've wanted to bung one of those damn needles in bits of me. However on this occaison because he's in the hole (so to speak) I let him get on with it.
Minutes later (and still none the wiser as to what they are planning on doing with me) I am stuck in a chair and wheeled out into the corridor and promptly dumped there. Still I'm not alone...there's about 30-odd other people sitting there too which was nice given I am wearing nothing but a bloody hospital gown and a pair of socks (that's a Thyroid thing...keep your socks on cause your feet get freezing!). Me and my drip are sat there alongside another 2 in similar states of undress.
Fifty-Five minutes later and I'm being moved to a ward. "Am I being kept in then?" I ask. "I don't know" is the reply. Helpful. Another load of tests later (all the same ones as before) and I'm all tucked up in bed. Still none the wiser as to why of course!
Anyway I'm in a room which has 3 other beds in it, all occupied. Next to me is an old woman, she looks like death warmed up and within 30 minutes of me being there she's moved away to another ward. Opposite me is another older woman. She's about mid 60's and is chatty and full of life. Turns out she has liver cancer and has had an op to remove a small non-cancerous growth in her abdomen which may have caused problems for her later. In the bed beside her is a woman in her 40's. She kind of freaks me out a bit. Now she seems nice enough and I'm sure in normal circumstances she's a lovely woman. However, she is in a fair bit of pain and is waiting for surgery and it seems to have affected her somewhat. She informs us loudly that she has an abcess just inside her anus. I'm thinking "ouch" when she says it, as given the look on her face it's gotta be hurting. Trouble is though she finds it most comfortable to lie with her legs wide open. Fair enough and all that but she's wearing the same hospital gown as I am and her preferred way of getting comfort is to be on her hands and knees on the bed with her knees as far apart as she can get them. Like I said she's probably far more dignified in other circumstances but really I could have done without her nether regions being on display at the same time as those who were not nil by mouth were eating their smoked fish in cheese sauce.
Eventually, the Registrar shows face. By now I have been given an injection to stop me getting a dvt in surgery and I have again asked the question "So what's happening then?" to the nurse but was met with a reply of "Oh haven't they told you? They're not very good at keeping patients informed are they?" which didn't really help.
The Registrar, accompanied by 6 flunkies, checks me out and informs me he will be taking me to surgery later that night. Well now I know! He goes on to tell me it will be an "exploratory operation" to see if they can find the root of the problem and fix it. He procedes to tell one of the fulnkies to mark a spot on my back with felt pen so he can find it later! I ask what he means by an "exploratory operation". He tells me he's going to cut me open and have a look and if he finds what he's looking for then it's all good and he'll fix it, if not he'll try again in a day or so before comfirming to me that the surgery (when he does find what he's looking for!) will be "fairly extensive but relatively simple" and will mean a removal of a wider area of tissue. "But you're not sure what your looking for or where it is?" I ask, more than a little bemused by his tone. "No, but we'll keep digging until we get it" is the response. I think not. "Nope, not having it, sorry. If your going to be cutting me open then I'd prefer you do it just once and get it done right first time" I tell him. He looks a bit puzzled. "Ok, we'll leave it for now and re-assess you tomorrow and in the meantime we'll give you some antibiotics and pain relief". Whatever. And with that he's off, still holding his felt pen in his hand.
Later that night as I'm no longer being wheeled to surgery they move me to another ward, me and my drip that is. See I'm still having bags of fluid pumped into me every 2 hours, which worries me ever so slightly because I am now swelling up something rotten and seem to be retaining fluid all over the place...and quite frankly I am peeing for fun...which is another hassle as I am now at the total opposite end of the ward from the loo (one toilet and 12 beds, that is just wrong!) and I need to call a nurse every time I want to go because I am hooked up to this drip which is plugged into the wall and won't come with me to the toilet. Still I'm in a room on my own now and I've got a tv so I mustn't grumble! On the upside they had officially told me at 7pm that I could now eat and drink again, which was nice as I hadn't eaten anything since 9pm the night before and I was now starving. On the downside they didn't have any food to give me as I'd missed dinner...cue a text message to Better Half demanding he come for his visit bearing a sandwich!
The following morning I am awoken at a hideous hour (5.30am), after a night of interrupted sleep getting up and down to the toilet, fighting with my drip which didn't extend to let me sleep on the side I normally do and being woken every time one of the nurses came to give me a new bag of whatever it was..oh and being woken to ask if I wanted pain killers...em I'm asleep so why not just leave me? Following that I was given a cup of tea for breakfast because I hadn't been in the day before to order my breakfast (?) and so they had nothing to give me. Superb. I spend the next few hours playing deal or no deal on my phone and shouting abuse at Noel Edmonds everytime I blew the big money. By now (9am) I am seriously swollen from all the fluids they've been giving me and a nurse finally decides enough is enough after I show her my massive, puffy, swollen hand and ask her if she thinks I am still dehydrated! So it's goodbye drip and hello toilet without the need for assistance! They leave the needle in place though just to piss me off.
At 10.30 the consultant strolls in, with his various flunkies. He looks the business, all suited and booted and he looks well over 18 which is always a bonus, unlike the pre-pubescent looking Registrar I had encountered the night before. Anyway he asks how I'm feeling. Sore. Says he thinks surgery is an option but would like to see how IV antibiotics work for 3 days. Oh shit. He says he can't see any reason to rush into "extensive" surgery and tissue removal before giving other options a chance to work. I like him. He explains the recovery time would be about 8 weeks and after surgery I could be looking at 3 days in hospital and explains why he feels this doesn't warrant "just digging in without knowing where or what we might find". I'm liking him more although a bit pissed at his 3 days of antibiotics by drip decision. Anyway he tells the nurse to continue with the IV antibiotics, she pipes up to tell him I'm actually getting oral antibiotics just now and not IV ones. "Do you have kids?" he asks me. Yes. "It's Easter Sunday this weekend" he says. Yes. "Now regardless of your religious beliefs that is at least a day for families to be together and eat chocolate". Yes. "Why the hell should we confine you to bed for observation then, Who are we to keep you here when you could be eating chocolate eggs with your kids? You seem like a clever woman". Thanks. "I imagine you know that if the pain gets worse you should return immediatley and I will perform your surgery same day don't you?" If you say so. "So I say we let you escape from this dreary room with the ward telephone number tucked in your pocket, a plentiful supply of painkillers and oral antibiotics and with a promise from you that you return as soon as the pain gets any worse". Great idea. And he walks out the room with a big smile to me and a nod of the head. I am liking this man heaps and plenty!
2 hours later and the needle is gone, I'm dressed, tablets and phone number in hand and I'm heading for the hills...and the fridge cause I'm starving!
Since my release last Friday I've had the sorest pain ever. However, I made a decision to try and bear with it to see if the antibiotics would do the trick and Hey Presto they seem to be doing their stuff. A week later I am almost pain free and able to drive, sit and stand with very little discomfort. I'm putting part of my recovery down to being surrounded by nice paintwork, pretty curtains and fresh flowers of course. Cheery yellow Daffodils. That's the secret. I may just send some to the hospital to put in that dreary, minging little room.
Jenny xx
Monday, April 02, 2007
Happy Birthday To Me...
Happy Birthday To Me,
Happy Birthday To Me,
Happy Birthday To Meeeeee,
Happy Birthday To Me!
In case you didn't notice, it's my birthday today! I am 33 years young but after my birthday celebrations yesterday I feel about 19! Haha...you were expecting me to say I felt about 50 weren't you?? No sir, not me. Yes I indulged in a few birthday beveridges yesterday but I don't do hangovers!
As I was 33 and that's not a "special" age I only had a small party with about 2800 people there this year. Saying that 32 is not a "special" age either and I had about 40k at that party...but there comes a time when you need to start downsizing your birthday celebrations!
Yes you've guessed it....this years birthday was celebrated with my fellow Jambos just like last years! Last year I was at Hampden for the Scottish Cup semi final against the Hibs. In case you have forgetten we beat them 4-0 and went on to win it.
This year I took a look at the fixture list and saw we had the Hibs again only this time in the league at Fester Road. I haven't been to Fester Road in about 8 years (partly as a matter of principal cause they are robbing barstewards) but I made an exception yesterday. £125 for 5 tickets (see robbing barstewards £25 for a 6 year old!!) but the old birthday/having the Hobos again was just an omen and I felt we had to be there.
Hibs had planned a party at full time. They were planning on parading their small cup. Hearts haven't won at Fester Road in 4 and half years. They were on a high. We were on a downer after our last league result. The scene couldn't have been better set for a high volume, emotional derby.
The Hearts fans were in full voice from the off and we were all feeling happy enough at 0-0 when half time came. The second half began with the Jambos again in full voice. Then 81 minutes...a feck up by the Hibs keeper and Zaliukkkkaaaaaasssss!!! Goal!!!! That was that. The Hearts end went mental! The other 3 sides of Fester Road in complete silence! It was party central after that with the Jambo lads and lassies singing themsleves hoarse! Despite the Ref's best efforts to help them all day Hibs just couldn't do it. The whistle went and the Hibs party was officially in ruins!
The Jambos sung and danced while the Hibs fans looked on in disgust! The look on their faces was just brilliant! The whole Hearts song book was ringing out as the Jambo's stayed in the ground determined to party themselves. Chants of "big team, big cup, wee team, wee cup" rung out along with a rousing rendition of "bring on the wee cup". The Hibs fans tried once or twice to sing back but where met by the Jambos fans laughing and clapping them. They were so bloody silent that at one point a chant of "will we sing a song for you" was resounding round Fester Road!
Hibs refused to bring out their wee cup until we were all gone but it was a good 25 minutes after the final whistle before the police and stewards started moving us on...some managed to stay in the ground singing at the top of their voices for 40 minutes! All the while the die hard Hibby's were standing about waiting for us to leave so they could start their party...the others were long gone!
So another Hobo beatin' birthday celebration for me and another great day out with my fellow Jambos! It was the first time my kids and my niece have been with us to a Hibs game, let alone Fester Road and to top it all off they were on the tv! It is 4 and a half years since Hearts got a win at Fester Road...I just knew yesterday would be the day we came good!
"The hearts have ruined yer party, the Hearts have ruined yer party, the Hearts have ruined yer party, you's should have stayed in yer beds"
Jenny xx
Happy Birthday To Me,
Happy Birthday To Meeeeee,
Happy Birthday To Me!
In case you didn't notice, it's my birthday today! I am 33 years young but after my birthday celebrations yesterday I feel about 19! Haha...you were expecting me to say I felt about 50 weren't you?? No sir, not me. Yes I indulged in a few birthday beveridges yesterday but I don't do hangovers!
As I was 33 and that's not a "special" age I only had a small party with about 2800 people there this year. Saying that 32 is not a "special" age either and I had about 40k at that party...but there comes a time when you need to start downsizing your birthday celebrations!
Yes you've guessed it....this years birthday was celebrated with my fellow Jambos just like last years! Last year I was at Hampden for the Scottish Cup semi final against the Hibs. In case you have forgetten we beat them 4-0 and went on to win it.
This year I took a look at the fixture list and saw we had the Hibs again only this time in the league at Fester Road. I haven't been to Fester Road in about 8 years (partly as a matter of principal cause they are robbing barstewards) but I made an exception yesterday. £125 for 5 tickets (see robbing barstewards £25 for a 6 year old!!) but the old birthday/having the Hobos again was just an omen and I felt we had to be there.
Hibs had planned a party at full time. They were planning on parading their small cup. Hearts haven't won at Fester Road in 4 and half years. They were on a high. We were on a downer after our last league result. The scene couldn't have been better set for a high volume, emotional derby.
The Hearts fans were in full voice from the off and we were all feeling happy enough at 0-0 when half time came. The second half began with the Jambos again in full voice. Then 81 minutes...a feck up by the Hibs keeper and Zaliukkkkaaaaaasssss!!! Goal!!!! That was that. The Hearts end went mental! The other 3 sides of Fester Road in complete silence! It was party central after that with the Jambo lads and lassies singing themsleves hoarse! Despite the Ref's best efforts to help them all day Hibs just couldn't do it. The whistle went and the Hibs party was officially in ruins!
The Jambos sung and danced while the Hibs fans looked on in disgust! The look on their faces was just brilliant! The whole Hearts song book was ringing out as the Jambo's stayed in the ground determined to party themselves. Chants of "big team, big cup, wee team, wee cup" rung out along with a rousing rendition of "bring on the wee cup". The Hibs fans tried once or twice to sing back but where met by the Jambos fans laughing and clapping them. They were so bloody silent that at one point a chant of "will we sing a song for you" was resounding round Fester Road!
Hibs refused to bring out their wee cup until we were all gone but it was a good 25 minutes after the final whistle before the police and stewards started moving us on...some managed to stay in the ground singing at the top of their voices for 40 minutes! All the while the die hard Hibby's were standing about waiting for us to leave so they could start their party...the others were long gone!
So another Hobo beatin' birthday celebration for me and another great day out with my fellow Jambos! It was the first time my kids and my niece have been with us to a Hibs game, let alone Fester Road and to top it all off they were on the tv! It is 4 and a half years since Hearts got a win at Fester Road...I just knew yesterday would be the day we came good!
"The hearts have ruined yer party, the Hearts have ruined yer party, the Hearts have ruined yer party, you's should have stayed in yer beds"
Jenny xx
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