Gremlins and Fairies

Posted on August 29, 2011 by thepogblog

I’m pretty sure that 90% of the time there is a naughty gremlin overseeing my life.  Daft things seem to happen to me with no planning on my part whatsoever (you may have noticed an element of this in the blog…)

In the last few days though, I think the gremlin has been replaced by a lovely fairy.

It started when I was going to stay for a few days with my friend, the Lovely Nut.  It’s not a very long drive but for the first time in two years I thought I should check the oil in my car.  It turned out that I didn’t have any.  It turned out that I’d been very lucky as the engine could have gone pop at any time.  And it turns out that it would have been a bit of a miracle if I’d made it to the Lovely Nut’s house had I not made a detour to the local garage.  So that was number 1.

Staying at the house of the Lovely Nut is...lovely!

Not long after that, I discovered I have a fairy godmother who, in her fairy godmotherliness, made it possible for me to buy an absolutely fantabulous sewing machine and develop a pipe dream I have a little further.  So that was number 2.

So in over excitable Pog mode (think 5 year old child after eating too many blue sweets) I went sewing machine shopping with my mum.  I was like a child in a sweet shop.  I dropped mum off on the way home and thought I’d take the opportunity to do a demonstration of the machine to dad.  That was when I discovered that I’d picked up the machine, the pedal and…left the power lead in the shop.  The shop that was a good 40 minutes away and was closing for the weekend in 10 minutes.  I phoned them (I have no idea why – it’s not like they could have sent the think through the phone line).  But that was number 3.  The man who’d sold me the machine had apparently felt so bad for me that he had taken my address from the guarantee and drove the power lead all the way to my front door.  Talk about customer service!

And then as I drove home (in the car that hadn’t gone pop due to number 1) there was a huge double rainbow in the sky.  And there was somewhere to stop the car to take a photo and I had my camera with me…  Ok, it was only a little thing, but it was like the lovely fairy was smiling at me.  

A bit of the rainbow

Now lovely fairy, if you could stick around a little longer that would be great – I could get used to this :o)

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A few random pictures

Posted on August 21, 2011 by thepogblog

For once I’ve not got much to say (make the most of it – it’s a rare occurrence). 

Instead, I thought I’d just pop a few photos up here that I’ve taken or found in the last few days that I hope you’ll like.

:o)

That weird phone box has had its summer dressing. It now contains a deck chair, beach ball, hat, towel, buckets and…a sand castle…
We all need a cuddle sometimes, Charlie included (this wasn’t set up – I actually found them like this)
My little garden. 5 years ago it was a patch of mud
And one rediscovered today. This is the way that my sisters travelled to Cornwall (the box was specially made to take their cot mattress). I bet there aren’t many families of 5 who can get to Cornwall with 2 weeks worth of stuff in a Metro these days though…!

:o)

 
 
 
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why do you never see baby pigeons?

Posted on August 17, 2011 by thepogblog

A few weeks ago I had a weird conversation with my parents, the focus of which ended up being that question ‘why do you never see baby pigeons?’

A few days later I got a phone call from my dad: ‘I’ve found one!  I’ve found one!’  And sure enough, he had.  And even better, it was still there when he returned with a camera…

baby pigeon!

So I think the answer to ‘why do you never see baby pigeons?’ is probably something along the lines of ‘because they are not the most attractive of things and they have the good sense to stay home in their nest until they look more…pigeon like’.

But now I want to know where all the pigeons you see at Trafalgar Square build their nests.  Are there pigeon tower blocks somewhere in central Londonto accommodate them all?  For now though, I’m happy to have finally seen a baby pigeon.  Unattractive, maybe, but cute all the same.

:o)

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Evidence of Old Age

Posted on August 13, 2011 by thepogblog

I got old.  It’s crept up on me without very much warning.  And this is in addition to the fact that I’ve once again spent the last 6 months convinced I was a year younger than I actually am – mum had to break it to me when I gave the nurse in hospital the wrong age.

Not a bad view...

How has old age manifested itself?  With the whole pain and not being able to move much I took to sitting in the garden as a sun bed is the only comfortable thing to sit on for any length of time.  It’s not been very warm, so I’ve been wearing one of my dad’s very old, very oversized jumpers.  And my cosy knitted slippers.  And when it gets nippy, I pop a blanket over my legs.  And because it can get boring sewing all day with no background noise I’ve been listening to the radio.  I’ve listened to Radio 1 since I was about five years old when Tony Blackburn was my hero (even if he never did play ‘Shaddup Your Face’ on my birthday as requested), but that seems a bit, well, loud  when you’re not feeling great.  So I have converted and I am now a Radio 4 listener.  I have spent time trying to work out who is who in The Archers.  I have listened to the original and the repeats of Gardeners Question Time.  I have got involved in the afternoon plays.  And I have enjoyed it! (as much as you can when feeling like a pile of pants, anyway).

After a bit of additional poorliness last week I’ve been told I’ve not been doing the resting thing properly, so this week I will be spending even more time old lady style.  I hope it doesn’t rain because it’s not so fun out there getting soggy… :o)

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Bit of a gall stone update…

Posted on August 7, 2011 by thepogblog

This time last week I was hungry, thirsty, nervous and able to move a lot more easily than I can right now…  In case you missed it, last Sunday evening I had my gall stones out.  I am now 17 stones lighter (sadly the stones are of the gall variety, not the pounds and ounces type).  Yes, that’s SEVENTEEN.  And I got to keep them!  They may be teeny tiny but in this case it is quantity not quality that impressed me…

That's them!

It turns out that I am a truly terrible patient.  I refused to put on my gown, surgical stockings and paper knickers until the very last minute (mainly, I admit, because mum ‘just wanted one photograph then she would go home’).  Then, having been walked to the theatre by a small child dressed as a nurse (who claimed she was over 18 but in my view should have still been at primary school),  I interrogated the anaesthetist as to exactly how it all worked…  I’d been told that I’d have a few 1 cm holes made in my tummy, but was he sure they’d actually be able to get my gall bladder out of one of these?  Was it that small or would they have to make one of the holes bigger?  The reassuring answer, it turned out, was that the gall bladder was like a raw sausage that could be squeezed as they popped it out.  This led to questions on how they would manage with a hysterectomy.  I won’t give you the details but I have to say, he was very lovely for explaining despite his obvious confusion over why I’d swapped from details on my procedure to one that was completely unrelated.  I can only assume that nerves had got the better of me as I then asked the small child / nurse if I could have an etch-a-sketch afterwards as that’s what I’d played with after my last operation when I had my tonsils and adenoids out.  Aged 5.

By the time I got into the theatre I had to inform all the people with masks on that I’d forgotten how to breathe so they gave me something to relax me.  All I can remember is it making me giggle.  A lot. 

Then there was lots of boring stuff and surprise on my part that I wasn’t feeling 100% the next day.  It turns out that surgery is quite painful and you do actually have to rest afterwards.  I’m bored of it now though and I feel very silly walking at speeds where elderly ladies can overtake me with ease.  I did draw the line at borrowing a walking stick however…  Anyway, I’m sure it will all feel back to normal soon, and at least I can say that I have lost 17 stone(s)  :o)

PS:  Thank you to all the very lovely people who sent texts, called me posted cards, sent flowers, home grown vegetables (wow, they were good) and, in the case of Sister 2, brought breakfast and took me on an outing :o)x

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I’m off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz…

Posted on July 29, 2011 by thepogblog

I’m off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz…

Only I’m not getting a heart (I really hope I have one of those already) I’m getting my gall bladder taken out. And the wizard is actually a surgeon who calls me ‘my dear’. And sadly it isn’t Oz where we’re meeting up – although hopefully having remembered my private medical insurance, it should be a better hospital experience than the recent nhs one…

I’ve made a few discoveries this week that, should you end up in a similar gall stony type of state, might be useful to you:

  • Try not to watch an episode of CSI which focuses on being buried alive too close to having an MRI scan (one of those ones in the tunnel). It doesn’t help with the slight feeling of panic that starts about 20 seconds into the 20 minute procedure.
  • Don’t rely on the nurse to tell you when to breathe while in the MRI tunnel thing. After several rounds of ‘breathe in. breathe out breathe in, hold, 2, 3, 4…19, 20, and breathe normally again’ we got to the counting, we stopped counting and…nothing. So added to the feeling of possibly being buried alive was the vague sensation of being suffocated.
  • Don’t think too much about the operation. Especially the bit about being ‘filled with gas’, particularly when you’ve been told that you ‘will need a bit extra due to the inflammation’. I can’t help thinking that I may float away like an oversized balloon if they get too carried away with the giant canister I assume is stashed in the operating theatre.

And one final thought. I’m going to find out how much a gall bladder weighs. I’m going to weigh myself before and after. I’m really hoping it could be a stone or two.

OK, there’s being positive and there is just being daft. I may have just crossed the line. I blame the gall stones…

:o)

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Pog’s Genius Muffins

Posted on July 25, 2011 by thepogblog

I know this is an incredibly un-English thing to say, and I wouldn’t usually, but…I am a genius!

As you may have gathered from previous blogs, I’m on a low-fat-gallstone-friendly-diet.  Which mainly consists of tuna.  Even the bits that don’t consist of tuna are quite boring.

Yesterday I made some low fat muffins.  They were a change from the tuna, I admit, but they weren’t exactly inspiring.  So today I fiddled with the recipe and not only can you whip them up in 5 minutes, but they taste bloody gorgeous AND they are low fat!  It only seemed fair to share my moment of genius with you (because, let’s face it, it doesn’t happen very often…).

 Sooooo..

 Pog’s Genius Muffins

 Pop the oven on at 170 C

Throw the following into a bowl:

  • 200g s-r flour
  • 50g muscavado sugar
  • 1 tsp bicarbonate of soda
  • 2-3 mashed bananas
  • A handful of sultanas
  • A few handfuls of bran flakes (crunch them in your hand as you pop them in)
  • About ½ pack of chocolate drops (it’s low fat not no fat…)

 Make a well in the middle

 Throw the following into a jug:

  • 200ml of skimmed milk
  • 2 eggs
  • 2tbsp of…it’s supposed to be sunflower oil, but I thought that sounded pants so I used that ‘Buttery Light Touch’ oily type stuff.  Well it’s only 2 tbsp…

 Whisk the jug contents and pour into the well in the bowl.  Mix together so it becomes a bit of a slushy mess (they called it a ‘batter’ in the original recipe).  Divide between 12 muffin thingys and cook for 15 minutes.

Et Voila!

I can guarantee they’re more interesting than a tin of tuna.  If you’re more sensible than me you might want to go for sultanas or chocolate drops, but frankly, where is the fun in that?  :o)

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Pog Ponderings

Posted on July 24, 2011 by thepogblog

I’ve been doing a bit of pondering.  And I thought I’d share it with you …well, not much else happens when you’re not moving a lot due to ouchy blimin’ gallstones…  Sorry about that.  So here goes:

  • Is there any wildlife left in the vicinity of Pog Towers after a certain Charlie and Norman have, in the last week, bought me gifts of 2 birds (one alive, one dead), two mousey-type-things, two butterflies and a slug?
  • Should a certain puss cat bring you the gift of a live bird, it is a jolly useful thing to have a Sister 1 in the vicinity.  What that girl can do with a tea towel is most impressive.
  • Perhaps I should have wondered a little earlier why my moisturiser was leaving me feeling so sticky.  It turns out I’d muddled it with the shower gel and had been slapping it on my arms and legs after my shower for well over a week.
  • Just how many meals in a row this week will involve tuna? (tuna being ok on the low-fat-gallstone-friendly diet.)  This week it was three meals in a row and eight in total.  I’m going off tuna.
  • It’s definitely be a warm day.  I know this because my neighbour has spent the day in his white Y-fronts.  I know this because he was doing his watering in them.  I need a bigger hedge.
  •  Is there anything cuter (other than Charlie and Norman of course) that Sister 1 and co’s new addition to the family?

Introducing...Monster!

No…didn’t think so :o)

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A delayed holiday update

Posted on July 21, 2011 by thepogblog

I hope the last post explained why I may have chose to go on holiday with my parents this year.  Well, that and the fact that we all love Greek islands.  

The parents (also known as ‘the old seniles’) have been known to have a senior moment or two.  There’s nothing that highlights such moments though as two weeks together…so much so that I started noting some of the things that happened.  Things such as:

Dad forgetting his walking stick which was slightly problematic with the 10 mile walk they had planned (and they didn’t tell me until an hour in that no, it wasn’t a two hour walk – it was 4 ¾ for the record).  Hand carved olive wood walking sticks were rather pricey so the solution we came up with was…a mop handle.  He looked like a cross between a tourist and a cleaner wandering around with it…

My favourite Mum quote: ‘Jesus went to Glastonbury’  (It turns out that 1) she wasn’t talking about the festival and 2) this conviction was based on a fictional book that she was reading.)

My favourite Dad quote:  (While giving old seniles a swimming less in retaliation for the 10 mile mountain trek) ‘I can’t take my feet off the bottom of the pool.  I’m a Virgo.  It’s an earth sign…!’

And one of the slightly frustrating conversations:  The old seniles kindly got me a citronella candles at the local shop to keep away the mossies.  Later I took it with me up to their apartment as I couldn’t light it (no lighter due to no smoking).

Dad:  oh, have ours then (offering me the candle that they bought with them from Tesco – yes, really)

Me (confused):  I can’t light that one either…

Dad (very grumpy):  Well, what do you want me to do?

Me:  Erm, maybe I could borrow your lighter?

Dad:  Lighter!  Light!  I thought you said ‘like’…that you didn’t like it!

And just because it’s not fair to only laugh at the old seniles, I had a senior moment too.  I got my insect repellent spray and hairspray confused.  I strongly suggest you don’t do the same as it turns out it’s really difficult to get a good coating of hairspray off your arms…

 Actually you know, it was a good holiday :o)

How could you not have a good holiday here?!

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The joys of an Independent Single Woman holiday

Posted on July 19, 2011 by thepogblog

I said a while back that I’d tell you about my holiday.  Gallstones have delayed me but here we go…

I need to make an admission and explain it before I tell you much about this years holiday .  The admission?  I went on holiday with my parents.  Just me and them…And now I need to tell you a story explain:

A few years ago I decided that never mind being single and never mind that all my friends were all coupled up.  No…I had a decent job and had bought a house and lived alone quite happily so now I would do the ultimate Independent Single Woman thing.  I would go on holiday on my own.  How hard could it be after all?

I arranged to rent a friends apartment in Spain (possibly the only part, it turned out, where nobody speaks a word of English) and booked my flight with dreams of lying in the sun on the beach, al fresco dinners where passers by would be impressed by my independent-ness and generally having a lovely sense of freedom for a full 10 days.  Obviously things didn’t go quite to plan…

After the flight (I don’t like flying), I had to negotiate the Spanish underground (I hate the underground) and over ground (only marginally better).  None of my instructions were quite right but I was pleasantly surprised at how far miming could get you and was incredibly proud when, three hours later I had got as far as the taxi.

The taxi driver didn’t seem to know the address so he just dropped me off in the town.  It was sweltering and very dark (well, it was midnight) and I had no idea where to go. But independent women do not cry in the street in a foreign county whilst carting a suitcase which had only just avoided an excess weight charge. 

I eventually found the building.  Obviously the apartment was on the top floor and of course, I couldn’t get the keys to open the door however much I pleaded with them.  Then I remembered Alberto.  Alberto was the neighbour on the third floor who was apparently very old, very grumpy, very Spanish and spoke no English.  He would however help out in an emergency.  Well, sleeping in a stairwell that was almost at boiling point in the middle of the night for 10 days would result in some sort of emergency so, despite the time I wandered down to make his acquaintance.

‘Ci?’  Demanded a slightly intimidating Alberto.

‘Alberto?

‘Ci…’ (a torrent of Spanish fell out of his mouth)

 ‘I’m really sorry, I don’t speak Spanish.  I have flown in today…” (Miming an aeroplanes wings) “…and I am staying upstairs…” (pointing up) “…and the keys…” (waving them around) “…wont work.” (moving my hands in what I hoped was a generic, multi-lingual ‘not working’ gesture).  “Help?”

Alberto trundled up the stairs with me opened the door (first try, of course) and we both stood rather still as we noticed giant cockroaches scuttling down the hallway.  Alberto rushed off…and thankfully rushed back… with a huge can of cockroach spray.  He then gave me (mimed) lessons in spraying and killing cockroaches while shouting ‘Safari’ and grinning like a maniac.  I suspect that it may have been the most fun he’d had in a while.  After a while Albert left and I continued the massacre…I couldn’t do anything, especially sleep, until I knew the buggers had all gone.  Finally I thought I’d got them, scooped their carcasses up (over 20 by this stage) and dropped them over the balcony.  I then looked over the balcony to discover that there was a street café just below, and yes, people were eating….

And that was the first few hours of my Single Independent Woman holiday.  And it didn’t improve. Lying in the sun on the beach?  It rained almost everyday.  Al fresco dinners where passers by would be impressed by my independent-ness?  Somehow I ended up having cheese, ham or cheese and ham in one form or another every night, and it turns out that it’s actually really hard to read a book in a nonchalant manner while eating.  A sense of freedom?  I just wanted a chat with someone!

As you can see, my Independent Single Woman holiday wasn’t terribly successful so rather than risk that chaos again, I thought I’d risk a holiday with the parents this year.  I’ll give you a few highlights of that in the next post…

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