Thank you to Lily, my daughter, for visiting, pre flight, and as usual pre packing her suitcase …
I did manage to donate half a suitcase of milky bars… lovely to see her , and to Jack ( the lad ) AF, my Godson, ‘tache and all (?!) and hear his uni rugby club beer drinking exploits ( sounded very familiar, but without a single ban to his name thus far…Jack do try harder…)
The uni rugby club new player ‘ initiations’ sounded pretty extreme and humiliating ( well of course, they’re not supposed to be fun, other than to those NOT being initiated.. man to fellow man cruelty, for the fun of it, being the overriding principle )
Good, well possibly, that initiations are now the form in schools too, for the boys breaking into the senior rugby squads ( Ziggy, I saw some photo evidence – and the introduction of Bush Tucker Trial type food humiliation )
I remember it so well ( or think I do??) having been on both the receiving and giving end, in rugby clubs and stag nights – my own included ( where I remember virtually nothing of what befell me – even after seeing the photos, the contents of which are way too ‘wrong’ to write about here – but I wouldn’t have had it any other way )
The Welsh are unsurpassed when it comes to socially unacceptable cruelty for the good of the victim.
I found when I moved to England that pity and sensitivity stood in the way far too much – though I remember an English mate being strapped sadistically with a belt, by a female stripper at 11am in a room in Waterloo railway station, that really wasn’t that funny after a while.
Ahhh the fond recollections…
I’ve been here so long that I need a ( second ) haircut, and a push to get there, obviously, before I turn back into Ken Dodd.
Bowel – wise, there is progress, and my stomach is on its’ way to being flat again, though still swollen from the large and deep incision running diagonally across it. Coughing is now something that I do deliberately, but still painful enough to regret, straight after.
Two days ago the nurse asked if I was in much pain and I said how much when I coughed, she looked at my drug chart and said ‘ well, no wonder, you’re only on paracetamol, would you like some codeine?’ Christ, what on earth where all those pills I’ve been taking, without any of them being painkillers, and how was that overlooked?!’
Never mind, I’m almost past it and it didn’t kill me.
I am now questioning the extent of the metalwork that has rendered me so unable to move, and once the screws have bedded in, the removal of some of it, to restore some ability to bend. I can’t go another 30 years being this ‘ unable’ .
I have also sent a few texts to longstanding friends, who despite living just up the road, relatively speaking, haven’t paid me a visit in the 55 days I’ve been here.
Seems fair to me, to enquire.
No point in being shy about it..
What’s the worst that can happen?
I mean surely someone could give me a push up The Shard, it being next door?
I’ll pay !
Having just looked online, I get in at a discount, and it’s free for the ‘ carer’ giving me a push. See, not all bad, right?
For clarity – THAT’S 2 OF US FOR £20, RATHER THAN 2 FOR £52
No limit on how many times I can go, either!
Lots of leg spadms/ jerks this morning. Four operations definitely haven’t eliminated those, but the next hospital may well do a lot more.
Thanks to Cherie, for coming yet again, and gifting me some coconut cream/ lotion which has already worked to reduce the scales that I seemed to be growing whilst in here.
And I’m aware that I smell much better, too.
Can’t be a bad thing?