Feeling sigh-y

I was just telling a friend in a Facebook message how my mum is doing, and it kind of depressed me. And at that point I realized that that is why I haven't written here for a few weeks. And it's why I haven't replied to my cousin's email of last week asking how she's doing.

Because I'm a bit in denial.

If I don't go visit my mum, I can be oblivious to her hair loss and her mobility issues.

If I don't phone my mum, my brother, my sister, my dad, then I can't be told stuff I don't wanna hear. Right?

If I don't think about it or talk about it or write about it, it's not there. Right?

I'm like the three wise monkeys: see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. But the "evil" is cancer.



That sounded a bit more clichéd and melodramatic than I had intended, but you get my meaning, I'm sure.

This is what I wrote to my friend:

"[My mum is] seeming quite tired, and her memory is letting her down a bit, and she's getting crotchety at times. It's quite disheartening and depressing talking to her on the phone most times now, and it makes me sad."

I can go on at greater length here, so I will.

Often when I speak to her, I have to repeat things about three times. I know this is sometimes because she has the TV on or because there are a couple of house guests, so she is distracted. But sometimes I'm fairly sure that the reason is because the cancer growths are fucking with her brain and affecting her hearing. Maybe that's not the case. But I've kind of decided it is.

And -- selfish fuck that I am, obviously -- it can be frustrating for me to have to keep saying the same thing several times. But also for her, I'm sure, it must be annoying not to hear what is being said and so to have to keep asking for someone to repeat himself.

There's also been some talk, between the younger family members (those of my generation), of prognosis and whether or not it is good for her to know if her remaining time is particularly short. We are anticipating a timescale of less than six months. While this seems very negative, it is the best guess we can make with the information we have gleaned so far, from brochures and online sources. Thus far, the doctor has not given any prognosis.

A family friend in Italy lived through a similar dilemma with her father, so my other half will ask her about that process and whether they feel they made the right choice, keeping him uninformed.

What do my blogpals here think? If the doctor thinks six months, is it better to tell her or not to tell her?

We think the prognosis will come at the end of next week, at her next meeting with her oncologist. So if we decide as a family that she is best not knowing, we need to inform the doctor before the meeting. But of course we as a family probably ought to know.

This is bullshit.

I hate thinking about this stuff. I hate writing about it. I hate talking about it.

And yet somehow, at its best, blogging about it helps me to distance myself from it. But I don't know if that's good or bad.

She's gone away for a few days now, with her husband and my eldest cousin local to her. Just a few days in a friend's caravan at a seaside caravan park. She's been looking forward to it, so even though I don't think it was the most sensible decision, I'm sure she'll enjoy it as much as is possible. And it will probably do her good not to have to deal with phone calls and house visits several times a day.

Fuck’s sake.

Maybe I'm in a minority -- and certainly I can't speak from a smoker's point of view, because I have never been a smoker -- but what the fuck possible reason can there be for someone diagnosed with brain cancer continuing to smoke?

When my mum was in hospital, she was there for just over three weeks, and for the majority of that time she didn't smoke. Towards the end of her stay, however, she had a craving for a ciggie, and a nurse told her, "Well, one won't do you any harm." (This from a medical professional; don't even get me started...)

That one turned into a few a day for the last few days of her hospital stay.

And she has continued to smoke several cigarettes a day since being discharged on 29 July.

We -- those family members who don't smoke -- suggested she should stop. Stop now before she becomes addicted again, undoing all the good work of not smoking for almost three weeks. Some other family members -- the smokers -- suggested, well, it's not going to make much difference.

And, of course, the smoking will help with the stress.

It's hard to argue that latter point, sure. And nobody wants to argue with someone who has just been diagnosed with cancer, getting them all upset and shit.

But we did manage to get her to agree to stop smoking once the radiotherapy started. She said she would stop then. Her husband said he would stop, too, to make it easier for her to quit.

You know where this is going, don't you?

I've just spoken to her. She is four fifths of the way through her radiotherapy. Just one appointment left.

"How's the non-smoking going?" I asked.

Silence; then: "The what?"

I said, "I suspect by that answer you're still smoking."

"Well, yes. Nobody has told me I should stop or has even asked if I'm smoking. I'll ask about it when I next speak to a doctor."

Aside: I know this will be in three weeks' time. Ergo, she is gonna keep fucking smoking for another three fucking weeks. Despite the promises. Despite the fact (perhaps unknown to her, but nevertheless) that radiotherapy is less effective in those patients who continue to smoke throughout the course.

What fucking part of a cancer victim's brain shuts down when it comes to smoking? Can you tell me?

Like I said in the title: fuck's sake...

Between work and a hard place

With work being mad at the moment and us being in the process of selling one house and buying another, as well as processing/dealing with my mum's illness, it's a fucking crazy time right now.

No more so, necessarily, than millions of people go through every day, so I'm not getting all "woe is me" on anyone, y'know. If anyone should be woeful right now, it should probably be my mum more than me.

But she's pretty upbeat. Inappropriately upbeat? Maybe. In denial? Maybe. Who can say? And who am I to deny her that?

She's heading off for her first dose of radiotherapy today (not yesterday as we had thought previously). She's probably getting it pretty much as I type this, actually.

She texts family and friends every morning, letting us know how she slept and how she's feeling. This is the text she sent out this morning:

"Well this is it then, the next 5 [days] will decide my future but i know it will be alright and I will come bouncing back feeling better and fitter than I have for months xx"

Word from Birmingham

Yesterday afternoon we finally received word back from Birmingham. The doctors there agreed with the original diagnosis of metastatic brain cancer.

Before the day was out, a phone call was then placed to my mum, inviting her to a "planning appointment" on Monday, which will be followed by her first session of radiotherapy.

Subsequent sessions will take place over the following days of the week -- that is, she will receive treatment Monday to Friday next week.

This is not really the news I/we were hoping for. But it is at least some sort of forward movement. Something is finally happening beyond simply waiting.

There’s always hope. But beware false security.

Thanks for all your comments to my previous posts, folks. I know it's hard to know what to say. Equally, there's not much I can say in response other than thank you. Your thoughts and well wishes are appreciated.

I was up visiting my mum Thursday to Saturday, and the latest info is this.

Oddly, she seems much, much better than she was two weeks or so ago. I know this might be down to the huge number of drugs she is on. But equally, she is walking better and the numbness she had in a full half of her face is retreating somewhat.

She is also much more able to retain information. By that I mean: a couple of weeks ago, if she didn't get a thought out of her head immediately, she would have forgotten it within seconds. Now she is able to have a thought and remember it while other people are talking and then say her piece a couple of minutes later, just like any of us would in a normal conversation.

Her face is getting a bit rounder because she is now eating a lot more. She's not eating that well by normal food standards, but the Macmillan nurse told her that it's important she take in high-calorie foods as and when she feels she wants to eat, rather than necessarily sticking to set mealtimes. So she's eating soups and jelly (that's like Jell-O for you American types, rather than jelly as in PB&J) and canned fruit and cream etc etc.

Most of her pain has now gone, although she does suffer with stomach cramps once a day, usually about an hour after falling asleep at night. She is taking Oramorph for this -- a low-dose morphine suspension by mouth -- and that seems to do the job.

She's also very positive, but I think that's because some of the drugs she is on are uppers... Probably no bad thing.

It was good to see her looking and feeling so much better than she was a couple of weeks back.

We are still waiting for the experts in Birmingham to get their opinions back to Mum's hospital. But right now, I don't think I'm alone in feeling cautiously optimistic. And my mum's local hospital has a terrible reputation for fuck-ups and misdiagnoses. That said, I don't want to get lulled into a false sense of security, y'know?

Great way to start retirement

So, it's a crazy time right now. Not only are Red and I on the verge of moving house. And that, most people acknowledge, is one of the most stressful events in people's lives. But also, my mum has been quite ill. She's 61, she remarried three years ago, and she retired last year.

The story is this.

She was hospitalized suddenly one evening about five weeks ago with a suspected mini-stroke. At admittance she was given a CT scan as a matter of course. And this revealed some shadows on her brain.

Later tests, such as MRIs, showed shadows on her lungs and stomach. And the word came back that she probably has cancer.

In all, she stayed in hospital for 22 days, which is a pretty long stretch, I'd venture to say. And in all that time she had further tests and biopsies and whatever else could be thrown at her. Meanwhile she wasn't really eating particularly well, because hospital food is, frankly, quite shit.

Some bits of good news came through at various stages. They came back to say that the stomach was clear of cancer and, later, that the lung, too, was cancer-free.

The brain, however, is a continuing issue.

What they believe is that it is secondary cancer -- that is, cancer that has spread from elsewhere in the body. But they can't find the source, the primary cancer. That said, they have revised their thoughts on the lung somewhat, saying now that there is something at the back of it.

Now, here's the kicker. Or one of them.

Here in the UK -- or maybe simply at the hospital she's in, I don't know -- they don't or can't do biopsies of secondary (metastasized) cancer in the brain. Indeed, if it was primary cancer, it would be easier to deal with. So, because they can't do a biopsy, they can only reach a decision by consensus as to whether this is actually cancer.

We are awaiting that decision as I type. It's been two weeks now since her tests went to the experts in Birmingham to analyze and discuss, so we should hear back any day now.

And if it is cancer?

Well, here's the second kicker.

They will treat it with radiotherapy to the whole brain. This will be a series of about ten 3-minute sessions over the course of two weeks (on weekdays). This is hoped to shrink the cancer and help improve my mum's "quality of life". That's a term that never sounds good, right?

But it's not a cure.

And if the cancer comes back? Well, then there's nothing more to do but wait.

Word is that we could be looking at her having only six months.

Or perhaps it's all a big mistake, and the experts will tell us that. We can always hope, right? Denial is a wonderful thing.

Here's a picture of denial. Ooops, no, it's da Nile. See. I can still do great comedy.

Meh.

I've been quite shite at doing my latest travel/birthday blog posts. Indeed, I haven't even finished the birthday day itself. And it's depressing that my next posts are gonna be pretty miserable stuff.

I'm probably gonna make this private for a little while, so if you want to get invited to read some personal, private stuff, drop me a mail. I don't mind that; just wanna keep it away from the wider world while it's all so recent and raw.

Drop me a line. I'd be glad of it. You know misery loves company, right?

See, that’s love...

Regular readers will remember my story a couple of weeks ago about my mother-in-law's feelings about my tattoos. (Find the post here.)

And yet, last week the wife and I received a parcel from Italy. In it were a pandoro, a panettone, a Christmas present for each of us (including Cat), a Settimana Enigmistica for Red, a copy of the latest Dylan Dog for me, and ... a tattoo magazine. She may not dig or understand tattoos, but still she went to the newsagent and got me a tattoo mag. I thought that was very sweet of her.

Is it Wednesday already?

It's my dad's birthday today. He's 61.

On Monday I had another two and a half hours' work done on my tattoo backpiece. It's looking so motherfucking rad now, man. I really love it. Which is a good thing, cos it would kind of be a problem now if I didn't, wouldn't it?! According to my little black book, that puts the total time spent in the chair so far at 12 hours. And unlike some tattooers, Xam tends to be working the whole of that time, rather than taking phone calls and shooting the shit with passers-by. As a client I really appreciate the difference. He reckons we'll be pretty much done in about another two sessions, or around five hours.

This week's session was the most painful yet. There were times when I was thinking I'd have to stop. I've never experienced that before. But I kept saying to myself, "If I tap out now, it's another six weeks or so until I get back here." That was enough to spur me on and endure the discomfort.

What else...?

Oh yeah, I sent Shea a copy of the short film I made (whisper it) 11 years ago, coupled with a music video from the following year, I think. It'll be interesting to hear what he thinks of them. If I ever get around to it, I might even post them up on here someday.

I've set myself a small film-making challenge for this week, too, so I hope to get that started and finished in the next couple of days.

Italy went out of the European Cup, losing to Spain on penalties. That sucked, but they didn't play so great.

If you've not been over to my movie reviews (such as they are) in recent weeks, there has been some activity there, though I confess to having been a little lax. I'm trying to get on top of that shit, cos I'm watching some good films at the moment.

I'm sure I had some other stuff to write about, but it's gone clean out of my head. Oh well, probably wasn't very important. Not as important as me getting downstairs to deal with the washing up, anyway. So, off I go.

I’m gonna party like it’s my birthday

Cos it's my motherfucking birthday, yo!

Off to cow and cider country this morning, so I'll catch y'all after the weekend.

A pox on you!

Those of you who go to my missus's blog will know that she has been diagnosed with chickenpox this week. We are proper gutted. She especially, obviously, because she's always tried to be über-careful, not socializing with any friends whose kids have not had it and that sort of thing.

We are doubly gutted because this coincides with my birthday weekend, and we are supposed to be going away to see my family, including our new three-month-old nephew. But now she won't be able to see the nephew cos he's too young to be exposed to the chickenpox virus.

And we are also wondering whether we ought to come clean with the B&Bs and/or restaurants that we have booked for the weekend. If I ran a B&B, I probably would not want someone staying if they had chickenpox...

That said, if we had gone last weekend, she would have been at least as contagious but nobody would have even known about it.

So, moral dilemma: should we come clean and risk being asked not to come? Or should we just go anyway and risk infecting anyone who comes near, just so we don't have to change our plans?

Birthday girls and payment fascists

It's one of those times... those times when I'm too busy to post much or to get around and visit many blogpals. Those of you who check in at Such As They Are will notice my daily posts there have dried up for a wee while too. Time, time, time...

My workload... our workload, really, since the wife and I help each other with projects as the need arises... is like that. You can be doing very little for a few weeks, even months, and then suddenly you're snapped into 12-hour days and considering doing after-dinner shifts too.

"Can't complain" is our mantra at such times. "It's all money towards the mortgage." And it's true, we can't complain; it's all money towards the mortgage.

But some people don't pay on time. Some people take the piss when it comes to paying. I'm currently chasing an invoice for work we did in mid-November. It's annoying. Especially so because we are expected to continue delivering work on time for the same client. Gets my goat.

Pah!

But I'm trying to find time to play my Scrabulous moves, and mostly I'm keeping on top of that!

And I'm even getting birthday packages sent out on time. Today it's my niece's 10th birthday. Double figures at last! You remember hitting double figures, what a momentous birthday occasion that is? I bet she's super-psyched today.

I had the Devil's own time trying to find her the one gift she really wanted. Not to mention having to embarrass myself at three different shops: HMV, Zavvi, and WH Smith. What was it she wanted? The Pop Party 5 CD. I still couldn't get it. Prices ranged from £8 to £16 within just a few metres of each other, but the £8 shops were out of stock, and I sure as hell wasn't going to pay £16. Anyway, long story short, Zavvi ordered it for me at the £8 price, but who knows when she'll get it in the mail...?

Still, in the meantime she's got a T-shirt, a Dirty Dancing CD, and some badges to keep her happy.

Anyway, I dunno what else to write so I'm off to do some work. Ta-ra for now, amigos.

Been a bad blogger

It's 6 January, and this is only my second post of the year. And frankly the first one wasn't all that anyway.

The truth is, I've found myself lost in Guitar Hero III, and it's taken over my life. In fact, it's taken over mine and Red's lives. Of course, we make time for work, too, but almost all leisure pursuits have been abandoned in favour of standing in front of the TV with a pretend guitar strapped across us and pressing little coloured buttons for all we're worth. It's almost absurd!

Until 20 December, we lived a Guitar Hero-less life. Until 20 December. On that fateful day, we visited our friend Ivan at his flat in Italy. Ivan loves his games consoles, and he was keen to show us -- and let us have a go on -- his Guitar Hero II and III. Oops.

We played for not much more than an hour probably -- at the end of this post, you can see video of my first-ever go -- but by the time we returned to the UK on the 26th, we had decided to buy the game. Which actually meant having to buy a console, too. We opted for Playstation3 rather than Xbox 360 because I don't have any faith in Microsoft and don't wish to give them any money either. Whether it was the best choice is a moot point among gamers apparently, but so be it.

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Italy was great. I love being there. In fact, I love being anywhere that takes me away from my work, but Christmas in Italy is great. Well, Italy is great. Hmm, I'm not sure where this is going. I just love eating and drinking good food and wine/beer. And while I can do that here, it's so much easier to do so in Italy. There are so many good places to eat.

Food is so important to Italians that it must be nigh on impossible for a bad restaurant to stay in business. While here in the UK, so many cheap restaurants are shite. It's a fact, and it's a shame. As great as the strides are that have been made by the UK dining industry in recent years, they mostly are only in the expensive sector. Cheap 'n' cheerful is still desperately subpar.

The aforementioned Ivan and his brothers have a restaurant about 20 minutes' drive away from Red's family home, so we always make time to eat there. If we are in the area for more than a week, we make at least two visits. We have even been known to visit for one night only, and even then a beeline was made for Ivan's rezzy.

But another thing that's great about visiting Red's mum is that we get to see how the cats are doing. Over the years that I've been part of the family, I've seen a few pets come (and go, sadly), and there has been a new addition since our last visit.

The fun-lovin', ball-chasin', unconstrictable-eyed Rudy has been joined by a tiny black ball of fluff called Zaccaria. Zac has only one eye and was found on a roadside. (Rudy was a found cat, too, in fact.) The two of these loons together is something to behold, and although they obviously get on well and play together, Rudy was jealous of having to share us with his new lil' brother.

I used to be allergic to cats, but that has all but gone since being a cat owner myself. However, the allergy still rears its ugly head with kittens. Their fine fluffy coats just slay me. The first night I was wheezing like a motherfucker, and so I had to get some tablets (like antihistamines or something) for when I felt it coming on. They helped a lot. Which is good, cos I hate not being able to have the kitties on my lap.

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So, a family tradition is, on Christmas Day, everyone goes to Red's sister's mother-in-law's house. (Got that?) This woman is great. She's really nice and eccentric, but the most incredible thing is, she makes all her pasta for the lunch herself. Her tortellini, filled with pork meat, were great. And she goes to the trouble of making vegetarian ravioli for Red, too. So she made all this pasta for 13 people, aside from the other cooking she did too. Among the food I ate that day was capon. Since the castrating of chickens is illegal in the UK, I've never tried this meat before. It was nice, but not so much so that you'd think it was better than any good-quality chicken.

Hold on, how many lunch guests???!?!!! Yep, 13. Well, the Italians are a superstitious bunch, and 13 at the table just can't be.

For a few minutes heads were scratched about how to get around this. Set another place? Serve an extra plate? But this all seemed silly. Why lose space for no one? Why waste food on no one?

The wise old mother-in-law had the answer: Petronilla can sit with us. Um, who dat? Off she shot, only to return a few minutes later with quite the spookiest doll you've ever seen, and she sat her on a small stool next to herself at the table. She had her own plate and glass and cutlery. And I have a sneaking suspicion they did indeed give her some food too. Ah, I love Christmas in Italy...

End-of-year round-up

Seven things from 2007

Readers of this blog will already know much of what I did or that happened in my life over the course of the past 12 months, but I just wanted to do a little précis for my own interest to make myself feel good at what can be a depressing time of year.

1. I got tattooed on no fewer than five separate occasions, totalling three completely new tattoos and finishing off one older one that had been languishing in limbo. That's more tattooing than I've ever previously had in one year.

2. I received a letter and a box of goodies from author Chuck Palahniuk, to whom I had written late in 2006. Chuck is a god and a legend, and this was a fucking rad start to a new year. It arrived the day we left for Seville, so I only had a quick look before leaving...

3. Speaking of Seville, I, along with my dearly beloved wife, travelled out of the country on five separate occasions, visiting a total of six -- count 'em! -- new cities: Seville, Granada, Còrdoba, Taormina, Catania, and Valencia. That's more travelling and more cities than I've ever done in one year.

4. The wife and I celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary. That's some feat, my friends, in these days of constant reminders of failed romance everywhere you look. And you know: she ain't a bad chick. The years have gone quickly, and I look forward to sharing the next decade with her. And the next, and the next...

5. It was a momentous year, too, for celebrations. Between our combined families, we celebrated not only our 10th wedding anniversary, but also a new birth, a turning-teenage birthday, and birthdays for a 30th, a 40th, a 50th, a 60th, a 70th, and an 80th! AND my mum got married again. Now that is quite astonishing, I think!

6. Red and I had had our first MIRL. Milla and her man Zorro were the lucky recipients of our presence, while we were the lucky recipients of their yummy food and hospitality. MIRLing was fun. We'll do it again one of these days, I hope.

7. I spent several hours in hospital. While this is, thankfully for me, not up there with the medical horridness that several of my blogmates have been through this year (stand up, Martha, for your courage under the most trying of times), it's not something I am terribly accustomed to... and I hope never to be. Hospitals in the UK are dirty, disease-ridden hellholes. Thank fuck it was only a few hours.

So... it was a year, that's for sure. I don't know what 2008 has in store. Who does? But one thing is for sure, I can't imagine it being as full of stuff as '07.

So what's on the horizon? We have our first gig lined up for the end of January; I have my first appointment to get my tattoo backpiece started at the beginning of February; March is my birthday; April looks like a trip to Germany... Hell, maybe it will be as action-packed. Stay tuned.

In the meantime, I'd like to take a moment to wish everyone who stumbles upon my writings -- but most especially those of you who come back time and again and with whom I've developed something as close to friendship as any I have in real life -- a really great 2008. Take care out there, my friends.

Baby and quiz!

Well, my sister has given birth. Baby, probably to be called Liam, arrived at 4:38am today, weighing in at 6lb 10oz. To celebrate I took the "Which Ant Are You?" quiz. Click the pic to take it yourself!

Stuff and stuff, like decorating, family visits, seasides, and BMXs

I am the world's worst (or should that be best) person at putting stuff off to another day. Well, maybe not the world's worst (or best), but I'm quite bad. Especially when what I am putting off is decorating. Ever since we had the kitchen done -- back in May -- there have been a few bits of painting that needed to be done; truthfully the whole kitchen could do with a new coat. Additionally, the little lobby area between the kitchen and bathroom has been in need of redecoration for a couple of years. And there are a couple of door frames and the like that need some paint to cover the primer I laid a year ago. And there's the bathroom door, which has also been left primed for about a year...

Well, next weekend my dad is coming to visit. Him and his woman. Him and his woman and her two kids. They're not going to be staying here at the house. We don't really have the room for that many people comfortably; furthermore, we don't like kids. So they will actually be staying in a little B&B cottage about a mile away, if that.

Even so, they will be spending a bit of time with us at the house, no doubt. So, being as my dad is a painter and decorator, I should make a bit of an effort to make the house look like it's been painted and decorated. That's "I" meaning me and the missus. She's the driving force. Otherwise I'd just spend most of the time sat on my arse and then moaning about how the decor never got finished. Funny that.

So, it's been a tiring week, even though we didn't really have any work proper on the go. And we're nearly there. Certainly by the end of this week, we will have done as much as we could realistically have expected to. But this week we have to fit it around work commitments.

Yesterday we went for a a lovely couple or three hours' walk in Whitstable. I can't believe it's still T-shirt weather at the moment. And I think we both got a bit burned. We have taken to carrying leftover bread bits with us to give to the seagulls down there. Yesterday they were catching it in midair as we threw it to them. It was very cool! (Easily amused, yes.)

And then we did our usual routine of sitting by the skate park and watching da kidz doing they thang. There was a guy there that we hadn't seen before. One of the BMXers. And he was doing this crazy somersault shit, doing a 360 turn in the air and landing back on his wheels. In fact, technically, since he takes off while goin vertcally up the ramp, I suppose it's a 270, but that would be splitting hairs, I guess. Then another guy did the same. So there were two of them doing this death-defying shit. The bar has been raised down there.

There was also this cute little girl. Not seen her there before. All sweetness and light. She must have been ten years old. She borrowed one of the older boys' bikes, and after a while his mate said, "Hey, little girl, he wants his bike back." Quick as a flash, she replies: "Tell him to go fuck his mother!" Ah, kids today, huh?

Preserving the past

Today a box arrived for me in the post. I was expecting it, of course. In it was a secondhand camcorder I bought off eBay earlier in the week. It's a Digital 8 model by Hitachi, and I suspect it's almost 10 years old. But I needed it.

You see, despite already having a new Mini DV camcorder, I wanted this Digital 8 one in order to transfer some of my old Hi8 camera footage to my computer and back it up, edit it, and keep it for posterity.

Footage such as our honeymoon in Thailand, including lots of me, sunburned and drunk, singing karaoke with the Filipino band at our resort.

Footage such as the wife and I getting tattooed in celebration of our engagement.

Footage such as the documentary we started shooting about the trials and tribulations of getting married abroad.

Footage from the short film I shot and might now be able to do a redux edit of on the Mac; ditto a music video I shot for a friend of my dad's.

Footage of our nephews and nieces and, I suspect, various animals we have known. There may even be footage of people who are no longer with us.

There is a whole lot of stuff waiting to be rescued from obscurity. My only hope is that the motor and/or heads of this machine still have lots of life left in them.

It'll probably be a few weeks before I'm really able to throw myself into this labour of love. Wish me luck...

Back from my travels

... But not without a close encounter with this little lady, among other things.

It was my dad's 60th birthday, so the wife and I went off to see the family. Talk about a relaxing break. No, not relaxing... the other thing. Exhausting, that's it.

All we did was eat pork or beef, then drive on to the next place where we could eat pork or beef. I put on 1.3 kg (2.86 lb) between leaving Saturday morning and when we arrived back home at Tuesday lunchtime. My meals were:


Saturday lunch: Faggots and mash with gravy (above), with vegetables.
Saturday dinner: Scallops on a bed of lentils, followed by steak with a morel mushroom sauce and potato dauphinoise, followed by chocolate and pear tart with cream.
Sunday breakfast: Full English -- i.e., bacon, eggs, sausage, mushroom, tomatoes, and toast (with eggs laid by hens of which the girl at the top is one of 60).
Sunday lunch: Roast beef with all the trimmings, followed by white-chocolate cheesecake topped with blueberries.
Sunday dinner: Garlic mushroom on pesto, followed by beef stroganoff with rice, chips, and garlic bread, followed by strawberry-and-vanilla cheesecake with cream and ice cream.
Monday breakfast: Full English.
Monday lunch: Ham and eggs with chips.
Monday dinner: Breaded garlic mushrooms, followed by bangers and mash with peas and onion gravy, followed by a slice of chocolate birthday cake.
Tuesday breakfast: Full English.

Wow... that almost makes me want to gag now! The first three meals were the best, but then they were at the Michelin-starred restaurant/B&B that we stayed at. The food there is absolutely fantastic, and whenever we visit my family we make sure we have at least one meal there. This time it was three meals, since we hadn't been for so long!

Families, though, eh? They can be stressful, and no messing. I'll move on to that in my next post...

Running around like a blue-arsed fly

That's a particularly fun turn of phrase, don't you think? Anyways...

You know that song "These Boots Are Made for Walking" by Nancy Sinatra? Whoever wrote that had never spent a couple of hours pounding the streets of London in a pair of Converse Chuck Taylor All Stars. And I don't care how much you love David Tennant as the Doctor, there is no way any being, not even a Time Lord, can spend his entire life wearing them, not with all the running and galaxy hopping and Earth saving he has to do.

But wait, this morning I had a pretty damn good idea. I removed the padded inner soles from my trainers (or sneakers or tennis shoes, if you prefer) and put them inside my Chucks (or Cons or All Stars, if you prefer), and hey fucking presto I suddenly have some footwear fit for wearing on my feet.

Cos today I had to pound the tiled floors of the mall to grab some T-shirts and stuff, so I didn't want to make my feet even more blistered than they were yesterday.

Speaking of yesterday, the dental hygienist was very gentle. Never has a dental hygienist been so gentle with my mouth. I think it's because she's more accustomed to working with special-needs children. And you know, my eyes didn't water once either, so (although I certainly won't admit that I ever cry in the dentist's chair) I'm beginning to wonder if the pain of the hygienist somehow makes my eyes water (not cry, though).

She said... Well, what didn't she say? She is quite the talker. But she said I was doing well and to keep up the good work. I love when the dentist or hygienist tells me that. Over the past six or seven years I have spent a lot of money on my teeth -- more than I've spent on tattooing in 17 years -- and although I still don't treat them as well as I should (who does?), I wouldn't want to go back to those dark days of poor upkeep and infrequent check-ups.

For those who don't know what The X Factor is, it's an American Idol type of show in which there are three mentors, each of whom has a bunch of artists: one has 16- to 24-year olds; one, over-25s; and the last, groups. After all the usual audition rounds and eliminations that these shows go through, the viewers at home get to vote off one artist each week until only one remains. So, it's a singing contest, rather than a Britain's Got Talent type thing.

I'm slowly getting out from under my hectic workload. It's fun watching as the number of projects reduces, ready for a slightly less manic summer. But before long, as is the freelance way, we'll soon be worrying that we have no work. I vow not to do that until August, though.

Tuesday miscellany

There's a man outside my house holding a stop/go board. It's temporary, to control traffic flow. Why do they need to control traffic flow? Because a plot of land half a dozen doors away from us is today becoming two houses. I looked down the road and there's an enormous crane. And on the road beside it, ready to be hoisted into place, is a house, covered in what looks like polystyrene (Styrofoam) sheeting.

It's come to this. Alongside this lovely little terrace of Victorian houses built in 1847, some cunt is dumping a pair of fucking prefabs. I foresee the day when some oik in local council decides they ought to rip down these eleven 160-year-old houses because they are spoiling the otherwise modern look of the area...

Today my brother is in Cardiff. Why on earth would he go to Cardiff?, you might ask. And it's a fair question. Other than going to check out Captain Jack's Torchwood base, I can see no other reason. But he's there for the first round of auditions for the new season of The X Factor. [That's kind of like American Idol, for those of you on the other side of the Atlantic.] The celebrity judges aren't at these early try-outs, so he won't get to meet Cowell. But he does have a history with the high-waistbanded one. Let's hope it doesn't affect his chances should he get through this first stage.

This evening, we have to pay the plumber. Y'know, for the work done in the kitchen. I say plumber, but he is really more like the foreman, since he arranges everything with all the other contractors. Indeed, he wasn't even present when our ktchen was done, because he was on holiday in the south of France. It seems like a long time to wait to pay him, but believe me, it's almost as difficult to get this guy to give us a bill as it was to get a quote out of him in the place!

At the weekend, I'm going to see my family. It will be the first time I have seen my mum, my sister, my brother, and most other family members in 18 months. Because they all never come to see us, y'see? So unless we go to them, we get bupkis on the visiting front. We've booked into a couple of B&Bs. This morning, we had to scour Google to try to remember the name of one of the ones we booked. I had booked it over the phone a couple of months ago and hadn't made a note of its name anywhere. Eventually we plumped for one in the same area and asked if they knew the name of any other B&Bs on that road, because we didn't know where we'd booked. The nice Welsh lady was very obliging. Now we know where we're going! What a plonker!

Other than that, I got nothing. I have a couple of projects that are due to finish today, and then tomorrow, Red and I are off to the dentist in the West End of old London town. So, we might even take in a bite to eat. Make the most of it. People are more attractive in London than they are where we live, so we may as well soak it up while we're there...