So its been a little while since I’ve posted a blog, about the interloper Cyril and the impact the little twat is having on me.
As some of you know, I had been hoping to receive the ok from the Doctors to return to work this month. I got a letter the other day from the wonderful Doctor Stacpoole, who said in principle it would be ok, as long as I followed certain guidelines.
The pain in the arse is, these guidelines pretty much preclude me from doing any of the things I need to, in order to do my job.
So early this morning, I had to compose the email I’ve been dreading, to tell my boss Lee and our office manager/HR lady Jo, I wouldn’t be able to come back to work as planned, until after my operation and hopefully a full recovery later in the year.
I’m not sure where this leaves me job wise at the moment, but I know Lee and Jo will do all they can to help me. I had to tell them by email, as I honestly don’t think I could have held it together on the phone.
I know soppy twat, but working where I do is frankly fucking awesome and knowing I can’t for the foreseeable future, has really hit home just how much of an utter cunt Cyril is and the chaos he is creating.
But, as always I’ll drag my arse up off the deck again and crack on with it all, I mean it could be a fuck sight worse right...
So there’s the main Cyril based news, which was as unwanted as the little cancerous twat himself.
Not sure if I’ve talked about my left ear, and being able to hear myself talking, breathing, etc in it?
To be fair I’m guessing I have, after all I talk about fuck knows what else on here, I’m very much guilty of ‘Over sharing’ as those who’ve read my recent soul searching blogs will attest.
My left ears recent behaviour, has had some odd consequences, I’m walking in what my wife describes as ‘left hand down a bit’ so when I walk anywhere, it’s best I stay on the left hand side as thats the side I ending up waddling towards.
At least when I veer wildly about the pavement, the worst that happens is I end up pin balling off someones garden hedge, wall or fence. Instead of ending up wandering out into the road and getting flattened by a car, truck or in the case of where we live, a dirty great New Holland tractor.
To try and get to the bottom of my left ears weirdness, I had a hearing test at the GP’s surgery, where I was told my hearing was in acceptable limits for someone my age. Or in other words, your a bit deaf at the top and bottom of your hearing range, but what do you expect you old fart, after all your 51 in April.
I got home to find a letter from Peterborough Hospital, to say I have an appointment with the Ear, Nose and Throat folks on the 24th. So either the hearing test chap from 11am this morning, works at twice the speed of light, or this was a preplanned thing. With the greatest of respect to the chap I saw, I’m going with option two here.
So apart from the up and coming excitement of Peterborough Hospitals ENT department, I remain like an easy jet flight on the way back from Spain at Luton airport, in a holding pattern awaiting to land for the MRI Scan in March.
I now have to try and find something I can do to earn some much needed wages, while sat on my arse at home, any suggestions most welcome. (And no prostitution is not going to happen 
) before some smart arse suggests it.
I was going to say my ever expanding arse, but Pippa informed me at last nights leg dressing change, after checking my bloody pressure (higher than it should be ) and weight, I’ve lost a stone in the 17 weeks (17 weeks, bloody hell come on leg sort it out ) I’ve been under her care.
Thinking of attempting to write a novel, I’ve tried in the past and got to the tricky middle bit and given up. But, as I managed to forget I was making myself a mug of tea yesterday, not once, but four sodding times, returning to the kitchen to find a cold mug with a tea bag bobbing about in what looked like treacle. I fear writing a novel could be a rather long winded process. But hows this for an opening line?
'You're along way from Kansas here Dorothy, this is fuckin' Inverness' he said with a growl.
Surely that would make you want to keep reading, well hopefully at any rate, I best crack on, as I now only have about 79,984 words to write for a full length thriller.
Thanks as always for your messages and continuing to wade through my ramblings. If anyone has any questions, stick them in the comments, it would be good to hear from the merry band of folks who read these. 
Cheers Mart, Cyril’s current Landlord.
