Monday 1st November sees me in front of my GP for a diabetic review arse kicking contest and in spite of my determination to train her, she won. I have put on nearly three stones and now I have another review in six weeks when she will be looking for a “substantial weight reduction” Oh dear. And more blood tests. And I have to go on a diabetic refresher course. The last one I went on I wanted to do my wrists after it! And the podiatrist. And the physiotherapist. And the hearing clinic. Blimey, haven’t got time to breathe. Oh yes and my anniversary CT scan on the 8th.
I have bought Irene a puppy – a little Dacshund – Jack Russell cross – a sort of Jackdasch. She is very cute but an absolute nightmare. We haven’t got a kitchen door – we are too poor and couldn’t replace ours after it ran off with a sexy French window so we devised a cunning plan to keep her in the kitchen. The kitchen where her basket is right next to Rayburn – the warmest spot in the house. We moved our shoe chest across the entry and put the living room fire guard across the gap that was left. She climbed up on the bunk beds – sorry vegetable racks – and leapt over the shoe box. Cunning plan mark two. Put the fireguard on top of the shoe box and block up the gap with a piece of MDF. She climbed over the fireguard – a feat which must have been akin to climbing Everest. Cunning plan mark three. Stand the shoe box on end and put the MDF in the gap. Totally secure. She wouldn’t get out of that one would she? Ten minutes later and she is outside our bedroom door crying. Irene has called her Bonnie. I call her Houdini!
Saturday night and we have got the welfare fireworks display. Antony and Lyndsey and Eleanor and Evie come over so we have a cheap and nutricious firework tea – fried onions, beefburgers and sausages. No mushy peas though – I am brave but not that brave. After the fireworks we have a family night and somehow during the evening I manage to have a few pints of the foaming ale.
Three o’clock in the morning and Tom-ass decides to misbehave. I wake up feeling a smell and gingerly look down at my top for a damage control report. The bed is pristine – not too much has escaped so I climb out of bed and the Tom-ass’s bag slowly slides from under my pyjama top and totals my slippers. Dangermouse and Penfold are covered. I make my way into the bathroom and my stoma station and start to clean myself up. Tom-ass is still erupting all over the floor and suddenly a little face appears wagging her tail. I have a number of wipes trying to limit damage control and now I have Houdini wanting to join in and she is in real danger of going the same way as Dangermouse and Penfold. I pick her up and throw her on my bed and go back into the bathroom to clean myself up. Eventually I get sorted out and back in our bedroom I find Houdini examining Dangermouse and Penfold intently. I manage to get her away before too much damage is done and take her back to her escape proof enclosure where she whines and cries for the rest of the night. I told Tim that now we have managed to prevent her getting out of the kitchen we will go out one night and find her at the front door and a big heap of dirt in the kitchen where she has dug a tunnel. Blimey I bet they wish they had her in Colditz – they wouldn’t have needed to build a glider out of the cardboard bits from toilet rolls!
Monday the 8th and I am off for my CT scan. The nurse calls Rachael somebody or other and Mr. Wilkie. Rachael gets shown a changing cubicle and gets told to remove everything except her knickers and I get told to go down there and take my trousers off for my ankle scan. I think the nurse is sexist. I tell the her that I am abdomen so she rushed back to tell Rachel that she doesn’t need to do Gypsy Rose Lee and only needs to take her trousers off. Then I get the lovely refreshing juice. Only two pints this time – it’s usually four – the cuts have already started to bite in spite of Macaroons assertion that the NHS will be ring fenced. I know I have to drink all of my juice before I can have my scan so I greedily devour it pretending it is Theakston’s legendary ales. I am summoned into the hallowed portals and told to lie on the couch in front of the giant polo mint after I have been asked a number of difficult questions such as my address and date of birth. I have to have an ejaculation in my arm so they can inject the image enhancing dye and as my veins are deep we start the strapping, tapping and slapping that always goes on before I get stabbed by a needle. Finally she is in – bloody hell did she hurt me – never had that before! The couch moves in and out, up and down and the CT bit whizzes round and round. “Breathe in, breathe normally” says the Satnav style synthetic voice and then the dye is injected. It makes you feel all warm and like you have peed your pants. Then they disconnect me and I pick up my goods and chattels and make my way to the changing room to get dressed and then it’s off to my physiotherapist for a bit of physiotherapy. I am please to repost that After Dangermouse and Penfold did a stint in the washing machine they are pristine and once again are able to do battle with the loathsome Baron Greenback. Crumbs chief!
