Gardeners' Question Time

A couple of posts ago I wrote about how the back garden has looked like this

ever since the builders left, after using it as a storage area, last June.  This despite the fact that the other-half used to garden for a living.  Well I'm pleased to say he finally ran out of excuses (one being 'I've got gardeners' block') and now it has been transformed.  

Behold the new garden:

Ha ha ha.  I am very funny.

Actually it looks like this:

It all looks a bit plinky plonky at the moment but once the plants start growing it'll be a thing of beauty.  We haven't replaced the grass opting instead for flowers in the hope of encouraging bees.  This may be a tad foolish as the other-half is wildly allergic to wasp stings.  He's never been stung by a bee so we've no idea how he'd react but maybe I'd better think about life insurance.  The eagle-eyed among you may be wondering why there is an unconnected shower head fixed to the shed (far left).  It's because, here at Discombobulated Towers, we are not afraid to embrace the twee.

Talking of twee I went shopping in lovely Ludlow the other day.  I meant to buy sensible things like toilet rolls and socks.  Instead I came home with a handbound notebook, a quince for the garden and an hourglass.  That's just the kind of town Ludlow is.  I've been sad enough to check and it actually takes 62 minutes for the sand to trickle from the top to the bottom of the hourglass.  Should I ask for a refund?

I had chemo yesterday and, after feeling like a dog's dinner last time, I am stuffed to the gills with anti-nausea medicine.  On the plus side I have spent the day lying on the sofa with the cat, a packet of ginger biscuits and a book about the nasty Normans duffing up the Ango-Saxons.  I've had worse Wednesdays.

Challenges

Challenge 1

A thousand years ago (oh alright, last year) we had building work done at Discombobulated Towers which, although a lengthy and often infuriating process, resulted in me having the Best Kitchen in the World (I might be a tad biased on this one).

The only problem has been the total destruction of my garden.  The tiny garden was the only place the builders could store their materials.  So it went from something like this

to utter devastation.  However the builders finished and moved out months and months ago and yet the garden still looks like this

Ok,  he's painted and moved the shed but let's not split hairs

Given that the other-half used to garden for a living this is a very sorry state of affairs.  Initially he claimed to have gardeners block, then he told me he’d lost his gardening mo-jo (full marks for inventive excuses).  Then, just as he’d got his motivation back, the rain started.  It rained cats and dogs and rats and elephants for months and months and months.  Well now the deluge has ceased and, by happy co-incidence, the other-half has next week off work.  He has promised that I will have a garden by the end of next week.  So I’m using this blog to encourage* him.  I will post another picture at the end of next week so you can see if he’s kept his word.  Gardner’s block my arse!

*I say encourage, I mean, of course, threaten.

Challenge 2

My old chum Al is running a half-marathon in June and will be raising money for Breakthrough Breast Cancer, a charity which, among other things funds the development of new treatments.  If anyone has any spare bundles of cash lying around you can sponsor him here.

Actually I'm not telling the entire truth when I call Al an old chum.  He is, in fact, my ex-husband. Still, water under the bridge and all that.  Running a ridiculous distance for a breast cancer charity is a lovely thing to do.  Smiley face.  And of course I wouldn't dream of standing in the crowd waiting to trip him up.  Or would I?  Sinister laugh.  I only say this to encourage him*.  See, now I've planted the seeds of doubt in his mind the least you could do is sponsor him.  No pressure.  

*I say encourage, I mean, of course, threaten. 

 

 

Kitchen capers

        Picture from here.  Artistic embellishment by moi

The building, re-wiring, decorating etc at Discombobulated Towers is finally finished.  Sis no 1 and her cat, Tuppence (the ginger ninja) can breathe a sigh of relief as I, the other-half and the three-legged monster cat have returned home after a prolonged (and much appreciated) stay at her house.

Stupidly we didn’t take any pictures of the old kitchen before work started but take it from me it was a dark, dank dungeon of a place.  But now?  Ta dah!

Cooker is cream, washer machine is white - Argh!

Flowers from the builder (probably included in his bill)

And, just for my mate M, look our co-produced artwork once again has pride of place (don’t worry I won’t tell anyone about how you bullied me into creating this masterpiece).

Please don't go thinking this refurb was a painless experience.  It took twice as long (or more) than we expected, went over budget and involved a dust up with a 'kitchen fitter' who could no more fit a kitchen than I could crochet a teapot. 

I always used to sneer, as I watched Grand Designs, at people who almost always spent loads more than they intended on their dream homes, took months and months longer than expected to complete building and ended up close to a nervous breakdown.  Now bitter experience has taught me better and I will watch the programme wearing my humble trousers in future.

However, all the trauma is behind us now and I can bask in the fantastic-ness of the new kitchen - it's not for cooking in you understand, just for looking at.  

Our small garden has taken a pounding.  It was used by the builders for storage space.  So while it used to look like this:

It now looks like this:

Which means that when Cyril went out for the first time since our return he couldn't resist rolling around in the sandy red grot and ended up looking like this:

I should at this point mention that I've also got new sofas.  One is cream coloured.  I sense a difficult evening ahead.

Normal non-refurb whinging will be resumed tomorrow when I start on chemo again - the drug trial TDM1.  Please keep everything crossed that this is the chemo that zaps the buggers!

The sandwich bandit

The other-half, Cyril (three-legged monster cat) and I have now been staying with sis no 1 for about six weeks as building work takes place back at Discombobulated Towers.  We are very grateful for this place of refuge but quite frankly it’s amazing we haven’t been evicted due to Cyril’s behaviour.  As well as intermittently bullying my sister’s cat, Tuppence, commandeering the best seats in the living room and demanding his share of the breakfast bacon, he has now taken up thievery.  Yesterday he got through a plastic bag and some cling film wrap to have a good nibble of my sister’s ham sandwich. As you can see from the picture below he is consumed with remorse and sleepless nights over the whole incident.

Still wearing the bandit mask too

Meanwhile poor Tuppence has resorted to befriending the vacuum cleaner.

The end is in sight with the building work.  On the plus side the new room looks fantastic on the downside the kitchen fitter turned out to be completely fucking useless.  Sorry, but there really is no other way to put it.  I wouldn’t trust him with a lego set.  Anyway the work is being redone but, of course, this is yet another delay.

I’m also waiting to hear from the oncologist in Warwick.  I want to give the chap a chance but I will start chasing next week.  I’d really like to be on something to try to combat the buggers in my lungs.  I have started another hormone therapy, Letrozole (replaces tamoxifen in trying to block the oestrogen which my type of cancer loves).  It seems to be causing massive hot flushes (a small price to pay) which have even resulted to me standing around in the garden at night, flapping my dressing gown around like some kind of giant albino vampire bat.  

Yes, I know it's a crap photo.  But would you really want more detail?

We are family

Picture from here

Today, while I reclined not particularly gracefully on my sister’s sofa, the other-half’s family rolled their sleeves up and cleaned my filthy house.  Gawd bless their cotton socks!  My house is never exactly spotless at the best of times but all the recent building work has resulted in the entire place being knee deep in dust, debris and disgustingness.  So Da Family descended and blitzed Discombobulated Towers.  One of my brother-in-laws manfully cleaned windows, windows that haven’t been cleaned since I don’t when.  Give that man a coconut.  My sisters too have been in on the act, carting boxes of pictures and knick-knacks (I don’t do minimalism) from my place to clean them cleaner than they’ve ever been before (as well as all the ferrying me around for radiotherapy appointments).  I am a lucky duck, albeit a bit of a lazy one.   Thanks to all!  

As I wrote in my previous post I had a bit of a bombshell recently, not only discovering that the cancer in my lungs has grown but also that the change had been ignored by my local hospital.  I still can’t go into the full details of this story without a) boring you to tears and b) sending my blood pressure through the roof.  Suffice it to say that I’ll be sending in a formal complaint to the hospital’s chief executive.  Anyway, as I no longer have faith in the local oncology bods, and would like some action taken regarding my health before hell freezes over, I have been to see an oncologist in London.  He was very helpful and thinks I might be able to go on a trial for a new chemo drug called TDM1*.  I hope to hear from a hospital in Warwick this week with further news.  Fingers crossed.  If this doesn’t work out I can always go back to see the chap in London. By the way, after a long cold winter, it was a gorgeous day in London so, in between medical appointments, we window-shopped in Marylebone High Street and mooched around Regent’s Park admiring the blossom.

* Apologies for linking to the Daily Wail for an explanation of TDM1 but it includes a quote from Prof Ellis, the chap I saw in London. That's my excuse.  But I still feel dirty.

The duck of doom

Meet Cyril the three-legged monster cat's arch enemy.  

He does look a little bit menacing I suppose

As mentioned previously, we are currently staying at my sister’s house while the building work back at Discombobulated Towers goes on and on and on (more on this later).  This duck sits under the chair in the hall of my sister’s house and Cyril is terrified of it.  Don’t ask me why.  I never said he was very bright.  Anyway this fear at least gives my sister’s cat, Tuppence, a safe spot to sit where Cyril will not dare to attack.

Oooh ducky, please don't let him get me

I just googled ‘fear of ducks’ to see if it has a specific name.  Weirdly I can only find a name of the fear of being watched by a duck.  The world is strange.

The building work is progressing but has been delayed by the discovery of a lack of foundations, dodgy electrics and The Thorny Issue of The Cat Flap.  The new kitchen will be twice the size of the old one but still not exactly the biggest room in the world.  So finding space for cupboards, french windows and a cat flap has been problematic.  The builder, who has no sense of priorities felt that cupboards and doors were more important than cat access.  After we explained the importance of all things Cyril the builder sketched a variety of options on the kitchen wall and we have gone for the cat tunnel:

Under construction

The electricians have offered to put a light in the tunnel.  I feel that they are not treating this matter as seriously as they ought.

To change the subject to my favourite thing, me, me, me I am now two thirds through radiotherapy.  Just one more week to go.  Here's a picture of the machine that does the zapping.  

All I have to do is lie still and do nothing - something I'm very good at. 

Cattiness

The planets must be curiously aligned, or it’s the dawning of the age of aquarius or something, in other words all three of my sisters are once again in Shropshire.  While the sister-glut means that I’ve been getting yummy grub and have been ferried about all over the place, there are also darker moments.  For example, I have been heartlessly abandoned at the hospital after a radiotherapy appointment with some flimsy excuse about mobile reception.  This abandonment forced me on to a bus (oh the horror).  To add insult to injury I’ve also been told that my hair is like a doormat.  How I suffer.  Would anyone like to adopt me?

I’m still at my sister’s house as the building work at my place continues.  Fingers crossed I might get a kitchen roof this week.  Cyril and my sister’s cat, Tuppence, are slowly learning to tolerate each other.  See below for a united approach to Squirrel Watch.

Let's get 'im!

And, finally, if you’re sick to death of cat photos you’re in the wrong place.  I went to Shropshire Cat Rescue again today and look what was there. 

Want one, want one, want one!

The big question

Sis no 2 has just returned from Australia bearing gifts (see above).  I’d never had a Tim Tam before but understood that they are similar to the mighty Penguin.  In fact there seems to be some internet debate about which is the best.  So, purely in the name of scientific research, I have tried them out.  It is my unpatriotic duty to announce that Tim Tams win hands down.  They are Penguiny but also with a hint of Crunchie Bar.  A marriage made in heaven (or New South Wales according to the packet).

Anyway I’m soothing my soul with Tim Tams while the building work continues.  My uninhabitable house currently looks like this:

I shamelessly (and rather cheaply) ‘let slip’ to the builders that I’ve got cancer.  My not very subtle subtext being ‘so please do the work extra quickly and extra well’.  My cheek has been rewarded as now, every time I go to see the work in progress, I get a hug from the chief builder.  As a result, I am now about to tour the building sites of Shrewsbury, pulling my poorly face, in search of sympathetic cuddles from all and sundry.

The quilt of guilt

Picture from here

Building work has started on Discombobulated Towers, you should see the mess.  Predictably enough we’ve already run into a problem.  It turns out that one of the kitchen walls had been built on jelly or a plague pit or something else equally gooey and now has to be rebuilt.  Good start.

I’m happily ensconced at Sis No 1’s house for the duration of the building work.  I’m not so sure that Sis’s cat, Tuppence, is particularly happy about the ensconcing though.  Cyril (my three-legged monster cat) is being a thug, chasing Tuppence and stressing her out.  He is  an ASBO cat.  On the first day of our stay someone peed on my sister’s bed.  The jury is out as to whether this was Tuppence, Cyril or the Other-half.  Strangely, no-one seems keen on taking up my suggestion of DNA testing or calling in CSI Shrewsbury to unmask the culprit.  When we dropped the quilt off at the cleaners, we quickly exited the premises without mentioning why it needed cleaning.  The nice lady behind the counter will have a bit of a surprise when she opens up the bin bag containing the quilt.  I’m a bit scared about going back to collect it. 

I had my radiotherapy planning appointment today.  This involved a woman with extremely cold hands drawing all over my chest with a biro, running me through a CT scanner a couple of times and then tattooing me.  Now I’m all ready for the zapping process which will start in April and will mean a trip to the hospital everyday for three weeks.  Everyone assures me that radiotherapy is easy-peasy in comparison to chemo.  We’ll see.  I should think it’ll probably make me too ill to go to collect the quilt though, don’t you?