Telling tales

The slipper of shame,  Picture from here

My winter coat was ancient and tatty.  So much so that the other-half was ashamed to be seen with me when I wore it, walking 10 yards ahead of me (rather than the usual five yards).  So, a couple of days ago, I bought a new coat.  When I got it home the other-half took one look at it and declared it a ‘chav coat’.  Thanks a bunch.  So now I feel uncomfortable in my new coat (and the old one has already been taken away by the bin men).  In a pathetic and spiteful attempt at revenge I will reveal the other-half’s most embarrassing secret.  He has just bought a pair of slippers from Marks and Spencer.  Mr Rock and Roll lives dangerously.

While I’m talking about embarrassments, I got told off by the vet last week.  I took Cyril (the three-legged monster cat) for his annual injections and was informed that he is a kilo overweight.  I don’t know what a kilo is in real money but, going by the sternness of the vet, I think it’s quite a bit.  Oh the shame.

Knitty Nora

I know it's a terrible picture, but never mind the quality just admire the length

There’s nothing to this knitting lark.  Look I’ve knitted about three feet of scarf!  I can’t actually stop because I don’t know how to cast off, but hopefully I’ll be initiated into that mystery at knitting school tomorrow.  I can’t wait!  Everyone will be stunned and impressed by my scarf prowess.  I expect to be borne aloft shoulder high through the town by my class mates, cocking a snook at the grumpy lady in the wool shop as we go past. 

Last week, as the class knitted and nattered, it became clear that there is one employee at the wool shop who is universally loathed.  Unfortunately I was served by her when I bought my wool and needles.  As I hadn’t got a clue what to buy I simpered on about how I was a new knitter and needed help.  I expected a warm wooly welcome into the knitting sisterhood, possibly involving fruit cake and being shown a secret room full of adventurous tea cosies.  Instead she scowled, grunted and pointed me towards the scratchiest wool in the shop.    

Anyway soon I will finish the scarf and I will need a new, more challenging project.  Maybe something for the summer.  How about this:

Picture from here

I’ll be the belle of the beach.

It’s not just knitting that I have mastered.  I have an empty ironing basket (for the first time this year).  I even ironed the skirt with the awkward pleats and the linen trousers which require ironing at about 1000 degrees to stand a chance of getting the creases out.  I paid the price for my ironing smugness though.  I left a drawer open while putting things away and Cyril (three-legged monster cat) did some rearranging for me.  

In other news Discombobulated Towers has become a crime scene.  On Friday night a passing twonkhead smashed one of our sitting room windows causing Cyril and I (who were sitting nearby) to go into orbit.  The police came out (it must have been a slow night for CSI Shrewsbury) and added insult to injury by saying that Cyril was ‘chunky’.  Chunky?  How dare they!  We resisted the temptation of saying he’s a great deal slimmer than a lot of policemen (even though it’s true).

So there you have it, knitting, ironing and dastardly deeds.  The excitement never stops.

 

The wrong trousers

Hurrah!  Today I got final approval for my retirement from work due to ill-health.  While it's a bit of a strange feeling being officially on the scrap heap, I’m looking forward to being a lady who lunches.  Tomorrow, by way of celebration, I will be bagging up all my ghastly work trousers (not a uniform as such but they scream office wear) and sending them off, with no regrets, to the charity shop.

During the break I’m having from chemo, as my oomph returns, I’ve been up to all sorts.  I’ve been for lunch with J at the Corbet Arms in Uffington (yummy).  She’s been back to her old sixth form, Atlantic College.  The photos had me green with jealousy as, to put it simply, it seems she went to school at Hogwarts while I went to a 1960s glass and metal monstrosity (Me?  Chip on my shoulder?  Never).  I should add that I didn't envy the open air swim every morning which was part of the curriculum.  Open air swim?  In Wales?  No chance.

I’ve also had lunch and a gossip-fest with C and been to see R and her super-cute newborn little boy.  It's a tough life.

As well as all this socialising I’ve been continuing with the knitting class.  I am making a pig’s ear out of the simplest pattern in the world (a very easy scarf).  Also I haven’t learned how to cast-off yet so I may have to continue with the scarf forever.  But I am enjoying it all in my own weird way. 

At the weekend I went to Benthall Hall (a local National Trust house) and strolled around in the (chilly) sunshine.  

If anyone is thinking of what to get me for Christmas, this would do

The sun was out but it was definitely autumnal (my vest was well and truly tucked in)

The other-half got talking to one of the guides and ended up volunteering to do some gardening there.  This will be much grander than working on the allotment which, incidentally, is still producing runner beans at an alarming rate.  So much so that the other-half was looking up recipes for runner bean soup today.  Talk about plumbing the depths!  I can’t say the idea gets my taste buds excited.   

What has been getting my taste buds excited is a) the ability to taste things again (chemo gave me a sandpaper tongue) and b) being allowed to eat all sorts of things which were off the menu during chemo (due to the lowered immunity).  I never thought I’d be thrilled by being able to eat an apple with its skin on but these days I’m easily pleased, not to mention the joy of potato skins and soft cheese.  Yes, yes, I am going to restart the healthy eating regime soon, don't nag.

Serious stuff with side helping of cuteness

Today is Secondary Breast Cancer Awareness Day.  For more info see

http://www.breastcancercare.org.uk/secondary-breast-cancer-awareness-day

I've read elsewhere on the internet that around 30% of breast cancer patients go on to develop secondary breast cancer (which is incurable) but only 2% of funding is put in researching this area.  I think these figures are OK but I'm too idle to check so don't yell at me if I've got it a bit wrong.

To end on a flippant but cute note, if you'd like to see what happens when you combine a mummy cat, kittens and a kid's slide click on the below, you won't be disappointed.

http://dailycatgif.tumblr.com/post/33228699668/a-mothers-work-is-never-done

What I did on my holidays

So I spent a week in Devon in the sunshine, rain and wind.   

Good points of the holiday included:

Staying in an eighteenth century cottage in a secluded wooded valley

We just had the bit on the right (we're not made of money you know)

 A virtually deserted scenic (but very rocky) beach 10 minutes walk away

Pretty but a bugger to walk on

More cats than you could shake a scratching post at

 

And visitng Appledore, a picturesque and eccentric town

Bad points included:

Somehow managing to get a sunburned nose.

Very short hair, no eyebrows, no eyelashes and a sunburned nose do not a good look make

And the repercussions of eating an iffy luke-warm pasty bought on a Monday morning which had probably sat around in the shop all weekend.  Luckily for you I have no photos of the intestinal turmoil caused by this culinary delight.

Back home

Cyril, the three-legged monster cat, stayed with sis no 1 during my absence.  He was very sulky about coming back home, obviously preferring my sister to me.  Once home he hid under the bed for eight hours.  Normal service now seems to be resumed.  He even returned to his plane yesterday which had been ignored for several weeks

In between unpacking, sticking loads in the washing machine and draping the radiators with wet clothes (it’s like a sauna at Discombobulated Towers) I’ve been knitting.  Big thanks to S who succeeded where the knitting teacher had failed and managed to show me how to cast on.  I had knitting school this morning and although I am still the class thickie I could at least do the basics and happily clicked away with my needles chatting to the lady next to me, now all I need is a guillotine.

Finally, on a medical note I had another dose of herceptin at the hospital today, start taking tamoxifen tablets tomorrow and will be seeing the surgeon on Friday.  It’s all go go go (which was pretty much the case after the dodgy pasty).

At the seaside

Clovelly, Devon.  It was a long way down to this harbour and an even longer way back up again.

I’ve been away for a week with my bucket and spade.  Expect a thrilling ‘what I did on my holidays’ post shortly.  But you’re spared for now as I’ve got unpacking to do, washing to load in the machine and, much more importantly, there’s a takeaway meal here that needs my urgent attention.

Domesticated Del

The new me.  (Picture from here)

I’ve been on sick leave from work since I was diagnosed with cancer in January.  First of all I was too bonkers to work.  Then, once chemo started, I was either feeling grotty or had a pathetic resistance to infections.  However, the stay-at-home scenario now looks like becoming permanent as it’s almost a dead cert that I’m going to get early retirement on grounds of ill-health.  My employer’s independent doctor has approved my request, so it’s now just a case of tying up loose ends and, bingo, I’ll be retired.  As far as I’m concerned this is A Very Good Thing as I was made for a life of leisure.  I always claim that a terrible mistake was made at hospital when I was born.  Obviously I was destined for a life of idleness and must have been born to incredibly rich parents, which can only mean that a dreadful baby-swapping incident must have taken place.  You might claim that this theory doesn’t really stack up seeing as I was born at home, not in a hospital, but that's just nit-picking. 

In view of the early retirement news the other-half has been making remarks about how I’ll be able to have his dinner ready on the table when he gets home from work.  I might have fuelled his crazed delusions by starting my learn-to-knit course this week, thereby giving the impression that I’ve come over all home-makery.  However, I have to report that I was the worst in knitting class, even another pupil got cross at my inability to cast-on with confidence.  Luckily I have no pride so I don’t care in the slightest, although I have to confess I have looked at casting-on videos on YouTube.  Stand by for further reports on my knitting adventures.

Talking of YouTube I have, of course, been looking at videos of cats, which is what the internet was invented for surely.  Have you seen this?  It brightened my day no end. (Thanks for pointing it out M.)

Boxing Day

Well obviously it isn’t Boxing Day, but IT just is three months today until Christmas.  No need to thank me for the reminder.

Last weekend, even in the midst of deepest chemo-gloom, I wearily managed to do some on-line shopping (for me).  It really is remarkable how nobly I soldier on.  Today Cyril and I leapt with joy; me at the delivery of my new stompy winter boots and Cyril at the box the boots arrived in.

I also ventured out today for the first time since Thursday (when I went to see Ross Noble, v funny, big tick).  Today I provided the laughs myself by going to the hairdresser and asking for a trim.  I think the hairdresser thought I was a bit loopy seeing as my hair is still incredibly short, but nevertheless he trimmed away at the wispy bits round my ears and the bits that make me look like I’ve got a hairy neck (probably because I have got a hairy neck) and so I’m freshly shorn and ready to go out and about, as long as I remember to scrub my neck and ears first, I’m so high maintenance these days.

Not much else to report apart from being rained on relentlessly like the rest of Britain.  A month’s worth of rain in a day.  And, Australian and American chums, that’s a month’s worth of British rain.  As my mate T said, that’s a lot of big dollops.

 

In disgrace again

This is me last year sulking while walking in the Scottish Highands.  Picture that same dejected look only now with less hair.

Firstly a rant.  Why do the blogging gods hate me?  I'm having problems highlighting the links in this post.  Usually I can show them in royal blue all beautifully underlined, this time they are grey with no underlining, ie practically invisible.  And I can't work out why.  Argh.  Anyway I know most people (rightly) ignore links but just in case you're interested the links in this post are 'lovingly crafted garden' in the next to last paragraph and then in the final paragraph 'Lauire, who helped me massively' and the two 'here's.  Now back to whinging of a non-technical nature.

I’m one of those people who can never, ever do anything wrong without being found out.  For example I have only once travelled in a first class train carriage while carrying a second class ticket (this was 100 years ago when I was young, wild and rebellious).  I was travelling for one stop, a journey of about 5 minutes.  I got caught out and was given a very public ticking off by the train guard.  Oh the shame.

Yesterday I went to my GPs for my pre-chemo blood test.  The first thing the nurse asked me was what the hospital had said about my hand (I hurt my hand last week and the GP advised an x-ray).  I had to confess that I hadn't been to hospital.  She gave me a very stern look and was about to give me a good old fashioned talking to, but I headed her off at the pass by saying, truthfully, that the swelling had virtually gone and that I was sick and tired of hospitals.  Trust me to get a nurse who had actually read my notes before the appointment.  There is no way I could ever take up a life of crime, I’d be behind bars in next to no time.

So, talking of hospitals, I’m off for herceptin and swamp juice today (heart and blood tests permitting).  I’m all set - my kindle is full of new downloads and my bag is full of snacks.  In fact I’ll probably be rolling to chemo as I can feel waistbands tightening after too much good living.  I had a lovely meal on Friday courtesy of sis no 2, ate out with J and M on Saturday and then had pizza yesterday lunchtime with sis no 1.  Let’s hope the chemo chairs are reinforced.

While I’m stuck at hospital all day the other-half plans to stand vigil over the lovingly crafted new front garden.  One of the neighbourhood cats is using it as his personal litter tray.  Without going into too much detail we believe the culprit is a very large cat going by the em, deposits, he leaves behind.  He doesn’t even attempt to bury it.  I feel he is cocking a snook at us.  The chief suspect is Big Brown Bad Cat who we also believe has been largely responsible for Cyril’s escape attempts.  Yes, the evidence is circumstantial but damning nonetheless.  We have bought heaps of cat-deterrent powders and the like.  There is now such a concoction spread all over the soil that should a passer-by flick a cigarette butt into the garden the whole thing will probably go up in a spectacular ball of flame.  Needless to say none of this has put off the phantom pooher.  Oh well, if the other-half catches Big Brown Bad Cat in the act today I should be coming home to a new and furry Big Brown Hat, which would be very handy as the temperatures are dropping and my relatively newly exposed ears are freezing.

PS.  On more of a cancery note, Oct 13^th is Secondary Breast Cancer Awareness day.  The Breast Cancer Care website is trying to promote the day and has made some short films about living with the condition on a day-to-day basis.  One of the participants is Laurie, who helped me massively when I first found out that I had secondary cancer.  If you’re interested her film can be seen by clicking here, (although a word of warning the film doesn't seem to work on iPads).  And more info, on promoting the awareness day can be found here.

Fun in Clun (and other good stuff)

The throbbing metropolis of Clun

My last couple of blog posts might have given the impression that I’m a grumpy old sod enjoying wallowing in misery.  Admittedly being grumpy is one of my favourite hobbies but even so I can’t pretend that life has been all woe and wailing of late.

I’ve been out and about in the countryside again and bought a urine coloured glass chicken from a junk shop in Clun.  No home is complete without one.  

Five pounds well spent

For those inclined to disagree, I simply say that you are either born with taste or you aren’t.  Take that as you will. 

Other good stuff?  I went to N’s third birthday party and sat in the sun being waited on hand and foot.  I had a lovely visit from P (with flowers and chocolates, not that I’m mercenary you understand) during which I talked her ears off and had a bit of a self-help session on the subject of allotment committees (P is a long-suffering allotment holder too).

I had a surprise and spectacular bunch of flowers, thanks S and H!.  

Covent Garden comes to Spa Street

And I also had a birthday with more good things than you could shake a knitting needle at.  I’m starting a learn-to-knit course at the end of the month so one of my presents was a knitting bag.  Shut up.  I’m 51.  I’m entitled to a knitting bag if I want one.  Anyway watch out come Christmas time, if the knitting takes off, it’ll be balaclavas all round.

Sis no 1 has been saving the day with her meals on wheels service.  We had that pie again and heaps of courgette muffins (or zucchini muffins to translate for my pals in Australia and America, although I do wish you’d learn to speak English proper like what I do).  I know courgette muffins sound disgusting but they are truly delicious, honest.

My hand seems to be on the mend.  The morning after I last posted the swelling had gone down so much that I could see my knuckles again, so I opted out of going to hospital.  I spend so much time there anyway that I really didn’t fancy an additional and probably unnecessary visit.  In fact I’ll be there on Saturday for a heart test (to check that the Herceptin isn’t causing any problems) and then it’s time for another bout of swamp juice on Wednesday.

Cyril, the three-legged monster cat, ended up going to the vets as he was quite poorly.  I’ve got my priorities right.  I ignore the GPs advice about going to the hospital but make sure that the cat goes to the vet.  Anyway a couple of injections later he seems on the mend and is back to incessantly demanding food.  The vet thinks he probably just ate something yucky in the garden.  Very likely, as he’s been murdering and eating butterflies all summer.

My hair is continuing to grow and I’m now back on the shampoo and conditioner lark (after a few months of just dunking my head under my grimy bath water). 

Now just in case you think I’ve turned into some kind of dreary middle-aged Pollyana, skipping around the streets finding things to be glad about, fear not, I’m still more than able to be a glass-half-empty type of person.  For example, I’ve discovered that the returning hair situation is not all good.  I went to the supermarket the other day and found people treating me very differently.  For the past few months complete strangers have been very nice to me as I wandered about, hat  or scarf on head, obviously bald underneath.  But now my hair has grown, and could simply be a short (if very severe) hair cut, the softly softly approach has stopped and people are once more barging me with shopping trolleys, rushing to beat me to the queue for the checkout and generally not treating me with the respect I so richly deserve.  I may make a large badge saying ‘I’m poorly, I am’ in a desperate attempt to prolong the kid glove treatment.  Yes, I know, I have no shame.

In the wars

I'm feeling sorry for myself.  As well as battling a grotty cold (on it's way out I think but dragging its heels), I've been afflicted by a nose bleed and now I've got a hurty handy.  I forgot to let go of the handle when walking through a door.  I know I struggle with multi-tasking these days but being unable to walk through a doorway is taking chemo-brain to new extremes.  Anyway I went to the GP and he thinks my owie warrants a trip to hospital for an x-ray.  Sigh.  At least he said it'd be OK to wait until tomorrow morning when A&E shouldn't be busy, the doctors will have just changed shift and it'll be drunk free (apart from me).

Also, to cap it all, Cyril (the three-legged monster cat) wasn't at all well this morning.  He seems to have perked up a bit as the day has worn on but I'll be keeping my eye on him and if he's still off colour tomorrow I'll be manhandling him into the cat box (one handed) to take him to the vets.

Normal service will be resumed shortly, I hope.

Hairy Maclary

I’m on day four of being stuck in bed and I’m not impressed.  As well as the usual post-chemo yuckiness, I seem to have caught a cold.  At the moment my world consists of grot and snot.  Just thought I’d share.

Although I’ve been totally inactive my hair has continued growing (as the particular type of swamp juice I’m on now doesn’t always cause baldness).  It’s definitely coming back curly (I always had straight hair before).  The colour is indeterminate as yet but there are some definite grey bits including a fairly large patch at the front.  I think I’m going to be the proud owner of a Mallen streak:

Picture from here

 

In which case I must redouble my efforts at feeling better.  I can’t lie around in bed all day if I’m going to be a Mallen.  I need to be out and about molesting peasants and being horrible to widows and orphans.  I take my responsibilities seriously.

This message is brought to you by STEROIDS

I’m happily off my trolley again on my last of three blissful days on steroids.  I had chemo and herceptin yesterday and all went well.  The chemo unit at the hospital is always a surprisingly cheery place, I hesitate to recommend it, but you could do worse.  Nevertheless it was close to a six hour visit and my kindle came into its own.  Thanks work pals for getting it for me and dragging me into the 21^st century.  It’s so much easier to sit with a kindle on my lap rather than rifling through my enormous bag (known on the unit as my chemo sack) for books and setting off alarms as I slightly dislodge the needle-y IV thing in my hand.  Also I get to feel smug while nodding and smiling at the other kindle users sat about me and cast looks of pity at those poor souls still reading vellum manuscripts and papyrus scrolls.  If only they could make a kindle that smelled like books I would be truly happy.

On Tuesday all four of the Discombobulated Sisters were in the same county (not to mention country) at the same time.  So the unheard of happened.  We went out for a jolly jaunt in the countryside, just the four of us.  I don’t remember the last time this happened but I like to think that it isn’t a Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse style portent of doom (although it could easily have gone that way).  Anyway it was sunny; we had heaps of fun and lashings of ginger beer.  We went to Acton Scott Historic Working Farm (pushing small children out of the way to see the piglets), back to the Dower House Gardens at Morville, had lunch in a newish place in Church Stretton (thanks for telling me about it M) and then had a drive around the rolling hills.  This entailed sister No 3 valiantly driving over the Long Mynd with sisters nos 1 and 2 refusing to look over the drop as we climbed the hill and all of us squealing and breathing in at the sight of another car coming our way (the breathing in being essential to make the car smaller and therefore ensuring the squeeze past other vehicles on the narrow road would not see us tumbling into the abyss).  

Church Stretton from the Long Mynd, in other words, the great outdoors

 

When we reached the top of the hill we got out of the car for a look around and a breath of fresh air.  Sis no 2 loves the countryside but holds a deeper and more sincere affection for John Lewis.  As she tip-toed back to the car, avoiding sheep poo, she got talking to some cyclists and asked them how many miles they’d done.  “We like to do about 65 miles a day” came the breezy reply.  Sis no 2 wrinkled her nose and responded with a heartfelt “ooh I’d rather be shopping”.

As I told sis no 2 repeatedly, she has no romance in her soul.  Unlike me.  I strode about the Long Mynd, thought about life, the universe and everything and drifted back to the car not caring a hoot about whether or not I trod in sheep poo.  I should probably point out that I was travelling in my sister’s car so I wasn’t going to have to clean the poo off the upholstery, otherwise I might have been a bit more wary with my feet.  To be fair, I do have a lovely photo of sis no 2 pretending to be Julie Andrews on the top of the Long Mynd but I daren’t post it here as I’m too frightened of her (my sister, not Julie Andrews, although come to think of it ...)

Anyway I am now full of the joys of the Shropshire countryside and may take up poetry and turn this into my Blog of Poems.  Don’t worry, only joking, don’t unfollow me, please.  But I will leave you with possibly my most favourite nature poem, written I believe, by the great Spike Milligan:

Return to Sorrento (Third Class)

I must go down to the sea again

To the lonely sea and sky

I left my socks and vest there

I wonder if they are dry

Also, while I’m in a versifying mood, here's my favourite poem of all time, by

I-don’t-who, but taught to me by my dad when I was knee high to a grasshopper:

Little Robin Redbreast

Little Robin Redbreast

Sat upon a pole

Undid his breeches

And did a sausage roll

Last day of the steroids today.  Normal service will be resumed shortly.  Expect the usual doom, gloom and misery in a few days time and that’s a promise.

Tick, tick, tick

You may think this is just a cat.  You are mistaken.  It's a ticking time bomb.

I knew I was right to be alarmed by Cyril’s (the three-legged monster cat) apparent docility.  The storm clouds are gathering.  Cyril is chipped, a wise move I felt in view of his escape attempts.  But I’ve made a terrible mistake.  I’ve had a letter from the chip manufacturers and, guess what, the chip he has had inserted is one of a faulty batch.  Now the manufacturers have tried to sound all reassuring, saying that the vet just needs to check it out and maybe insert another chip if the current one isn’t working properly.  Ha!  They aren’t fooling me.  Reading between the lines it’s clear that there is, in fact, an evil cat overlord at work.  All he needs to do is flick a switch and all the cats implanted with the ‘faulty’ chips (including Cyril) will rise up to destroy their human slaves.  I’m keeping a wary eye on him and if he starts making his way upstairs with a kitchen knife clenched between his teeth I’ll be ready.

On a more mundane note I’ve had my appointment with the oncologist.  There’s been no change.  This was both disappointing and pleasing (yes, conflicting emotions, truly I am a deep and complex woman).  I really wanted to be told that the cancer was shrinking but, on the other paw, I’m relieved that it hasn’t grown.  So the plan is for me to have two more lots of swamp juice (chemo) and then carry on with the herceptin and start on tamoxifen with another scan in November.  So it’s a case of keep on keeping on.

Green eyed monsters

Cyril, the three-legged monster cat, is worrying me.  He has been very quiet of late.  He eats his food without complaint and seems content to stay in the garden in the (intermittent) sunshine rather than launch himself haphazardly over fences towards the Very Busy Road.  I'm sure he's trying to lull me into a false sense of security while secretly planning something designed to torment and distress me.  I've been a cat slave for many years.  I know the score.  The below, courtesy of Henri Le Chat Noir sums it up.

Now, try not to get too excited but, wait for it, wait for it ..... the front garden is finished! 

Before:

The start of it all and scene of much swearing

And after:

See that length of drainpipe at the back of the picture?  That nearly caused a divorce.

You wouldn't believe the problems such a small patch caused.  Anyway hats off to the other-half for getting it done, although if he never mentions drain pipes to me again it will be too soon.

Unfortunately the day after this little patch of paradise was completed we went to visit a friend who had just moved house.  Her new garden is truly spectacular, and huge.  The poor other-half was absolutely green with jealousy.  He spent the evening pouring over the internet looking at properties for sale in the sticks with impressive gardens.  At least that's what he told me he was looking at.

I feel a bit like I'm in limbo land.  I'm going to see my employer's Occupational Health bods tomorrow about the possibility of early retirement due to ill health.  I think this is just a preliminary stage and the whole process could take a while.  Also I'm waiting for the effing appointment with the effing onocologist on Wednesday which, if I think about too much, makes my half-inch long hair stand on end and my knees knock.  So let's not think about it and watch some rubbish tv instead.  And eat cake.