The weekend is upon us. Everyone is either asleep, or out, and I thought I’d sneak in here and write a blog post before the demands of the day start piling up.
We have sunshine. I have been out in it. It is rather marvellous, although this is the first time I’ve experienced full on menopausal hot flushes with full on sunshine and I cannot say that the results are attractive. I slither and squelch and pour with bodily fluids. Sweat is rather like snot, while you’re producing it you have no idea how you’ve managed to store such vast quantities of it in your body.
I am still convinced that the 90% of the brain we don’t really understand is just an underground snot factory. In my case, the extra 10% is primeval sweat soup. It explains why my head cannot retain any information at all at the moment and all I see in my mind’s eye is an eternal, Fotherington Thomas style panorama of birds and sky.
Also, I must be careful not to commit any crimes, because I am leaving DNA bloody everywhere. I could offer you a pint.
This week, because the weather is waking up all the plants and it is a bit windy, there’s pollen in them thar hills, so I have also been producing snot, and in between waking up in a oleaginous heap, I am waking up with impacted sinuses which are giving me headaches that make me want to take a small but practical toffee hammer to my face.
In my mind, I approach this kind of weather like a woman in a louche, Eighties, Cadbury’s Flake advert. In reality I look like Kathy Burke after a night on the town in Gimme Gimme Gimme. It may explain why despite networking my arse off this week, I am not going to be winning any success in business awards.
That and the fact that the work email I have on my new and fabulous business card has been suspended by Easily, the provider, for some bizarre reason which, of course, is really difficult to rectify, and so even if people are banging on the inbox to give me thousands of pounds, I am not currently in. I have also cracked my phone screen and the printer has given up and shuffled off its mortal coil.
The psychiatrist is most definitely out.
All this will pass, as things do, and I am grateful that I did not have to take anyone to hospital this week.
I did have to help Tilly bring all the things from her art studio home, so that she could decorate the studio and get it ready for her end of year exhibition. This was about as stressful as going to the hospital, because it is absolutely impossible to park near her building, she’s on the tenth floor and had nobody to help her carry things and she hadn’t packed any of it. I couldn’t leave the car, because when I did find somewhere to park, it was on double yellows, and so I watched her struggle back and forth with an increasingly weird selection of objects, including quite a few ceramic pieces that she hadn’t wrapped up, and which were lobbed on the back seat of my car in a cavalier fashion. All the speed bumps on the way home were rather challenging and there was a lot of clinking and clunking going on. Luckily everything came home in one piece, although we have to repeat the journey on Monday, in reverse. GAWDELPUS.
This will be after my gynae consult at the hospital, so Monday is shaping up to outdo itself in Mondayness.
Anyoldhow. Let’s be positive.
I finally managed to finish reading my book, Wyntertide by Andrew Caldecott. It’s the second book in the Rotherweird series. You will need to read the first one to make any sense of the second. It’s a sort of fantasy, historical book with macabre and weird happenings. It reminds me in places of Gormenghast, but with more Tudors. If this sounds like your thing, it is very good.
My wonderful friends Ben and Helen sent me a package of assorted halloumi cheeses made in Yorkshire (as seen and lusted after on Nadiya Hussain’s cookery programme), for my birthday. We had one glorious evening eating the regular, chilli and rosemary flavours, and although it didn’t do my sinuses any good, it was fantastic. I highly recommend you get some. The company is called Yorkshire Dama Cheese.
Cunk on Britain continues to delight. This week’s highlight was the interview with Chris Packham. ‘Talk me through the events that led up to Charles Darwin inventing the monkey.’
I met my wonderful friend Matt and we spent two hours in a pub garden in the sunshine, discussing ‘work’. Actually we spent one hour and fifty minutes laughing our arses off, and ten minutes frantically discussing work, but it’s all good. Matt is the photographer who did my gorgeous business cards and who will photograph my second wedding (much like the second coming, but possibly less apocalypse. I say possibly. Who really knows?). We get on very well indeed, due to a penchant for mucking about and calling it a ‘career’. We are going to put on a photography exhibition in the first week in July. It was decided after much arm wrestling, that I would be the model and Matt would take the photographs. I did suggest we mix things up, but he will have his way. We are doing our first shoot for this on Wednesday, and I am so excited. I will tell you more as things develop.
You should definitely come. It will be brilliant.
I have been doing lots of work on issues medical, for the Patient Panel I sit on. I don’t actually sit on them, that would be mean. Particularly given how sweaty I am at the moment.
Anyway, we are looking at the wreckage of the NHS and trying to shore it up against its ruin. That sort of thing. I have done some positive things for patients this week, which is always cheering. I also went on local radio to talk about children and internet safety in a strokey beardy type way. And next week I go to London to be filmed for the Huffington Post on behalf of the Wear White Again campaign.
Let me explain. This is not because I am in any way glamorous. There are two things that qualify me for this job. The first is that I bled copiously and publicly for about 35 years, which makes me a shoo in. The second is that I am on record as a woman who is able to say vagina on national radio without fainting. These are on my CV and therefore, I win the chance to look drenched in sweat on film. Hoorah.
I hope nobody wants to shake my hand.