It has been a lunatic two days since I last titted about on here.
Yesterday my trusty little car, which we call Granny Magoo, had to go in for a winter service. We’re driving up Welsh mountains in it and we felt it was wise, given the weather, to make sure it was as reliable as ever. Given that it had poorly brakes and two tyres that needed replacing, I am most relieved I did take it to the carspital.
Carspitals, as I am now calling garages, are about as hard work as hospital, hospitals to be honest. I know as little about the workings of my car as I do of the workings of my body, and being questioned regarding both of these things, and prodded sternly, sends me into a bit of a frenzy. As it happens, the secret of carspital success is to offer the man taking charge of your trusty steed a sandwich from town. He was lovely after that, and put up with my cluelessness and vague hand starfishing over all matters without making me feel like too much of a bobbins head.
Taking your car to the carspital takes about as long as going to an actual hospital yourself. I was supposed to be at home, organising my holiday and cooking for the five thousand, all of whom were coming for tea. Instead I was gallivanting up and down assorted charity shops to pass the time before Granny Magoo was hale and hearty again.
Despite the fact that this part of the day meant that the rest of the day passed by in a frenzy of activity, I managed to pick up a pare of rare Fluevogs, which may sound like something delivered to you as part of The Twelve Days of Christmas, but which are actually a type of shoe, much coveted amongst those in the Fluevog cognoscenti. So all was not lost. I do secretly wish a Fluevog was a small animal though, sort of like a kiwi bird, but with big, shaggy feet and a penchant for being scritched under the chin.
Other highlights of yesterday included my mum bringing a gigantic number of cannoli for pudding and then me exploding a jacket potato in the oven because I was trying to cook casserole, score the potatoes and conduct a conversation about my car all at the same time, and I forgot to score the potato. It was all very exciting and I am still trying to get the smell of cremated potato out of the kitchen.
As well as exploding dinner, we all went off to see Daniel Kitson perform at the Y theatre, and he was absolutely excellent, as ever. I love him with all my face, and I was absolutely thrilled that mum, who had never seen him before, loved him too.
I slept fitfully last night. Fitfully is the polite way of saying, hardly afuckingtall. Then I had to be up at seven with ribbons in my hair to go and see the endocrinologist, who very kindly decided not to cancel my appointment and remake it for the fifth time this year.
I have to say that when we got there, it was all rather efficient. Everyone was lovely. Everyone was polite, and the consultant actually listened to what I had to say and didn’t spend twenty minutes screaming into my face about how I might, like the jacket potato of yore, explode at any minute. He tells me he is not as worried about me as everyone else, and as he is senior to everyone else, I believe him. I have to have some tests in January to see if the reason I have interesting blood pressure is down to hormones or a syndrome of some kind.
The tests are all relatively straightforward. The only one I’m dreading is the one where I have to not have caffeine for four days. I am thinking of seeing if the police can offer some kind of safe house for Jason and the kids while I go through cold turkey. Either that or taking myself off, far, far away where I don’t know anyone, and I can wander around the streets like a swivel eyed loon shouting ‘Millennium hand and shrimp,’ and kicking the flora and fauna.
There’s been a medical theme over the last few days. Last night, when we got back from the theatre, we noticed that Derek had developed a kind of squint. Our lovely friend Connor thought that she was giving him the glad eye. We said that couldn’t possibly be true because she just wasn’t that nice to anyone. I thought she might be turning into a pirate. We were all wrong. Taking her to the vet this afternoon it turns out she has conjunctivitis from going out in the cold after three days of being locked in the house, furiously shaking her paw at the snow. The winter has had it in for her all along.
Now we are all home in varying states of MOT health, cat, car and me. Instead of spending the evening packing for our holiday I spent it falling asleep, re-jigging my holiday reading pile and twirling around in today’s excellent find (I still fitted in a bit of shopping between medical matters), a Seventies maxi dress by Vuokko, a Finnish designer who co-founded Marimekko. I have modelled it on Instagram (@thevoiceofboo) if you want a laugh. I look like a circus tent crossed with a packet of Refreshers, but I love it just the same. I think it’s important to have priorities.
I will not be blogging while I’m away. I will be lurking about on Twitter and Facebook and Instagram if you miss me. I warn you now, my pictures will be largely of books, buns and bargains, which is pretty much what they are in Leicester, but next week there will be a more scenic background.