This life of mine

Blog Action Day - Climate Change

2009-10-15T07:42:00.003+01:00

I can't say I'm much of an ecologist, although over the last few years I have - whether consciously or unconsciously - made changes in the way that I live to try to reduce not only what I consume of the earth's resources, but also the amount of waste I generate.

I have to confess that I hadn't really made a huge connection between what I as an individual do in my life and climate change. It wasn't until we had some severe wet weather in the UK in 2007 that was attributable to climate change that I actually gave any serious thought to the subject.

The northern hemisphere is getting warmer - of that there is no doubt. When I was a child in the Midlands the winters were severe. We had no central heating, just a single coal fire in the living room, so the bedroom windows would be frosted up on the inside every morning. Even 20 years ago I remember it snowing at Easter in the Peak District. But our winters have become milder. Conversely our summers have not become significantly hotter (although we did have a couple of hot ones four or five years back, but the last two or three summers have been just blah).

What can I do about it though? Isn't it all the fault of those big power stations in Eastern Europe, or heavy industry in China? It's nothing to do with me - right?

Wrong! I have to look at where I can reduce the resources I consume which contribute to greenhouse gases. I use my car far less often than I used to (largely because of the cost of petrol (£1.05 a litre - or around $7 a US gallon to Americans) but also because I've become aware of the wastefulness of using my car for a single journey. I try to do all my errands at once and to not make short journeys if I don't have to. Yesterday I forgot to buy butter on my way home, so instead of getting the car out and going back to the supermarket for a single item, I phoned a neighbour and asked her if she could let me have a little. The cost to the environment was nil - no petrol used, just a few steps to her door.

I've started eating more vegetarian food (although I do love meat), and to try to eat seasonal, local produce, if possible. I remember as a child that strawberries were such a treat, available for a few weeks in the summer and then no more for another year. But now I can buy them all year round, along with peaches, pineapples, asparagus, Fuji apples imported from China (when we have our own perfectly delicious Cox's Orange Pippins in season), and all sorts of other exotic tropical fruit and vegetables that were unheard of when I was a child. Everything is available, all the time. It might have been forced in a greenhouse and have no taste but the supermarkets are locked in this war for customers where they have to provide everything, all the time. Yes, it's great to have choice, but there is a price to pay for eating raspberries on Christmas Day.

The neighbour I mentioned above lives in a flat the same size as mine. She and her husband are in their 80s, and I know old people like their homes to be warm but - wow! - her flat last evening was stifling. She has electric heaters, and every single one was switched on, as well as an electric fire in the living room. I could hardly breathe. I'd guess the woman who lives in the flat above barely needs to use her heating because of the heat rising from Peggy's flat below. The UK still uses a vast amount of fossil fuel to generate electricity. Ugly though they may be, I'm a fan of wind farms. The wind is free, let's harness its power. Turn that heater off, put a sweater on!

These days when I use the oven, I try to cook several things at once. I have a microwave/convection oven that I use for small stuff rather than heat the big oven. Much of this is due to parsimony rather than any high-minded ideals about conservation or greenhouse gases, but the knock-on effect is that I, in some small way, am helping to slow down the big world warm-up.

Brooklyn Botanical Garden

2009-08-16T17:58:00.002+01:00

At the end of May J and I went to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. If you ever get the chance to go, please take it - it's beautiful. I didn't enjoy it as much as I could, because I was ill that day. J and I had to cut our day short and abandon our plans to have dinner in Park Slope so I could get to the ER.

Anyway, the gardens were fabulous. It was the time of year for new life, including these little guys. Watch right to the end and you'll get an extra bonus critter.

A pretty damn good day so far

2009-08-15T17:05:00.003+01:00

Well, Caturday has been a good one and it's still only 5pm. On my next trip to NYC I won't be staying with the hunky J, and so won't have computer access. Eeeep! Because everyone I know has a constant online life, I decided to join the world of mobile computing. (My phone does have some kind of internet connectivity, but I'll be damned if I know how it works. I want a phone to make calls and send texts.)

Anyway, I'd narrowed the choice down to three - a Dell or an Acer (from PC World) or a Toshiba (from House of Fraser - I had some gift vouchers left over from my birthday, including £70 from House of Fraser. So although their prices are maybe £10 or £15 higher than a dedicated computer retailer, the £70 I see as 'free' money.

I've bought a few big ticket items recently - a matress, a headboard, curtains, etc. and to the salespeople it looks as if I am the most impusive buyer ever. For example, when I bought my new mattress, I walked into the store at quarter to five on a Friday, pointed to a mattress and said to the salesman "I'll have one of those, please". But in the previous couple of months, I'd been to lots of bed places, tried tons of mattresses and when I'd made my choice, I tested the mattress out at three different branches of the store to make sure it was equally comfortable and I hadn't just found a flukey one.

So, after I decided to get a netbook, I researched online, took advice from people who know a lot more about these things than I do, walked into the tech department at House of Fraser today, and out ten minutes later with the Toshiba.

It's a neat little bit of kit. I don't have a wireless router, so it's connected to my wired-up ISP, and I'm also using a mouse because, well, I've got sausage fingers and will need to get used to the touchpad.

I've got it on the dining table, which always reminds me of the time I was trying to give my sister long-distance tech support over the phone.

Me: "Okay, go back to your desktop."

[Pause]

Sister: "It's not on a desk, it's on the dining table."

Anyhow, I'm delighted with my little Toshiba, particularly as I spent the first hour transferring all my favourite programmes onto it.

But delighted though I am with my netbook, that wasn't the highlight of the day. I'd got off the Tube at Tottenham Court Road, as I wanted to look in a few of the furniture places up there (the hunt for the perfect rug and ideal lampshade continues), and I cut down Goodge Street, which runs parallel to Oxford Street, to avoid the crowds. If I lived in Central London (for which I would need either to win the lottery or rob a Bond Street jeweller) it'd be in that part of town, Fitzrovia.

It was coming up to lunchtime, and there are a ton of cafes and bars in Fitzrovia, so I wasn't spoilt for choice. But I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw a genuine taqueria, serving the most fantastic burritos and tacos. I was the first customer of the day, and everything was fresh and delicious. I had soft, tender, flavoursome shredded braised pork in my burrito, with refried beans, cilantro rice, salsa, guacamole, lettuce, sour cream. It was absolutely delicious, and the made-that-day limeade was superb.

The bill? By London standards it was ridiculously cheap. £5 for the burrito and £1 for the drink. (I know, I know, it's expensive by American standards, but for London, and central London at that, it's ridiculously cheap.)

I also took a few pictures of unusual/interesting bits of architecture. In Cavendish Square a woman asked me why on earth I was taking a photo of the dullest building in the square. I pointed out to her that, to me, it was a fantastic example of Art Deco. Not everyone likes ancient, ornate buidings.

I've got a ton of pictures still to upload to Flickr from my last trip to New York. I'll probably do that tomorrow, while the football's on. Flickr uploader takes forever.

So, a very happy bunny this weekend, so far.

In case anyone wondered where I've been ...

2009-07-10T23:54:00.004+01:00

... this is what’s been happening with me in the last couple of weeks.

Well, the work on the flat has begun, and it’s amazing. All the old striped wallpaper has gone and the walls are now a lovely pale yellow/peach colour that’s very popular in the UK – magnolia. It’s popular for a good reason. - it looks lovely.

The new wooden floors are down and look incredible, a light golden oak that really reflects the sunlight. The living room doorway and glazed bit next to it have been knocked through ready for folding doors to go on. Storage has been built in the hall and is awaiting the sliding doors. My old built-in closet in the bedroom now has lovely mirrored doors. It all looks absolutely fabulous.

The cats hate me, as their pampered little lives of sleep have been disrupted by the builders. They're also getting used to the new wooden floors. Funniest sight of the week was Bailey running through the flat and realising that she couldn't stop in time or turn before she skidded on her fat little butt and went into the patio doors. She had the exact same look on her face that Wile E. Coyote has when he runs off the edge of a cliff. I LOL'd. If I'd been quick enough I'd have run over and opened the door so she'd have sailed through it. (On second thoughts, no, I'm far enough in the doghouse with those cats as it is.) Bailey has already thrown up on the new floor, I suspect as some kind of message to me.

I’ve spent shedloads of hard-earned buying new stuff – I have a sofa and a mattress on order, I’ve bought curtains, light fittings, curtain poles and I still need to get lots of accessories – table lamps, new bedding and curtains for the bedroom, a new headboard, rugs, a new TV, all the little bits and pieces, such as a new waste bin for the kitchen, and lots of storage boxes so I can put everything away behind the sliding doors.

I’ve seen a fabulous painting for the living room wall. It’s a real painting, and I love it, but it’s a mass-produced thing, so not what a connoisseur would call ‘art’. But I know nothing about art except what I like, and I like this particular picture very much. It'll look lovely above the sofa.

But in moving phone points, my builder has somehow borked both my phone and internet. There’s a lot of crackle on the phones, and the net speed has fallen from between 5,000 and 7,000 kbps to about 120 kbps. The connection also keeps dropping without warning. It’s like dial-up fun all over again. I put microfilters on the phone points tonight, which seems to have stopped the connection from dropping (quite so much) but it’s still very slow. Tomorrow I’ll haul the computer into the living room, take off the master faceplate and connect the compute through a microfilter into the BT test socket. If I get high-speed on that, then it’s an internal wiring/filtering issue.

It’s been both a damn nuisance and a blessing, as it’s given me time to focus on all the sorting out of accumulated belongings into what I’m keeping, what I’m giving to charity and what can go in bin bags down to the dump. I lead such an exciting life.

Work has been … interesting.

While the builders are in, I have to go into the office five days a week. 5.30am starts every weekday morning are killing me. I'm really missing my two days at home, and it's also had quite an effect on my physically, because my tendonitis is really bad. At least I have a good argument for making sure I can retain my two days a week at home (where I use voice-dictation software to dictate my casework straight into Word). Employers hate disability claims and if I had to be typing five days a week over the long-term, I'd be in serious difficulty. There's too much ambient noise in our huge open-plan offices to use the voice-dictation software at work, because it's very sensitive. If one of the cats walks into my home office and meows, the words 'the owl' appear on screen!

Earlier this year there was an online ‘confidential’ staff survey. You didn’t have to give your name, but you had to give your job title and the area of the business where you worked so it was fairly easy to pinpoint who had answered which question.

So, on Tuesday, a group of us were ‘invited’ to discuss the survey results with one of the managers. The nearest thing I can compare it with is the episode of The Office where Michael Scott gets hold of Toby’s grievances file and then has a meeting to discuss everyone’s grievances. It was excruciating. As I have no chance of any advancement or promotion, I didn’t give a shit, because I have no career prospects to destroy, but a lot of people were very unhappy about having their so-called confidential answers to the survey discussed.

And yesterday one of my old complainants contacted our Help Desk to complain about me. The case that I dealt with involved her making allegations that her bank manager had, on the instructions of MI5, murdered her mother, because her father had been a Conscientious Objector during World War Two. Anyway, she’s now complaining that I am stalking her (er, yeah, right). that I am a friend of Vanessa Feltz and the police are going to arrest me. (I didn’t know that being friends with Vanessa Feltz was a criminal offence. I have never met Vanessa Feltz, btw, although I did see her outside the BBC in Marylebone High Street one day shouting at someone on her mobile phone.)

So, that’s all the news that’s fit to print. I’m looking forward to the MeFi meetup next week, and will be sure to wear my Three Wolf Moon t-shirt. It can only bring me joy and riches. I’m at the hairdresser tomorrow and am sorely tempted to ask for a mullet …

At last! At last!

2009-06-20T15:28:00.002+01:00

My builder/decorator starts work on Tuesday. I've been waiting so long for him to finish the big job he's been working on since last September, but he's now ready to do the work on my little flat.

But - OMG! - panic! I have such a lot of packing to do between now and Tuesday - putting all my clothes into suitcases, manoeuvering furniture into the hall (two chests of drawers and a double bed), boxing up all my bits and pieces. It's going to be chaotic for a few weeks, but so worth it when it's all done.

What am I having done? New wooden flooring throughout, all the old wallpaper stripped off and the walls painted a nice, pale yellow/peachy colour, a new fitted wardrobe in the bedroom, lots of storage built in the recess in the hall, with sliding doors covering it, a glazed doorway removed and replaced with folding doors, radiator covers, all cables hidden away, kitchen painted, new flooring in the kitchen ...

And there's all the extras that I'll need to buy as well - lampshades, bedspreads, curtains, blinds, rugs, a new sofa, a new TV, etc., etc. But it'll be fantastic when it's done, and I've been waiting so long finally to make this place my own. The current decor is all my ex-husband's taste and it's eight years since he's been gone, so a complete re-do is definitely long overdue.

I will never have to vacuum that crappy carpet again! Ever! Yaaaay!

And I've decided that when it's all been done and everything's looking good, I'm going to get a cleaner to come in once a week. That'll encourage me to be tidier (I'll actually have some storage space to tidy things into) and it shouldn't be expensive, because this is such a small flat. Probably about £20 a week, which will be money well spent.

Terminal Bar

2009-06-04T22:29:00.003+01:00

Clicking through the hundreds of TV channels I have available (and yet never seem to find anything to watch) I came across the most wonderful short film - Terminal Bar, by Stefan Nadelman. Just 22 minutes long, mostly in black and white, featuring portraits of the customers and pictures of the bar taken by the barman, Sheldon Nadelman (Stefan's father), over the ten years he worked at the Terminal Bar (on the corner of 8th Ave and 41st St) from 1972 until the bar closed in 1982.

It's a fascinating chronicle of how the bar changed from old New Yorkers (who mostly drank themselves to death) to a black gay bar. Sheldon looks through his pictures, which he numbered, and reminisces about the customers, some fondly, others not so much, many by name, others just by the number on their photograph. I loved it.

Here's a 3-minute segment to give you a taste of the flavour and atmosphere of this evocative film. A short film, but not a small one.

You know ...

2009-05-08T10:26:00.005+01:00

... life is pretty damn good right now.

Work is going well - I'm on top of my caseload, I'm slowly getting through my most difficult cases, and they're never as bad once I start them as I think they're going to be. And we've had a spate of 'easy' cases come through - single issue complaints that are generally straightforward to deal with.

I'm really happy to be working where I work - the money is dreadful, taking into account my level of qualification - but the work's interesting and, the most important thing for me, there's a great work/life balance. I remember how horrible it was in private practice when I'd wake up with the first thought in my head being work-work-work, and the last thought before I went to sleep, after lying awake fretting about work, would be ... work. Poor, but free of stress (most of the time) is preferable.

Yesterday I walked to Mudchute Farm at lunchtime. It's ten minutes away from the office and all the noise, dust, crowds and building sites of Canary Wharf.

They've got some wonderful chickens and roosters there - really beautiful ornamental-looking ones with feathered legs, and gorgeous plumage. There were loads of them out enjoying the sunshine on Tuesday, but it was a bit overcast and grey yesterday and there didn't seem to be as many around. Maybe they go indoors when it's colder.

This one was asleep.

It's really amazing to me that there are farm animals living in the Inner City.

More photos of the farm here.

Yesterday was a damned good day. Not only did I have a lovely long chat with J. when I got home, but it was the perfect evening to veg out in front of the TV.

First, it was American Idol. In the UK we get the performance show on a Thursday night (heavily edited to remove all the vote-vote-vote stuff, as we can't vote from the UK anyway), followed by the results show on Fridays. I generally go online after the Thursday show to see who's been eliminated, and skip Friday.

I'm feeling the Adam Lambert love, that's for sure. That boy is awesome. I'm also excited that I'll be in Ohio on Finale night, so I'll be able to vote for Adam (assuming he makes it through next week - how could he not??!!)

singing rock boy @ Yahoo! Video

Then, after Idol, there were back-to-back episodes of ER, the final series, and these were the episodes in which Dr Doug Ross made his comeback. I watched ER from the very beginning, and of course it was the start of my adoration of George Clooney which continues to this day.

After Dr Ross left I thought the show would never be the same, but it introduced some great characters and in its day it was a wonderful ensemble show. It jumped the shark a few years back and I stuck with it for a couple of seasons after that but I gave up on it after watching a couple of episodes of the penultimate season. I hate it when a drama show turns into a soap opera.

It was sooo good, though, to see gorgeous George in his scrubs, being all authoritative yet sympathetic with Susan Sarandon. Damn, that man is fabulous.

Just one more week until my holiday, and two until my biiiiiig birthday.

Yeah, life is good right now.

Worst. Snack. Ever.

2009-03-31T17:39:00.002+01:00

My boss has been away to Thailand and, as is customary in an office, when someone comes back from their holiday they usually bring an edible treat with them. Well, oh what a treat (says she, heavy with sarcasm).

Although the packet says "Delicious and Good Taste", I can assure you that this is a misrepresentation of the highest degree.

I always read the label before I eat anything, but, despite the fact that it's all natural ingredients, I am still not tempted.

I forced my team-mate, Jeff, to hold one for a close-up, and he almost barfed just getting it out of the bag. He then claimed to have the stink of it on him all day.

So, managers, please take note. When you go on holiday, we want chocolates from abroad. Not chocolate covered bugs. Just nice chocolates. Or cookies, made with butter, sugar and flour, no critters please.

In other news, our team apparently won some contest that none of knew anything about to close a certain number of cases, and we were all given £25 in John Lewis vouchers. Yay.

Also, my cheapo Aldi camera is a piece of junk. I think my lovely Panasonic FZ has spoiled me. I know there's a difference between taking pictures and snapshots, but the options in the Aldi camera are too limited and the picture quality is not great. It also behaves weirdly, and keeps switching itself on when you want it off, and off when you want it on. I'm giving it to my sister for her birthday. She'll be thrilled with it, as she has no experience of digital cameras, and she'll be happy with the functions it performs.

At last, an update!

2009-03-20T12:33:00.006Z

It's been a while since I updated my blog but I'm off work this week so this is the ideal opportunity.

I think I've got food poisoning -- I bought some new kitchen knives not long ago from Aldi and they're absolutely awesome, incredibly sharp. But my cutting boards are cheap things from IKEA and the knives have cut grooves into them. I suspect some raw chicken (I eat a lot of chicken) has contaminated the boards. The boards are now gone, and I'm using a glass one.

Needless to say, I haven't been as ill as this in recent memory and have been on a diet of boiled potato for most of the week. I am sick to the back teeth of potato. I have to call the GP's surgery later to get my test results and find out if it's salmonella or something similar.

I wasn't impressed with the treatment at the GPs. When I made the appointment I was told they would probably have to send away a stool sample, and as I wasn't sure if I'd be able to perform to order, I took one with me. At the surgery I had to transfer it into a special jar for the lab and when I asked for some surgical gloves so I could do this, I was told by the receptionist that only the doctor or the nurse were allowed to have gloves. I said, okay, fine, let them do it then. I was finally - reluctantly - allowed to have a pair of gloves after much eye-rolling and sighing from the receptionist.

Once in the toilet to perform this task, I discovered there was no antibacterial soap, just a cheap scented hand wash, and no sterile wipes. Fortunately I had some antibacterial hand gel with me made sure I are wiped everything down with that, although I touched as little as possible while I was in there.

The one of the biggest problems in the NHS is people getting bacterial infections because of the lack of hygiene and if this is the standard of care in my local GPs then I wonder what it's like the big hospital.

So, the downsides of this illness are:

Tiredness
I've been too nervous to go much further than the petrol station to fill up the car because I don't want to be too far away from the bathroom.
Potatoes, potatoes, potatoes.

The bonuses, however, are:

Four days off work
Some weight loss
Time with my kitty cats
George Clooney season on Sky Movies
Lots of time to mess about on teh intarwebs.

One of the things that really captured my imagination on the net this week is the story about the little bat who hitched a ride on the space shuttle.

RIP Space Bat.

2008-11-15T21:42:00.001Z

Some days are easier than others. Today’s had its share of difficulties.

I decided to go to Ilford on the bus. Ilford has a decent shopping centre which includes the best ‘pound shop’ I’ve ever been to (it’s actually a 99p store). It’s not part of a chain, and the owner buys lots of stock from the States. It’s the only place I know in the area that sells Irish Spring soap, for example.

Last time I was there I bought some Plantolin lotion, which I’d never heard of before. It turns out it’s great for psoriasis, but I didn’t know that when I bought it. I looked it up online, and it seems to be out of production or sale in the UK, so my ‘uh oh’ radar was on, because I suspect that what they’d had in the 99p store was a load of bankrupt stock, and once that’s gone, it’s gone.

I decided to get the bus to Ilford because there’s a direct bus from the station where I live, and parking at the station is free on Saturdays. Parking in Ilford is difficult and expensive, and the round trip on the bus would be just £2. Easy-peasy. Yeah, right.

The bus is meant to be every 20 minutes. Which means I had to wait 35 minutes for it (luckily with a seat on the bench at the bus stop). There were a few old ladies waiting for it too (including a rather stern looking woman who had a sweet little dog - a whippet who was wearing a little winter coat), but when the bus came a young woman barged straight on ahead of everyone else.

But I managed to get a seat, and I do enjoy bus rides if I have a seat, I really like to look into people’s houses and gardens, at the street scenes, and not have the stress of driving.

So, my first stop was the 99p store. As I suspected, they had no Plantolin lotion. But I did get two bottles of posh vinegar (red and white wine vinegars – no, they don’t contain alcohol) and a couple of other bits and pieces.

There was a Christmas market on in the town centre, where I bought some lovely French cheese from the lovely French man selling it – three little packs for £5 – a brie, a chèvre and a Provençale cheese (which has a lovely earthy, mushroomy flavour). The goat’s cheese I will probably use to stuff inside chicken breasts, along with garlic and basil, before wrapping them in pancetta or bacon and roasting them.

When I came to get the bus home, laden with shopping (well two bags, not all that heavy, except for the two bottles of wine vinegar) it was a 40 minute wait for the bus (did I mention the bus runs every 20 minutes? Yes, I thought I did), and when it came, although I was at the front of the queue, there was a surge of people who barged on in front of me, so again it was a struggle to find a seat.

They appeared to fall into two groups – kids who have been brought up with no manners and/or with this sense that their needs are more important than anyone else’s and who live in a world where ‘waiting your turn’ does not exist, or men who for cultural reasons (Ilford has a diverse ethnic mix) see no reason to allow a woman to go ahead of them.

A few stops later, the whippet lady got on, and nobody offered her a seat (she was probably about 70). I was sitting so far back that if I’d got up, she wouldn’t have got my seat.

So although I try to reduce my carbon footprint and my personal expenses by not driving everywhere, it’s trips like this that make me realise exactly why I dislike travelling by bus so very much.

From a personal point of view, it’s not been a great day. I struggle so much with low self-esteem, that feeling of worthlessness that’s dogged me since I was a child. I find it very hard to be kind to myself, and when I’m sad or anxious, the self-doubt and self-loathing sometimes overwhelm me.

I’ve been sad since last weekend when I went to Jon’s funeral. It’s not a good time for me, mid-November, because on Friday it was 3 years since George died. And I’m anxious about something at work – paradoxically not a ‘bad’ thing, quite possibly a good thing, a very good thing. But it’s something that I have no control over, so all I can do for now is sit it out and wait for things to pan out, hopefully in my favour.

I grew up being told that nobody would ever love me because I was unlovable, and I believed that there was something about me that was so disagreeable that I would be destined to live a solitary life, without friends, and – without doubt – never a partner.

My sister, on the other hand, was told all the time how pretty, talented and wonderful she was, and she grew up never having to – never needing to – make those massive adjustments and compromises that were essential for me to make just so I could find my way in the world.

You know the kind of thing. Or maybe you don’t. Keeping my expectations low, never asking for too much, or hoping for too much, because then I couldn’t be disappointed. Now I’m daring to dream about things that could happen which would turn my life around.

Dare I dream? Dare I?

Brummie Jon

2008-11-08T17:01:00.003Z

Jon Goble 1949-2008,
originally uploaded by essexjan.

I said goodbye to a friend today, a man I knew as Brummie Jon.

I met Jon for the first time in 2001 when he came to his first AA meeting at Whipps Cross Hospital. I was secretary of the meeting, and I remember him walking in the door, wearing one of his coats of many colours (just about every garment he owned was in some combination of clashing colours), and his customary woolly hat, looking scared, bewildered, defeated and defiant.

Some people come to their first meeting and you never see them again, but not Jon. He immersed himself into AA and sobriety, and we soon became friends. Jon found many friends in AA. He was that sort of a man, people were drawn to him. He would tell the most wonderful anecdotes of his drinking days in his broad Brummie accent, and there was no doubt that he was definitely 'one of us' - the lucky ones who were given a second chance at life.

Jon was a remarkable man - a man of science and a man of arts. He was a clinical psychologist by profession and worked for many years in the health service, and as a lecturer.

But he was also - and I think this is how he would have defined himself - first and foremost a musician. A wonderful, wonderful musician. A self-taught jazz pianist of uncommon talent. He loved music, and his love of it infected everyone around him when he played, or when he talked about it.

In January of this year Jon was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He knew there would only be one outcome, and he refused to spend his last few months having chemo. Instead he catalogued his music, compiled an album, wrote his autobiography and spent time with the people he loved - his wife and three children, his mother and brothers.

Jon was a lovely man - warm, funny, a little bit bonkers (well, most musicians are), challenging, inquisitive, unique.

I'll miss him very, very much.

Ready for winter

2008-10-31T17:42:00.007Z

One of my great pleasures is my bird table. I buy premium Robin Mix bird food from Pets at Home, add dried insects, sunflower seeds and raisins to it, and each day I put a big scoop of it out for the birds, along with a couple of fat balls.

I get lots of birds visiting, as well as plenty of squirrels. One, who I recognise as a daily guest, has a very healthy appetite. I think he's probably the fattest squirrel in Essex by now. But hopefully he should survive the winter with that extra layer he's packed on in recent weeks. He has the chubbiest arms I've ever seen on a skwerl.

When my Uncle Ron was in the army in 1942 ...

2008-10-22T16:03:00.000+01:00

... he was stationed for a time during basic training at a garrison in the north of England, quite possibly Catterick, although I couldn't say for sure.

The King and Queen were due to visit the troops before they were sent abroad, and so there was much running around like headless chickens by all and sundry to make sure everything looked perfect for Their Majesties' inspection.

Because he'd been late for drill, Uncle Ron was ordered as a punishment to paint the markings on the parade ground. So, he got some white paint from the stores, and made his way around the parade ground, re-marking the lines that were almost faded away.

As he stepped back to admire his handiwork, he kicked over the tin of paint, leaving a huge splodge of white paint, as if a giant pigeon had crapped in the middle of the parade ground.

There was no way he could clean it up, and he knew that if his Sergeant-Major saw it, he'd end up in the glasshouse and not get to meet the King. But my Uncle Ron was a bright lad, and, after a moment's panic, he had a flash of genius.

He ran back to the stores and got four planks of wood, all the same size. He set them out around the spilled paint, and spread the paint out to the edges. When the planks were removed, there was a perfect white square in the middle of the parade ground.

Fast forward 50 years. In 1992 Uncle Ron attended a regimental reunion at his old garrison. Much had changed about the place, the old tin sheds they used to sleep in had gone and the food was better but there was one thing that was exactly the same.

Right there in the middle of the parade ground, exactly where he'd spilled the paint 50 years earlier, and pristinely repainted for the reunion, was that same white square.

Everything else is just stuff.

2008-10-15T08:41:00.004+01:00

I am lucky. I know that. I appreciate that. And what I have to say comes from the standpoint of my being one of the luckiest people on the planet.

I have a home; I have a job; I have enough money to cover my basic needs with plenty to spare to buy things I want but don't need.

I live in an affluent area. What's that maxim estate agents use? Buy the worst house in the best area. Location, location, location. So when I moved here 12 years ago, it was from a big house in a not-so-nice area into a much smaller place, but in a far better neighbourhood.

There's a little high street full of shops. When I moved here we had a butcher, a baker, a (no, not a candlestick maker) fishmonger, a hardware store, a pet shop, an Italian deli. They've all gone, replaced by places selling luxury kitchens, designer wedding dresses (we have two such places), there are fancy florists, nail bars, boutiques selling designer clothes, jewellers, beauty salons, a Botox clinic, hair salons (so many places to get my hair done!), and - most ridiculous of all - a puppy couture boutique, and three, yes three, places to buy or hire fancy evening gowns for proms, cruises, Ascot Ladies' Day, etc. Apart from my hairdresser, I have never been in a single one of those boutiques or salons.

When I was married, and wishing I wasn't, I used to try to fix myself with various things. After I stopped drinking, I started spending. Not on a compulsive, luxury goods, level, but I would buy things that I thought would make me feel better. Clothes that didn't suit me, gadgets I'd never use, that sort of thing. They didn't work. I remained unfixed. In the end, the solution was to address the problems in my marriage and deal with them.

So, we split up, and I went from having a reasonable mortgage with two decent salaries to buying him out, which meant I had double the mortgage, but on just my salary. I was convinced I wouldn't be able to manage, that I'd lose my home. But a friend of mine gave me a piece of advice. He's probably the last person in the world I'd have expected to get financial advice from, but what he said took away the fear.

"Pay your mortgage first, because a friend will always give you a sandwich."

Yes! It was as simple as that. I knew I could never, ever in a million years have asked anyone for money, but there would always be a place set for me at the table.

As it happens, my fears were unfounded and I was able (and continue to this day) to live quite happily and comfortably on my earnings.

I deal every day in my job with people who are full of fear in this economic crisis because they're over-committed. Mortgages to the limit of their earning capacity, credit cards, car loans, personal loans, spending out of control. The cult of acquisition and the sense of entitlement has caused this. People seem to think that they must have that plasma TV, a new car, that £500 handbag and that if it goes on credit, well, it's sort of paid for, isn't it? No, it's not.

I've lived with financial worry so I know what that's like. But in buying what I need, not what I feel I am entitled to, I have become rich. Compared with many of my neighbours I live in relative poverty - an old car, an ancient TV, clothes I've worn for years, no iPod, no designer handbag. Buy that new bestseller or wait for it to appear in the charity shop or the office book exchange in a few months? Have that bitter £2.50 Starbucks from the cafeteria at work or get a free coffee from the machine on my floor? Spend £5 a day on lunch or take my own? These are all choices I have, which influence not just my financial wealth, but my spiritual and emotional richness too.

Today the wealth I have comes from peace of mind, from knowing that my bills are paid and my responsibilities are met. I have no fear that the knock on the door will be the bailiff or that the letter in the post will be a final demand.

For me a big shift came when my fiancé, George, died in November 2005. His death was a pivotal moment in my life. It made me realise that the only thing that matters in this world is love. Everything else is just stuff. Just. Stuff.

Grrrrr ...

2008-08-22T07:15:00.002+01:00

Isn't it always the way? I have a meeting with a job consultant today and, not only is it raining, but I have a stye in the corner of my eye. We're meeting to discuss something that interests me very much -- an opening for a lawyer in the forensic investigation team at a large firm of accountants. It'd be a complete change from what I do at the moment in terms of the type of employer, but the part of my present job that I enjoyed most is the investigative aspect.

So, wish me luck, and do the anti-rain dance.

I'd be a pigeon

2008-05-07T11:23:00.004+01:00

Pigeons on my bird table,
originally uploaded by essexjan.

I'm not much of a gardener, in fact my back yard is laid almost entirely with concrete slabs (through which weeds appear with depressing regularity).

But one thing I really love is my bird table. I bought it a few years ago and it's given me so much pleasure. I have it set up so I can see it from either my desk or from the sofa, and every morning I put out a dish of food - a combination of robin mix from Pets at Home, black sunflower seeds, dried insects and raisins. Sometimes the odd mushy piece of fruit too. I hang fat balls in a feeder that's fixed to the side.

I'm very lucky, living by the forest. I get lots of birds visiting - starlings, wood pigeons, collared doves, robins, blue tits, great tits, coal tits (lots of tits!), sparrows, jays, magpies, jackdaws, and even a pheasant once - and this lovely pair of pigeons, who've been coming around for a few months.

I actually like pigeons. I think if I were a bird I'd be a pigeon. I have short, stubby little legs, a big butt and I can't sing. At first sight, you might think I'm a little dull, but, like the pigeons beautiful iridescent throat plumage, put me in the light, and I'll shine. Some days I can even fly.

Long time, no blog

2008-02-08T12:25:00.000Z

I thought it was probably about time I updated this blog. I've been far too lazy about it, but now I've got some voice-activated software, and hopefully it should make it a bit easier for me to motivate myself to update this on a more regular basis.

I've had a few ups and downs over the last few months, but I feel as if I've now turned the corner. Last June, I went to New York for the first time, and I met someone who's become very dear to me. It's still early days, and I have no expectations for the future. But he is bright, funny, kind and sweet, and I like him very much. He has caused my heart to heal.

Work is fine, although we are all under the cosh to close cases as quickly as possible and at the same time we get criticised if cases don't come up to the quality standards. It seems as if they want it both ways.

Hopefully, work will start soon repairing the foundations to the building because of the subsidence caused by the tree roots. Once that's done, I'll be able to finish my decorating and will have the flat looking exactly how I want it for the first time. I want my bedroom to look like a boudoir!

Caught on camera!

2007-02-23T14:59:00.001Z

Caught on camera!,
originally uploaded by essexjan.

I glanced out of the window today and saw Bailey sitting on a neighbour's TT. I grabbed the camera and managed to get one quick shot of her guilty expression before she jumped off (leaving a trail of muddy prints across the bonnet).

Two minutes later she's lying in bed pretending to be asleep, perhaps in the hope I might think it was some other cat who looks just like her.

Lentil, Potato & Spinach Curry

2007-02-05T17:26:00.000Z

1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 large onion, chopped
1 tablespoon minced, peeled fresh ginger
1 tablespoon garam masala (or, if not available, mild curry powder)
2 garlic cloves, chopped
3 cups water
2 cups green lentils, rinsed
2 fist-sized potatoes, peeled and cut into chunks
1 14oz can chopped tomatoes
2 cups vegetable stock/broth
Salt
1 bag fresh spinach (or 1 pack frozen spinach)
1 large bunch cilantro, chopped

In a large saucepan heat oil over medium heat until hot. Add onion and cook until tender and slightly browned. Stir in ginger,garam masala (or curry powder) and garlic, and cook for one minute.

Add water, lentils, potatoes, tomatoes, broth and a little salt. Bring to boil.
Reduce heat to low. Cover and simmer for 25 minutes or until lentils and potatoes are tender. Add a little more water if needed (lentils absorb a lot of water)

Add spinach and cilantro. Stir.

Serve with rice and naan bread (or roti).

This song is dedicated to ...

2007-02-05T17:25:00.000Z

So, I'm at my local AA meeting one Friday night, and there's this guy sharing his story, young-ish man, early 30s. Never seen him before, didn't know him.

Anyway, his story was that he had a talent, and was very successful in his chosen field, but because of drinking he almost lost everything and he ended up having to go and live with his mother in a nasty little town in Essex. He hated it, he thought it was beneath him to have to go back to the place he grew up and at first he was full of grandiosity that he was a star but forced to live in his old bedroom at home. But he'd since learned some humility and now he appreciated the working-class values of his parents.

So, the format of the meeting was that, once he'd finished his story, people could share back with him their identification, experience, etc. I was third or fourth to share back and I said that I had really identified with him, I used to live about 3 miles from the town he spoke about, and I'd also had those feelings of grandiosity that I was better than my neighbours (it's a common thing for drunks to be grandiose - lying drunk in the gutter, but still looking down on everyone).

I said that I used to live next door to this family who played the same song over and over and over. It had been a huge worldwide hit the year before. I loved the song, absolutely loved it, but my neighbours got on my nerves, they thought it was a drinking song because part of the lyric made it sound like that, and they used to yell it out at that point in the song.

But I knew, because I'd listened beyond the song's chorus, that it was really a song about nihilism, despair and about having to live in a crappy Essex suburb when I felt I deserved more.

The meeting ran its course, closed with the Serenity Prayer and then we all headed off home.

I was just driving out of the car park when the guy from the meeting practically threw himself in my path, forcing me to stop. He banged on the window, I rolled it down.

"I have to talk to you, I MUST talk to you!" he said.

It turned out that it was his song, he'd written it, and he'd grown to hate it because everybody thought it was a drinking song. He always had to perform it because it was his biggest hit, but he hated it. Until now.

"You're the only person who's ever understood what that song is about. You said exactly what I was feeling when I wrote it. Thank you. You have no idea, you really have no idea what it means for me. I feel like you've given me my song back ..."

He asked for my name. He wrote it down. We hugged, said goodnight. I forgot about it.

Fast forward a few months. His band was on TV, a concert filmed in Japan. The intro to the song started. The crowd went wild. He said "This is for Jan. This will always be for Jan."

I've seen him on TV twice since then and also live in concert, and he said it each time then too.

I also heard him speak at another AA meeting a couple of years ago when he told the story from his perspective. I was very moved.

So, there you have it. Not quite "Darling You Look Wonderful Tonight" but I still get a shiver down my spine every time I hear 'my' song on the radio.

The bloke upstairs is a twat

2006-10-03T17:44:00.000+01:00

We had a new security light put up recently, with Vic the bloke upstairs and I splitting the cost (on the cheap because Vic refused to pay for new cable, so we had to use the cable from the old light, which meant that the new light couldn't go where Vic wanted it).

Well he's moved the sensor so the light doesn't come on when you approach the building, but it comes on when you leave (although we already have a porch light that comes on when you step out of the door).

He knocked the other day when I was jetlagged and said "it's not working properly" but I was too zonked to speak. So I put a note through his door yesterday saying "it's not working because the sensor's been moved, if you want it to come on as you approach the building, the sensor needs to point that way. I can't reach it, but I would like it put back the way it was when it was installed."

Anyway, I spoke to him earlier today , and he said yes, he did move the sensor because he wanted the light to come on as soon as you step out. He knows that, by doing that, it doesn't come on as you approach. I said well I want it to come on as I approach, otherwise there's no point in having it.

After him trying to argue the point, I said, ok, well, what I'll do then is switch it off inside (he was surprised I have an indoor switch for it, but it's on my meter, so I made sure I had it switched) and then you can install from your own electricity supply and at your own expense whatever it is you think you need. So then he agreed to move the sensor back to its original forward position pointing towards the close, but he still kept going on and on about the 10ft stretch from the front door up to where the forward-facing sensor kicks in and the lamp comes on.

I said I couldn't see a problem, you're not exactly going to get an intruder hiding along there. Finally he admitted the reason he wants that stretch to be lit instantly is that he is scared of snails.

Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!

My Big Vegas Story

2006-09-28T12:00:00.000+01:00

I arrived in Vegas on Tuesday afternoon, Diane (George's sister) got in Tuesday night. On Wednesday, we wandered the casinos, and watched a few craps games, had no idea what was going on, except that people seemed to get very excited.

Our hotel offered free craps lessons, so on Thursday morning, while we were waiting for Marie (George's other sister) to arrive, we had our lesson, just the very basics. I learned what the 'pass' is, and which numbers are good and which are evil (seven is good until the point is rolled and then it's very, very bad).

So, early hours of Friday morning, and I'm still on London time. The clock in Vegas says it's 5.30am, but to me it's lunchtime. I need coffee. I get up, trying not to wake Diane and Marie, and go down to the Casino to see if the coffee shop is open. (The Barbary Coast, unlike some of the mega-hotels, doesn't have 24-hour Mickey D's or anything.) The coffee shop is closed, but in the otherwise-quiet casino, a craps game is going on.

I wander over to have a look. Two guys are playing, young guys, 30-ish, one white, one black, both losing and almost broke. The tables have these little grooves round the edge where you can stack your chips and they only have a few each. There's just them, the dealer and the pit guy (a tough-looking guy in a suit who watches everything very closely and never shows any expression).

The white guy says to me "here, you roll, you might be lucky". The dealer says "you have to be on the pass to play" (meaning I have to be betting to be in the game). "Oh no, I'm not betting" I said. The white guy puts one of his few remaining chips on the pass and says "now you are".

I'm in the game.

I pick up the dice and begin to roll. I really have no idea what I'm doing, but it seems to be making these guys happy. They start high-fiving across the table and hugging me. My little chip starts to make a little pile. I take some of my chips away and put them in my little storage tray on the table. I put a few back, I keep rolling. The black guy gives me a chip too, and that starts to grow a little pile of its own too.

I laugh. I tell the guys this is the first time I've ever played craps.

The pit guy picks up the phone that's sort of hidden under the table, speaks quietly. A few minutes later, the Big Pit Boss turns up to see what's happening. I'm still rolling, the two players are still winning, still delighted with whatever it is I'm doing. The two pit guys confer, quietly. They both watch me very carefully, talking to each other out of the sides of their mouths.

I can feel my luck is running out. I tell the two players that as soon as I roll a seven, I'm out of the game.

I keep rolling. No seven. Fours, sixes, eights, tens. They're happy. More high fives, more hugs.

Then, at last, a seven. I'm done.

I look at the pile of chips I've amassed and divide them in two to give back to the guys.

"No, honey, that's your money, you won it."

"But ... but ... but ..."

"It's yours"

I take it to the window to cash up.

Six hundred and forty dollars.

For no money down.

In about 20 minutes.

Hoo boy. I'm shaking like a leaf.

By this time the coffee shop is opening, so I go over and get an Americano with a triple hit of espresso.

Still shaking, I walk outside into the 6am sunshine. Standing in the street is a naked man, with just his hands to cover his modesty. He's cute, early 30s, nice bod.

"It looks as if you've had a good night" I say, laughing.

"Don't ask" he replies. (I was hoping he'd shrug, but his hands stayed right where they were.) A couple of guys passing by were taking his picture and said his wife had thrown him out of the hotel room. Two of the Barbary Coast security men leaned against the wall and told him that he couldn't go back up to the room unless he could show them a room key. I hope they were joking.

I can totally understand why the pit guy got his boss on the phone. Here are these two guys, who don't know each other, just about to go broke, then I turn up, don't know either of them, clueless about how to play the game, and suddenly everyone starts winning. It probably looked very suspicious.

I know that if I won $640 in that little space of time, then those guys won thousands. Once my first few rolls came back good, they changed their chips into hundreds (mine were $25 and $10 chips) and were betting big money, plus doing all these kinds of complicated side bets on different numbers.

When I went back up to the room, they were still playing. I hope they didn't give it all back to the Casino.

The next day I won $123 on a slot machine on a $10 bet, then another $29 for a $1 outlay and after that it was just pennies here and there.

But I took more money from the Casino than I gave it.

w00t.

Just another morning in Vegas. I won big for no outlay and saw a nekkid man.

Hi to all the bunnies

2006-08-23T17:07:00.000+01:00

I had my portrait painted today

2006-08-02T18:55:00.000+01:00

This is a neat little gizmo. You input a few brief details and your portrait is 'painted'.

Another sweltering day

2006-07-21T17:42:00.000+01:00

Okay, I've ordered the bug vacuum wand thing. Now I'll panic about not being able to get the bugs outside quick enough before they crawl or fly up the tube to get me.

It's been too hot today. Far too hot. The temperature in my yard hit 100F today. That's just wrong. I get like a little dog shut in a car in this weather, and I've hardly set foot outside since Wednesday evening. We're due a thunderstorm. I hope it comes soon.

Big Bug Panic

2006-07-21T17:27:00.000+01:00

It's been really hot in Essex these last few days, and I've been going to bed late, the nights have been insufferably hot. So last night, or to be more precise, early this morning, around 1.30am, I'm lying on the bed, reading, and I looked up to see this thing on my ceiling. I swear to God, it looked about a foot long!

I didn't want to splatter it on the ceiling (even if I could've reached it), so I abandoned the bedroom for a while. A long while. At about 4.30am I heard my upstairs neighbour go out, and that was my cue to get the Dyson and suck the thing off the ceiling. The Dyson cylinder was empty, so I got a good look at the bug before I chucked it out (alive, just a bit dizzy). It was an oak bush cricket, apparently. General concensus amongst my online friends I'd been chatting to through the night was that the bug was a cricket, but it looked too damn big. In the Dyson, it was a tiny, wee little thing.

If only I'd had one of these. That has so got to be worth a tenner. I need to get one. (Yes I will do it now!)

At Bob's funeral

2006-07-11T18:02:00.000+01:00

My friend Bob died recently of a brain tumour - a long, painful horrible struggle that you wouldn't put an animal through.

His funeral was this afternoon, a gloriously sunny day that Bob would've loved. It was a simple service - the eulogy was given by Bob's ex-lover Edouard (that's how Edouard described them, so I won't use the word 'partner') and was, as these things always are, very moving. Lovely music - Barbra Streisand (a big show tune I didn't know from 'Yentl') and "He Was A Friend Of Mine" by Willie Nelson.

At one point, the minister said that he liked to think that heaven will be full of the things Bob loved best. An old friend, Steve, sitting next to me caught my eye and I whispered to him "are you thinking what I'm thinking?" "Cock and vodka?" "Yep". *smile*

I'll miss ya, mate. R.I.P. Bob.

A hard day for me

2006-07-07T08:50:00.000+01:00

I am trying so hard for this not to be a bad day.

Most people in London will remember 7 July for the bombings. But last 7 July I was in Ohio, with George, for what neither of us knew would be our last day together.

I am still so sad, so lonely and I'm really, really trying to move on, as I know I must, but it's hard for me.

On Saturday I met a man whose wife died around the same time as George (November), and he and his new girlfriend are buying a house together after knowing each other for just a few months. But his wife had had a long illness, so there was time for him to adjust, he knew she was going to die and had made some emotional preparation for it. George was just gone.

I will always, always, always be so glad and grateful that the last words I ever spoke to him, face to face, were "I love you".

I have things to do today that'll take me out of the house, practical stuff like get my car to the mechanic and then a long journey home on the bus, so I'll be around people and busy. That's the key, keep busy, busy, busy, busy, try not to go anywhere near the edges of this huge void in my soul in case I fall in.

I still can't get back with God over this, can't pray, can't see this as 'God's will'. Maybe someday I'll get to that point, but not now, not yet.

Ghost bird

2006-06-22T12:47:00.000+01:00

A bird has flown into my patio door, leaving its ghostly image imprinted on the glass. You can see the swoop of its wings, from top left to bottom right, its claws and its open beak. I don't know what kind of bird it was, or what happened to it, but assume that either it recovered and flew away or, stunned, was carried off by a cat or a fox.

Back to reality

2006-06-18T13:46:00.000+01:00

Tomorrow I go back to work after six weeks off - I had surgery on 4 May and needed time to recover from both the operation and from the horrible flare-up of psoriasis that was undoubtedly the accumulation of the stress of the last six months manifesting itself.

I'll be glad to get back to the office - I'm bad company when left to my own devices, and these last few weeks I've isolated far more than is good for me. I've been comfort eating and have gained weight, but am hoping that being back in the workday routine will also get me back into better eating habits. I had ice cream for breakfast today, for God's sake!

I'm also the world's worst procrastinator, but will be going back to a new caseload, so I've got the opportunity to start afresh with new - and hopefully good - habits as far as my casework is concerned. I always find that the cases I dread doing are never that bad once I get down to them.

Today I made a birdbath. I'd been looking for one, and the only ones I'd seen were either heavy stone things or were too shallow. So at B&Q I got a large plastic tray, the sort you're meant to stand plantpots in, the biggest one they had, and I put it inside one of my large planters and filled it with water. It's about 3cm deep. Within minutes a magpie was having a bath in it, and I stood watching it from behind the patio door with a big smile on my face.

I love the birdlife here.

Goddamned London Underground

2006-06-16T14:01:00.000+01:00

I had an appointment today with Rigby & Peller in London to be fitted for a new bra (none of mine fit right since my surgery). I checked the LU website and it said no problems on my line, so I drove to the station, paid £2.50 to park and when I got to the ticket office I discovered there were no trains at all into town.

So instead of a nice shopping day and lunch in town, I ended up coming home and doing my housework (which admittedly needed doing, although I've only done it half-heartedly).

Damn, this pisses me off! It'll be two months until I can get another appointment for a bra fitting. But maybe by then I'll have lost the 20lbs that have crept on over the last few months.

Two years on

2006-05-15T12:23:00.000+01:00

It's two years to the day that George and I first met in person, so I've had a few tears today and also lots of warm memories, looking through all the photos of my trips to Ohio. I'll never forget the first time I met him, at the airport in Columbus, I was nervous but I knew as soon as I looked into his eyes and he smiled at me that everything would be just fine.

Trying to impress, he took me to Castaways for dinner (it was a great meal) that first evening and then we talked into the wee small hours of the morning. I felt as if I was home at last, being with him.

I still miss him more than words can say. Yesterday it was six months since he died. I would not trade the 18 months I had with George for anything, and I would give up everything I own if I could have him back for just five minutes.

Meeting George made me a better person.

Drift away ...

2006-05-08T11:24:00.000+01:00

The waiting room was busy, I had my pre-op checks (blood pressure, heart rate, etc.) and signed the consent form. They explained things to me after I told them I am a lawyer. They drew on me, found out later the marker had ruined my good bra after I got dressed again.

A young woman with two children, a girl of about 5 or 6, a boy around 3 or 4, Gracie and Sonny. Harlow names. She was about 30, and her face was like one of those women from the pages of Life magazine in the 30s, a dustbowl woman. Good bone structure, might have been beautiful, but life had worn her down and she had a permanent frown on her face. No rings. No man around, her hard-faced mum was with her. She let Gracie and Sonny take all the pamphlets out of the rack and scatter them about, did nothing to stop them from climbing on the chairs, take over a dozen seats which other people needed.

It was airless and hot, a fan was on. Gracie took a bottle of water from the bag and offered some to her mother. “You know I can’t have that!” the woman snapped. “You know I can’t have anything to eat or drink”. “I was only trying to be helpful”, said Gracie, in a tiny voice. In the end, the grandmother took the children.

Another woman sat with her husband. Middle-aged, conservative-looking. She was prepped for the operation, already in her gown, robe and slippers. They make you walk to the theatre. She was called, stood up. They kissed, very, very tenderly. As she walked away, he had a look on his face that if he could have changed places with her, he would. I felt sad for myself.

It got busy. The nurse decided to take some of us to the ward, more space. A nice ward, modern, rooms with 4 beds or 1 bed. I was in a 4-bed, next to the nurses’ station, my bed nearest the bathroom. One other woman in there in the bed opposite, TV on loud. I thought, I hope she’s not going to have that thing on all night.

I got undressed, put on the gown and my robe over the top, my best pure silk La Senza robe, hardly ever worn. I waited, after a while they were ready for me, and I walked down with the nurse, a taciturn Indian woman, heavily pregnant.

A little boy waiting to go in, he’d broken his arm. He was four, and was being very brave. A woman, attention-seeking, saying she thought she ‘might be’ allergic to latex. “Well, either you are or you aren’t” said the nurse, sharply. The woman waffled, the surgeon came out and spoke to her, annoyed. Said he’d use non-latex gloves. Snapped his words and his gloves.

My glasses were taken back up to the ward by the pregnant nurse. A blur is best, I don’t like to see the things that might kill me. I was scared but also accepting. I’ve had general anasthetics before and I know there’s always the possibility, albeit small, of complications, of death, of damage that can't be fixed, whatever. Karma. Prayer. Que sera, sera.

The needle went in.

Gimme the beat boys, and free my soul, I wanna get lost in your rock ‘n’ roll and drift away …

Good day, bad day

2006-04-19T12:34:00.000+01:00

The report from the hospital is mixed.

The good news is that they found no obvious malignancy.

The bad news is that they did not find the confirmation they were expecting that it is all benign.

So, I go into hospital on 4 May for the lump to be excised. I'll be in hospital a couple of days and off work for a couple of weeks.

I am told the surgery will be 'disfiguring'. I'm not entitled to reconstructive surgery on the NHS, and my insurance only covers reconstruction in cases of cancer or accident, so I'll have to stay 'disfigured'. Not that I am anything much to look at anyway, but it still sucks.

The last five months have tested me way beyond anything I could ever have imagined. I'm wondering what the next thing is going to be. Something good, please. I want something good to happen to me. I need something good to happen. I'm scared right now.

A good memory

2006-04-16T19:32:00.000+01:00

On my second trip to Logan George took me into the hardware store downtown. He warned me before we went in that it was a 'guy place' and, because he knew everyone who either worked there or was a customer, there was likely to be some 'chewing the fat' going on for a while and if I got bored I might like to head over to Julie's Cafe for a coffee.

So, we go in, George wanders up to the counter to yak with the fellas, and I'm browsing the aisles, looking at bathroom accessories and stuff, when an old geezer came over, took me by the arm and said "now just you stop hiding back there, young lady, we all want to meet you" and led me over to the counter.

The store owner said "my wife told me last week she'd seen George Pavlik in Kroger's with a woman, and I told her it had to be one of his sisters. My wife insisted it wasn't, she knows Diane and Marie, and I said she must need her eyes testing. And then Joe told me yesterday that he'd seen George HOLDING HANDS with a girl in Lowe's parking lot! I knew it was only a matter of time before he showed his face here so we could get to the bottom of this!"

I was quite the curiosity - in a small town when you know everyone, they all want to know your business. I bet all those guys couldn't wait to get home so they could play "I know something you don't know" with their wives. And George stood there in his carhartts, beaming, and told them he'd finally met his "good gal".

Fridays won't be the same ...

2006-04-14T23:03:00.000+01:00

America has voted ... and Bucky is out of American Idol. Here in England we don't see the live shows, but get to see both the performance and the results shows on Friday nights. I've been avoiding any news sites that might have spilled the beans before tonight's shows.

I'll miss ya, Bucky, you are one lovely hunk of a man.

OMFG!!!

2006-04-13T18:44:00.000+01:00

Look at these!!

My nasty neighbour

2006-04-13T18:41:00.000+01:00

So, yet again, for probably the sixth time in a year, I was woken in the early hours by a woman screaming in the flat upstairs, which is occupied by Vic, a charmless, no-neck ignoramus. This time the woman was yelling "Let me leave, I want to go!", followed shortly afterwards by her screaming that he was hurting her. Then she left, noisily, and yelled up at his flat "How dare you fucking beat me up!" Twice. (I mean she said it twice, not that he beat her up twice, although I wouldn't rule that possibility out completely.) She left, I didn't hear a car start, nor did he follow her out to take her anywhere. The yelling up at his place seemed to be more for effect than anything. Just what I needed at 4 am.

These don't appear to be women he's in a relationship with, by which I mean that he's obviously sleeping with them, but they don't seem to be boyfriend/girlfriend, so I suspect it's more of a business transaction. The women who visit him are all much younger than him, under 25 (he's probably late 50s) and kind of trashy looking, uneducated (from hearing them speak) and without their own vehicles.

It worries me.

Where do I draw the line between minding my own business and raising my concerns? Do I wait until someone's really seriously hurt?

Fine line stuff here which I am considering crossing.

Well, who'd a thunk it!

2006-04-01T08:27:00.000+01:00

I watched American Idol last night (in the UK they show the performance show followed by the results on Fridays) and Bucky got more votes than Katherine. She looked as if she was about to throw up when she was standing there waiting to hear if it was she or Lisa who was going home. Hahahahaha!!!

Remember folks - Vote Bucky! You know it makes sense.

Jab, jab, jab ...

2006-03-29T13:35:00.000+01:00

I just got back from the hospital, where I'd expected to get the results of the core biopsy they did 3 weeks ago. Instead the doctor (a different doctor each time, of course, it would be too easy to see the same one each time) said she needed to repeat the core biopsy, but take samples from much deeper in the tumour than the previous tests.

So I had the local anaesthetic again, which was the only part that hurt, and then she took 8 or 9 samples in all. I get the results in three weeks (at least that's what they told me. Or maybe this is some new money-saving technique, where they are actually removing the tumour, but in tiny pieces, every three weeks.)

It looks as if this mass will have to be removed anyway, so why not just do it? I could really do without the worry of this. But worrying won't change anything.

It was fun driving home with my gear-changing arm still numb from the anaesthetic. So I expect I can add the cost of a new gearbox to this year's car bills :-)

And now I'm waiting for the numbness to wear off. Last time they told me I could expect "a little discomfort and slight bruising", but I found out that they had actually been talking in a different language, Hospitalese, and what they really meant was two days of pain so bad I could barely move my arm and bruising that went from my collarbone to my elbow. At least this time I know what to expect and I've already called into the office and told them I'll see them on Monday.

And now I'm cheering myself up with a healthy, nutritious lunch of blueberry muffin followed by chunky peanut butter KitKat, washed down with creosote-strength coffee.

Bucky rawks!

2006-03-19T14:31:00.000Z

I'm hooked on American Idol. And this week, I developed a big crush on Bucky Covington.

He's got no chance of winning, being a Southern Rocker, but damn, that boy is hot!

Funniest thing this week? When Ryan said that Ace or Kevin were in the bottom three and the look on Ace's face when it was him. He covered it up quick, but for a couple of seconds there was this look that said "Excuse me? Is there some mistake here? I got less votes than Kevin?"

Ace knows he's handsome, but comes across as really insincere. Lisa leaves me cold. Katherine is good but seems a bit smug. I think (hope) it'll be between Taylor, Elliott, Chris and Mandisa. If music fans vote, then that's how it'll be. But I suspect we'll end up with Kellie, Lisa, Paris and Kevin because of the teenage vote.

But if you're so inclined, and you're in the US (we can't vote from the UK), vote Bucky! Keep an old lady (me) happy!

I'll have the ...er ...

2006-03-09T12:25:00.000Z

Best laugh I've had in ages.

Tests continue

2006-03-08T18:29:00.000Z

I had a core biopsy today. Not the most pleasant thing in the world, but a damn sight better than the mammograms I've had recently. Apart from the jab for the local anasthetic, I didn't feel a thing, but the "snap!" sound the needle/gun thing made was horrible. Results in 3 weeks.

So I'm feeling sore, looking bruised and I'm going to spend tomorrow wrapped in a duvet watching trashy TV and eating things I probably shouldn't.

In the meantime, because it's raining outside and I need some cuteness, here's a kitten. Marvel at his little stripey-headed sweetness.

Pretty damn lucky

2006-03-05T18:34:00.000Z

I just got back from lunch with 10 friends at the local Toby Carvery. Not the most upmarket restaurant in this little town, but great value for money and we all rolled out of there like Jabba The Hut.

I'm blessed to have such a good crowd of friends around me. They've helped me through some hard times over the past five years, when I split up with my (now)ex-husband. I've had some big life stuff happen since then - an episode of depression, major surgery, falling in love, George's death and some recent hospital tests. These people have been there for me through the good and the bad times.

I know when I was drinking, I had no real friends except for Denise, who moved back up north 15 months ago. She was never a drinking buddy, which is probably why she stayed friends with me. I was evil when I was drunk. I really miss her, and wish she could have been there today. We had a lot of laughs, too much food and I was glad for the walk home so a few calories could evaporate.

A chance meeting

2006-03-01T17:46:00.001Z

Thanks to everyone who sent me birthday wishes for my 7th sober one. I know that it's only thanks to the miracle of the AA programme that I'm sober today. In my last few years of drinking I couldn't stay sober for 7 hours, let alone 7 years!

This afternoon on my way back to the car from the Barking lunchtime meeting, I passed a pub. A taxi was waiting outside and a man and woman came out. He was walking with a stick, and she was saying to the cab driver "he's not drunk, he's just got a bad leg". I looked at him and realised that it was a former boyfriend of mine who I hadn't seen since 1988.

He was a chronic alcoholic even then, and I know that the few months we were 'dating' (if you could call it that) my drinking escalated. It was a very unhealthy, alcoholic relationship, a cycle of abuse and dependency on both sides.

He does actually have a bad leg. A long while ago he'd been a pillion passenger on a motorcycle and had been badly injured in an accident. He'd been awarded a huge settlement - £58,000, which in the early 80s was a lot of money, probably the equivalent of around £150,000 (about $270,000) in today's money. Within months he was broke after spending it all on drink, clothes and holidays for hangers-on. When I met him he was living on state benefits.

But despite what the woman today said, he was also drunk today. Well, he was coming out of a pub at 3 o'clock in the afternoon and, knowing him, he was probably in there at 11am when it opened.

I said hello, and it took him a few seconds to focus his eyes and recognise me. He grinned, and we exchange a few words "good to see yous", etc. and then I went on my way.

He could be the sweetest, funniest, most charming bloke you could meet, and then in a second turn violent and abusive. We split up after he beat me up at a party we were at. Nobody there came to my aid. It was the norm amongst the people I was mixing with. As it says in the Big Book, the unacceptable becomes acceptable. Thankfully I was able to get myself away from that particular crowd.

To be honest, I'm astonished he's still alive, he was drinking 2 litres of Bacardi a day when we were together, as well as whatever drinks he could get people to buy him in the pub (people felt sorry for him because of the leg, and there were also a lot of people who enjoyed his hospitality when he had money and he called in every favour he could.)

He looked like hell. He's probably 45 now, but looked at least 20 years older than that. I hope he gets sober one day. He carries a huge burden of grief and resentment over the loss of his baby son over 25 years ago and even in our brief exchange today, I could see that nothing had changed in him. But as long as he's still alive, there's hope that one day he might find this blessed gift of sobriety.

Sisters, sisters, there were never such [insert word here] sisters ...

2006-02-27T20:37:00.000Z

Families! I got into it with Lesley (sister) tonight.

We have an aunt, our mum's oldest sister, the only one of the three sisters left. She's 90 next month. She lives up in Manchester. Last year my cousin organised a big party for her, and I travelled up to Manchester for it. Lesley didn't go. All Auntie Nell wanted to know was 'Where's Lesley? Is Lesley here? Isn't Lesley coming?' - never mind that I'd travelled 250 miles, all she wanted was to see Lesley (who never, ever phones her or keeps in touch with her or with any of that side of the family). She's not seen Lesley since my 40th birthday party when everyone came down to Essex. Lesley is 50 miles away from Manchester but can't be arsed to make the trip. She's always been more interested and involved with the family of whichever man she's married to than her own relatives.

Anyway, Auntie's birthday is on 25 March and that's when Diane's over. So I said to Lesley tonight if I could ask her a favour. I said that I expect Bryce (cousin) will be arranging a celebration for her 90th, and because I've got someone staying, I won't be able to go to Manchester that weekend (although I will try and make it soon after). So could Lesley please, please try to go, even if she and Andy just drive up there and stay for a couple of hours and then come back. She said she doesn't think so. I said that Auntie really wants to see her, and that she'll be 90, there won't be many more chances to see her. So then I was accused of preaching, whatever the hell that means. (I suspect it means her hearing something she doesn't want to).

The call ended on bad terms, I doubt very much if she'll make the effort to go, and I know when I go up to see Auntie all I'll hear from her is 'Where's Lesley? How's Lesley? Is Lesley coming?' because she's always been (and always will be) the blue-eyed girl who can do no wrong.

But I've made a decision that I will not give Lesley any more information about Auntie, about her health, what she and her son and grandchildren are up to, nothing. If she wants to know, she can pick up the phone and call her.

Spicy Carrot Soup

2006-02-25T10:05:00.000Z

Serves 4-6

1 heaped tbsp coriander seeds
Olive oil
1 medium onion, peeled and chopped finely
900g carrots, peeled and chopped
2 stalks of celery, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, peeled and chopped finely
1.2l chicken or vegetable stock
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
4 tbsp natural yoghurt
2 tbsp chopped fresh coriander

Lightly toast the coriander seeds in a small pan over a low heat for a couple of minutes, until they start giving off their spicy aroma. The crush them in a pestle and mortar or spice grinder.

Heat a dash of olive oil in a large saucepan, add the onion and cook for a few minutes until soft and slightly golden. Add the carrots, celery, garlic and crushed coriander seeds, stir well and cook for about 10 minutes, until the carrots start to soften.

Add the stock, season, and bring to the boil. Simmer for 15-20 minutes, partially covered, until the vegetables are tender. Leave to cool a little, then liquidise. Return to the heat and warm through before adding the yoghurt and fresh coriander.

Pangolin!

2006-02-24T23:04:00.000Z

This is soooo cute. A baby pangolin riding on his mummy's tail. What could possibly be better?

I wish I was creative.

2006-02-24T13:11:00.000Z

I'm useless at arts & crafts, and admire anyone who can take raw materials and fashion a piece of art out of them.

At the Thursday AA meeting there's a framed embroided picture on the wall. It's exquisite - poppies, roses, delphiniums, lots of other flowers I don't know the names of, all sewn in perfect satin stitch. There's an embroidered dedication to someone at the bottom. I love to look at it, marvelling at the work that went into it. It was a labour of love for someone.

I can't even make things from kits. I'm clumsy and lack patience.

But I came across these today. Aren't they cool?!

This is my favourite.

Beyond belief

2006-02-23T22:23:00.000Z

This is probably one of the most horrendous news stories I've read in ages. I'm not easily shocked, as an ex-family lawyer I am pretty case-hardened, but I felt ill when I read this. I hope every second he spends in prison is utterly miserable.

Sore but relieved

2006-02-22T15:30:00.000Z

After two weeks of hospital tests, where I've been poked, prodded, squashed (mammogram - Jeez, they f'ing hurt!), had needles stuck in me and been drawn on (!) I heard today that there is no malignancy, just lumps (or 'masses' as doctors call them).

I am intensely relieved, as well as a little sore, having had 5 needle aspirations from each boob this morning.

I have to go back in two weeks after my 'interesting' case has been discussed at some panel meeting or other, just to see if anyone else has any input into what these lumps might be. I can live with that.

Phew! Although to the outside world I give the impression that I'm all cool and in control, I was worried about this.

People may see me as strange and shy ...

2006-02-21T17:27:00.000Z

What does your birth date mean?

Your Birthdate: May 22

You tend to be understated and under appreciated.
You have a hidden force to do amazing things, doing them your own way.
People may see you as strange and shy, but they know little.
Your unconventional ways have more power than they (and even you) know.

Your strength: Standing up for what you know is true

Your weakness: You tend to be picky and rigid

Your power color: Silver

Your power symbol: Square

Your power month: April

Baby it's cold outside.

2006-02-20T19:55:00.000Z

This is the cutest thing I've seen in ages.

The best soup in the world.

2006-02-20T18:29:00.000Z

(Serves 8)

1 large onion, diced

2 cloves of garlic, crushed or sliced thinly

4oz bacon cut into little pieces (or pancetta, if you can afford it). (Or leave it out altogether if you’re vegetarian.)

Olive oil

Saute the onion, garlic and bacon in olive oil for a few minutes over a medium heat in a large (2 litre at least) saucepan

Then add

½ large celery, finely sliced (including leaves)

3 large or 6 small carrots, chopped up verrrry small

Stir it round, put the lid on the pan, turn the heat down a little, then leave it for a few minutes for the vegetables to soften slightly.

While the veggies are softening, make up 1 litre of vegetable stock (Knorr stock cubes are best) with boiling water

Open a can of chopped tomatoes. Add the tomatoes to the soup mix and stir.

Pour the stock in, stir again. Then add a handful each of chopped basil and parsley. Finally toss in some chopped rosemary.

Replace the lid, bring to the boil and simmer for about 45 minutes. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Time off for good behaviour?

2006-02-19T13:34:00.000Z

Now I'm kind of an old-fashioned girl insofar as I like to be treated like a lady by men who aren't wimps. But I think Mr Travis Frey from Iowa has a few, er, control issues in this regard.

I doubt I'd have earned many GBDs if I'd been married to Mr Frey.

Your camera has been found ...

2006-02-19T09:11:00.000Z

... but we've decided to keep it.

The arseholery of some people amazes me sometimes.

Fat Girl

2006-02-18T16:19:00.000Z

I just finished reading Judith Moore's Fat Girl.

Not an easy read, in fact at times it was painful.

I was a fat girl - a fat baby, a fat child, a fat teenager and a fat adult, so I knew what Judith meant when she talked about her thighs blistering and chafing to raw red agony where they rubbed together. I understood her pain when she was told by someone she thought was a friend that she was "too fat to fuck". I, too, felt the same ache inside as I looked at boys (and men) who made my heart beat faster with lustful longing, but who I knew would see me only as someone to ridicule - a figure of fun.

I envied (and still envy) beautiful women.

I watched the American Idol auditions recently and there was a pair of twins, 25-ish, absolutely, totally gorgeous. Only one sang that day, the other stood to one side and 'coached' her twin. The singer was okay, probably average or below.

Simon Cowell, usually so cruel, hit the nail on the head. He acknowledged that she was undoubtedly beautiful, but said that, because of the way she looks, she's probably had most things in life come to her fairly easily without having to make too much of an effort. But that this was different and that to get a ticket to Hollywood, looks weren't enough.

Watching TV home alone on a Saturday night, I punched the air and cheered. The other two judges voted her in, bastards.

Heh

2006-02-18T11:55:00.000Z

The big file was a piece of cake, once I actually read it. Now I can settle down and enjoy the football. I hope.

I've been Simpsonized!

2006-02-18T00:48:00.000Z

Simpsonize yourself!

World's greatest procrastinator

2006-02-17T18:44:00.000Z

I've spent the entire day not dealing with the big, complex case file I brought home with me. I know I need to do it, I know it won't be half as bad as I think it's going to be once I start it, and I know it'll only take me half the time I think it's going to take. So why don't I just get on with it?

As it is, the day is almost gone here and I'm just about to get ready to go out to an AA meeting. I need to get my head around this thing tomorrow, though, and just get on with it.

I bookmarked a link from AskMeFi a few months ago about how to deal with procrastinating, but haven't yet got round to reading it ...

Sigh ...

Mere mortal though she be ...

2006-02-17T10:23:00.000Z

I think I'll get this framed. It's probably the coolest bit of paper I own.

I love looking in people's houses

2006-02-16T19:05:00.000Z

I've been walking to and from the station on the days I'm in the office. It's a mile each way, up and down hills, beautifully peaceful early in the morning.

On the way home I look into people's houses. One road I go down has a row of Victorian villas, nice solid houses with high ceilings. Net curtains are very unstylish, so it's easy to see into the houses when the lights are on.

Two houses intrigue me. They're next door to one another. The first has this massive plasma screen TV mounted on the wall. The room can't be more than 14ft or 15ft wide, so it must be like sitting on the front row of the Odeon. Every time I go past, the TV is on, and it's always cartoons.

The house next door has shelves from floor to ceiling filled with books, CDs and a stereo system. There's a comfortable-looking chair by the window, and a small TV in the corner.

No prizes for guessing which house I prefer.

The Most Dangerous Man In The World

2006-02-15T16:43:00.000Z

I'm scared

2006-02-15T13:40:00.000Z

I just got back from having a mammogram (ugh!). I had a 'breast mouse' (fibroadenoma) removed 20 years ago, and there's another lump appeared in the same area along with some indentation of the skin, especially noticeable when I raise my arm, about the size of a thumbprint.

The junior doctor I saw today couldn't get the consultant surgeon in the room quick enough, and after he had a feel of it, he sent me for the mammogram at once (instead of the usual 3-month wait - I've already waited 2 months for this first appointment) and he will see me again next week. He said he is 'concerned'.

He's concerned??

I'm abso-fricking-lutely terrified.

First musings

2006-02-13T21:03:00.000Z

So, here I am, sitting here at home waiting for the final part of the Olympic Figure Skating contest. I've always loved skating - watching it, that is. I only tried it once and could barely stand up.

Personally, I'd expect to be given a gold medal for being able to skate into the middle of the rink without falling on my arse. So how those Olympians manage to skate backwards on one leg (at speed), take off, spin round three-and-a-half times and land on the other leg going forwards absolutely astonishes me.