Always choose your battles-carefully

I'm glad, on reflection, that I decided to let the Homes for Haringey situation go. It's very unlike me to avoid a fight-especially when I believe I am in the right. But I remember at the time, my GP was the one who suggested that I think about whether my reputation with Haringey is important enough to go to the media and start a war - a war which I would never win, given that H for H will never change (until someone changes the law, and that only happens once every 300 years or so).

I mention this because I'm in a much more important war: I'm in litigation with Barts and the London, and that is a fight I will continue until the courts decide in my favor. I mention THIS because I had a phone call from my solicitor yesterday. The specialist consultant who is preparing a report wants to see me before he writes his update. And that will be on Monday. He is the fifth specialist I have seen, and the fifth to categorically state that this whole affair is down to negligence on the part of the two idiots, Sofia (the crippler) Grigoriadou and Phil (not so) Bright. And this specialist is happy to put that in writing - in case Barts decides to go to court.

I told my solicitor that I'm not going to quit, and she needs to inform Barts that if they keep wasting my time, I can hear the kerching of the settlement growing higher and higher.

This  is what I mean by choosing your battles. I would rather say hang the reputation, because the people who count know who I am, and the rest can go jump in front of a speeding train (I've cleaned that up!! I was actually thinking what they could do to themselves!!).

I'm fighting for the money. I'm fighting for compensation. I want Barts to admit culpability, and I want them to pay for the ordeal of the past two years, as well as the lifetime ordeal they have caused - and the suffering, which really has no price.

My theory is: if the financial penalty is severe enough, this will not happen to anyone else, because the hospital will ensure their resident idiots are careful in the future.

There is no such thing as a class action suit in this country. In fact, the laws are such that I'm surprised that anyone gets paid at all. Gentamicin is so toxic, it needs to be withdrawn from the market. There are other drugs that are just as effective; sadly, gentamicin is cheap, and that's why it is still in use.

Meanwhile, I am back to eating something that is recognizable as food (and my broccoli is actually green!!). I'm also walking, although my balance has suffered badly since I developed this chest infection. The only thing that stopped me from falling over this morning was the wall that was next to me!!

I am persevering, though; I'm too afraid not to!!!!!

An additional word of advice

Yes, one thing I forgot to mention: stay away from curried goat: it'll make you sick for days!! It'll also make you a vegetarian!! LOL!!!! Poor, poor Billy!!

Small changes, small victories

Apart from accidentally discovering something to soothe minor burns (cold banana skins...go figure!!), and a supernatural "visitation" in the middle of the night-and having seven cannulae in 13 days, and having my veins destroyed - plus finding a Starbucks within walking distance of the hospital (something good, at least!) - I had a very unremarkable two weeks in the Royal London. At least, they didn't kill me this time!! I think that was more down to luck than anything else.

I've had a rough couple of days since I got back. I decided to go out and have a walk yesterday - and left my stick at home. I wanted to see if I could do without it - and the short answer is, no, I couldn't - I was staggering all over the place. As you can imagine, that didn't make me very happy!!

I went to see my GP this morning - Margaret is back from her sabbatical and is settled in, thank goodness! I told her about the hospital, and mentioned that I tried very hard to be very upbeat, joking and laughing with the staff, and making a general pain in the butt of myself. She made the point that being upbeat is good for morale, and the treatment is better when a patient isn't moaning and morose all the time.

Margaret also made two more points, both of which I found interesting (and enlightening): she commented that I am walking better, and that progress is very slow now, but it is still progress. She said that she thinks I will continue to improve-just not as quickly as I wanted, so I have to learn to be patient. Patience, as we all know, is an alien word - so I just have to push myself and learn to be patient. Grrrr!!!

The second point she made is that she feels that I am suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder -PTSD- and that it is no surprise that I haven't been sleeping, and that I am very stressed and anxious, even though I put on a good show of being funny. She said that it is natural for my mind to go back two years to when the whole gentamicin event occurred, and that I need to see her once a month-she said she is mopping up where the other people left off.

Depression - that big black dog, accompanied by all his friends and family - has been grounding me at times when I least expected it. This, of course, has been going on for the past two years. I have to learn to recognize it before it bites me in the backside-and how to deal with it when it does. I don't find that easy.

I'm working on it. Meanwhile, I am so happy to be out of the hospital, and to be eating food that is recognizable-and to be outside walking, even when I do get some idiot bumping into me and swearing at me, or when I stagger and have to stop until I can get some kind of equilibrium back.

I got an email from one of the women who attended the mindfulness workshop a couple of months ago. She wanted to know if I would be interested in meeting with a few of the other people, so we could keep up the momentum. I'll be going on Monday, and we will see how that goes. Very Buddhist, mindfulness. Very much in the moment. Very Ram Dass (google that if you are under 40!!). I feel that is a way forward.

Now I've got Kettle Chips, Starbucks and mindfulness. Life is getting better!!

Some very weird weirdness is afoot!

Well, hooray, I am home - relatively unscathed, except for my very sore, bruised arms and veins that have been bleached up the wazoo. But something very, very strange happened on Saturday night.

I spilled very hot water everywhere as I was carrying two jugs en route to doing my nebulizing. That was a bit unpleasant, to say the least!! I had a tiny refrigerator in the room (all the rooms have them), but there was no ice (really, they are there for medication that needs to be refrigerated). There was a banana, though - and here is a cure for burns (unless they are serious enough for a visit to the hospital): cold banana skins. Truly!! I discovered that by accident, because that was the only thing I could put on my burned hand. It stopped me from blistering, although my hand was red and sore. An accidental discovery!!

But that wasn't the weird thing. That happened much later.

I went to bed around 11-and in the middle of the night, all the lights in the room went on. All of them-and I nearly jumped out of bed. I thought someone was there, but the room was empty. Now, the way these siderooms are constructed, there are two sets of doors, with a sink in between; the only way to switch the room lights on is to actually come into the room, because the light switches aren't near enough to the door-unless you have arms that are about eight feet long.

I sat up, said hello (well, what do you expect for the middle of the night?), and got out of bed and opened the inner door. Perhaps that wasn't the best thing I could have done-who knows what I might have found? - but  there was nobody there. I opened the outer door, and saw that the corridor was empty. If there had been anyone there, I would have seen them.

So I then went to the little dresser and looked at my watch: it was exactly 1:15AM. I thought - hmmm, this is very strange! So I sat on the bed and wondered what was going on - and the lights went off. By themselves. There was nobody there, and no way of anyone coming into the room without my hearing them.

On Sunday morning, when the nurse came in to give me my antibiotics, I told her what had happened. She said that someone was saying hello (or goodbye), and someone wanted to get my attention. She then said that her friend had the experience of her youngest child dying suddenly, and they were miles away from each other-and at that moment, a picture went flying off her wall, and the lights went on and off several times. The nurse went on to say that in Africa they all believe in spirits, and I should find out if everyone I care about is okay. She gave me a look to see if I thought she had lost her marbles-but, really, I believe her and I have had some strange, unaccountable things happen before - but not for years. So this was - interesting. I will have to start calling home (like E.T.!).

On Sunday, my cannula blew my vein, and I had to have a new one inserted-just for two more doses of antibiotics. I wasn't pleased, I can tell you that :(  but I did get to wash my hair in between having the offending one removed and the new one inserted, so that was the upside of my day. I stayed in the shower until my skin was all shrivelled up like a raisin-but it felt great not to have to stand with one arm held above my head!! Simple things, but they certainly make a difference!!

I finally got home yesterday - what a huge palaver!! I had to wait for the registrars to parole me (!!), and then wait for all the paperwork, and then I was allowed to go to the patients' departure area until a taxi arrived to get me home. But, before I could leave the ward (which ended up to be at around 2:30), I was given lunch. Two of the nurses said I should try the Afro-Caribbean meal, because it actually didn't taste like cardboard-so I said okay. Oh my God!! It was curried goat - and it was absolutely disgusting. I went out to the desk and told them that, and they were laughing at me, because they had never tried it themselves. Funny-and the cleaner who came into my room was African, and she stood there and watched me as I tried to get the stuff down. She was trying not to laugh, too. Was I set up, or what!!

A word of advice: NEVER eat curried goat. It is truly revolting. From now on, I am vegetarian. And it is all thanks to curried goat.

Pass the Kettle Chips!!

When in doubt:do a runner!

Would you believe it: I decided that, since nobody respected my wish not to see -ever!- Sofia the crippler of Bart's and the London, I would do a runner. I simply would be absent. And I told the nurses I would be back when the crippler did her rounds. One nurse told me that Sofia would wait all day, if she had to.

So-I went to the Outpatients building, and had a coffee there. It's not Starbucks, but - it's drinkable, so I sat down with my coffee-and two minutes later, the fire alarm went off, and everyone had to evacuate the building. Talk about Murphy's Law!! I stood outside for about half an hour, and I saw someone I knew, so we stood and chatted and I finished my coffee. By the time we were allowed back in the building, I figured I would waste more time, and go to the pound shop.

Well!! Was that nurse ever right: I was gone for about an hour and a half, and no sooner than I got into my room -guess who appeared!! I didn't cry this time, so I'm obviously making progress one way or another. But I wouldn't say I was friendly and joking, either. Lucky for her I am not a violent woman!!

Well, that was Thursday-and Friday morning, my cannula blew out my vein. So this one lasted nearly four days-and I was most upset, I can tell you: five cannulae in less than ten days. Must be a record.

Here is what I find interesting: when a man is assertive, strong, blunt, says what he thinks, doesn't take fools lightly (or in any way, shape or form), we call him forceful and we admire him. Isn't that the truth? He might be feared, but he is respected. If a woman does the same, she is called uncooperative, obnoxious, unstable, a few other very unpleasant adjectives-and a total bitch. Is that a double-standard, or what?? A man can stand up for himself, but a woman isn't supposed to do that. And I thought times have changed-I'm sure they have - somewhere - but not here. I was so tempted to say two words to the registrars who lectured me about my lack of cooperation - no, not those two words, although it did cross my mind!! - I nearly told them: bite me. THEN I would have said the other two words, but I decided to take the high road with all of them. After all, what goes around, comes around. I hope it all happens soon enough for me to enjoy it!!

With sore arms, bruises, holes in my veins, I didn't really want to come over to the internet cafe. I don't really care if I look like a drug addict-this is Whitechapel, after all!! But I just want to finish the course of antibiotics and go home. Not only are there some certifiably batshit crazy people on the ward (according to the increasingly harassed staff!), but the food...my friend came to see me the other day, and said that she wouldn't feed that slop to her dog. I have never seen broccoli that color, either!! If I stay here another week, I will look like an anorexic stick insect!!

I remember reading somewhere (not in the tabloids. I don't read tabloids, they're filled with mindless drivel, although sometimes they are really amusing, since they seem to take themselves oh so seriously) that we share 60% of our DNA with a banana, 50% with mice, and 99% with the chimpanzee. I look around me and I'm not the least bit surprised!!

Being called uncooperative and unreasonable made me remember an incident when I was a senior in college. I was only a few months away from graduation, and some guy in my psychology class turned around and called me a "castrating bitch" (I told you, that's what happens when a woman stands up for herself). I was upset-I don't know why!- and I caught up with the professor as we were leaving the building. I said, "he called me a castrating bitch. What should I do?" And she stopped, turned around, looked me right in the eye, smiled and said "go cut off his balls", and walked away. I still remember laughing about it-I'm sure he was a peanut, anyway.

I was in an antique shop a few months ago, and I saw this gizmo that looked really interesting. I asked the shopkeeper what it was, and I was told it was a medieval castrating tool (true story. I don't seem to be able to get away from the subject of castration. I can imagine men reading this blog and squeezing their knees together). Now I wish I had bought it. In this country, anything a woman carries to defend herself is considered an illegal weapon, and even a nail file could result in an arrest or a caution. With something like that, if stopped by a policeman I could truthfully say I'm carrying a nutcracker.

Thank goodness I carry mace.

And the Oscar for Best Actress goes to- ME!!!!!!

I did such a good acting job in front of Sofia Grigoriadou (aka The Crippler of Barts and the London) yesterday that I swear I should have gone into acting. Either that, or killing arrogant, incompetent doctors. Bring back euthanasia, I say!!!!! (I do like my exclamation marks!!).

I'm told I am being unreasonable because I don't want to ever see the person who crippled me and destroyed my life nearly two years ago-and that I should "move on" and "develop trust", and "let go". I heard this from the registrars-and my response was very polite. I said: "ARE YOU CRAZY"?????  Of course,the very people who tell me to move on are the ones who have their balance, and their eyesight, and have never been in my position. I am not a hitter-but I could learn!!!!!

So I took a walk today, braved the idiots in Whitechapel- and turned the corner toward the internet cafe, and what did I see, but a man who decided that he had to go, and when he had to go, he had to go, and it didn't matter who was around. So he went!! He whipped it out and relieved himself against the side of a building. I was absolutely amazed-and what amazed me most of all was the fact that nobody paid any attention. I guess, this being Whitechapel (which smells heavily of pee and poo anyway), people are accustomed to this kind of icky behaviour. Icky!! There was a coffee place just next to him where he could have gone and done his business in private.

I have to say that I was very tempted to test my willie theory of the other day...but, I have learned not to be inquisitive (after my attack of December), and -let's face it - discretion is the better part of a fist in the face or being peed on!!

This did start me thinking about willies-when you are tied to a hospital bed and your veins are constantly breaking, and people are incessantly asking "and how are you today?" - I'm in the hospital, how on earth do you think I am??- naturally, you become very bored and start thinking about willies. Of course: doesn't everybody??

Now, I have to say, the basic truth is, if you've seen one, you've just about seen them all. Isn't that so?
There are very long ones, very short ones, skinny ones and fat ones, huge ones and-sadly-peanut-sized ones. There are wrinkly ones and smooth ones, ones that have been snipped and ones that haven't, ones that look healthy and ones that look diseased (I think we'll leave that one there, don't you?). There are ones with two balls, or perhaps one (or one and a half, poor chap), smooth, big balls, teeny ones, hairy ones and smooth ones, some wrinkly, some that rather resemble raisins. And there are ones of various colors. And that about covers everything, and I don't think I have left anything (or anyone) out.

Having said all this, I must admit that, unless a bloke has three balls and a willie the size of Brazil, and it's growing violets, there really isn't much more to discuss about willies. In fact, I think I am about willied out.

Now, truthfully, we women all know that blokes talk about us this way-only with certain anatomical differences, obviously!! I remember being in a pub with my friend a few months ago, and I overheard two guys talking about someone they both knew-in the biblical sense. One said to the other: "Yes, not very exciting, it was like tossing a sausage into the Blackwall Tunnel".

Obviously a couple of peanuts!

And another thing!!

I think I should take up drinking. It might rot my liver, and it won't help my veins, but I'll be too smashed to care!!

May the stork be with you!

Okay, it's tacky, but it got your attention-and more about the stork later!!

I got into the hospital on Monday afternoon-and it took awhile for me to settle in and discover that there are televisions (which didn't interest me, since they didn't have any of my channels) and - allegedly - internet access.

I had a very traumatic time on Thursday, when Sofia the crippler of Barts and the London came by on rounds. You know this bit, because I was actually able to blog on Friday. I couldn't wait to get online-so I paid a pound for 8 hours, and discovered that I couldn't read or write emails, because the machine kept freezing. AND- it took me an hour and a half to write that wee blog!! I gave up in the end.

Talk about simple things being so important-especially when you are in the hospital! Getting medication on time (it was never on time), and having food that could be recognized-instead of mystery meat and something indescribable that must have been made for people who didn't have their own teeth! I will be glad to go home and cook for myself. I'm not Delia Smith-but nobody has ever died. Yet.

That machine had no exclamation marks or question marks - and if you read this blog a lot, you know how I love !!! and ???-really!!!!!!!! So it was very frustrating, to say the least. That was annoying, but not as annoying as having several new cannulae in my veins, which kept breaking. I have very fragile veins, and no matter how many times I tell that to doctors and nurses, they ignore me and succeed in blowing up my veins; I end up with golfball sized lumps and huge bruises. When I get home next Monday I will have to wear something with long sleeves, because I look like I am either a junkie or someone has beaten the crap out of me.

On Saturday I took a little road trip around Whitechapel to see if I could find an internet cafe-so I could actually sit at a computer that works!! They were closed on the weekend, so I was a little grumpy, but I figured I could say I'm taking a walk today, and find a good one and sit and blog. Honestly, blogging is so addictive!! And if I'm any use to anyone else by doing this, so much the better.

Saturday, the anaesthetist came and inserted two cannulae, one in each wrist. That was no fun! By yesterday morning, one had blown my vein in a big way, and my hand was swollen to four times its' size: and hurt? Boy, did it ever hurt! The one in my left hand blew at 6am today, bleeding and leaking everywhere, so that came out. A nurse finally got one into a vein in my right arm, after two (painful) tries. Success at last.

One of the nurses came around this morning and suggested that, if a suitable vein couldn't be found in either arm, they could use a vein in my foot. Ewww...I explained that I am a foot virgin, and I didn't much feel like being deflowered!! You should have seen his face!!! He certainly didn't get it: no sense of humor! And I said that, if they got a cannula into my foot, I would have to shower standing on one leg, like a stork. Not to mention the fact that they would have to bandage the foot really well so I could walk. I suggested using crutches (as if using a cane isn't hard enough!!); then I could walk around Whitechapel and make believe I was in a road accident.

So there you have it: my first week in the Royal London! AND I survived, though I have now idea how I did it. I have prayed to the gods of providence and cannulation that this one lasts until at least Thursday, so that I have (hopefully) only one more to go before I get out of here on Monday. Touch-um-plastic and polyester, this cannula will behave itself. Which is more than anyone can say for me!!

They haven't killed me-yet-but there is still time

I've been an inpatient since Monday-huh-what a joy. Still, I'm alive, so who is complaining. There is now  tv in my rom, and for a tenner a week I have internet access- only this keyboard is so basic, it has practically no punctuation keys-so no exclamation marks. That's Barts and the London for you :-(
I was going to ask my flatmate to bring my laptop-but I'm going to find an internet cafe instead. I'd rather get her to bring-what else-kettle chips-and fruit-the kind that doesn't come in a jar.

Yesterday I saw  the crippler; Sofia Grigoriadou is the ward consultant for June. I was so upset I could barely speak. She wasn't pleasant- and I burst into tears  after she left.

I was so dizzy after  she left that I couldn't walk.

I thought briefly about my cousin, a doctor who chose forensic pathology as his specialty. It's the perfect field for him, since he gets along best with dead people.


I think I understand how he feels.

More tomorrow from outside. Meanwhile, kettle chips-very good for you-one of every food group ;-)

It's official: size does matter!!

I seem to have alienated people who like the royal family...who like Obama (let's start a Mickey Mouse party, so we could vote for the mouse. He couldn't be much worse than Obama, could he?? And I have been a lifelong Democrat, too!!). But people have written about wee willies: and there is overwhelming support for my theory: abusers have tiny willies. And probably no personality, too.

I am on my way into the hospital for a couple of weeks of Domestos (or Drano) in the veins, trying to eradicate a chest infection that is making itself at home and doesn't want to leave. So- I will see if I can sneak out during the week and blog from an internet cafe.

After all, I have to tell everyone about the comments-and it will get me away from the hospital food, which is absolute crap. If the infection doesn't kill me, the food probably will!!

It's also been raining for days. Time to start building an ark!!

I've got a theory...about men

When my friend and I went to the Tate, we talked (over lunch in the members' room) about all kinds of things-as you do when you only see each other every few months. And, one subject that kept coming back was the popularity in this country of reality and talent shows. We agree: we never watch either-except one, called The Voice, which came over from the States.

I could go on and on (as I do!!) about reality shows and the fact that people will do anything, no matter how stupid and humiliating, to get their fifteen minutes of fame and a place on national television. And I have no sympathy for those people at all: they know they are going to be humiliated and debased by the general viewing public (such as they are), but they go and do it anyway. Talk about braindead!! AND boring!!

So Marlene and I don't watch that load of crap, and we mourned over the paucity of really good shows-like the nature shows, which are done in conjunction with PBS or the Discovery Channel, are are second to none. In our opinion!!

We talked about The Voice,which we both like a lot - and the fact that the people who are chosen to appear actually can sing (most of them. A few have tin ears, but most have some ability at least).

One thing we found interesting is that the judges aren't like the odious Simon Cowell, or his mean and vicious "judges" - or like the resident nasties on shows like Strictly Come Dancing. They are so vicious-and yet, the ratings beat The Voice, where the judges actually have something constructive to say, and they do criticize, but kindly. Unlike Cowell and the others, who seem to want to be as vicious, evil, and destructive as possible, the Voice people are nicer. Much nicer! Why would anyone want to deliberately destroy the dreams of a 17 year old? And the viewers love it! I suppose they forgot what it felt like when they were 17 - so no wonder there are so many serial killers in this country.

My theory, after quick dips into Cowell country, and Strictly, and the Apprentice (I know I switched off after less than ten minutes, but I had enough time to formulate the theory): the Simon Cowells, the Alan Sugars, the whatever-the-names-of-the-judges on Strictly and the other "entertainment" shows is: these very rich, powerful, and exceptionally nasty bullies have a tiny, tiny willy. And THAT is why they enjoy being vicious. Of course: if you are called "needledick" in school, if other boys look at you in the communal showers and point and laugh, if a woman can't tell the difference between your willy and a gherkin...or worse, if the only way someone can find it is by using a very strong light, an electron microscope and a pair of tweezers, you are bound to grow up being a bully. And-no, chaps, that is a really LAME excuse!!

So, those of you wee willies, you lads known as PeeWee, get over it. Get an implant. Get a transplant. Shove a banana down your jeans and play let's pretend. Bullying is a life choice of the feeble-minded.

As for those of you who have the misfortune to have that kind of bully in your life-take a photo and put it on YouTube!! And then run for the exit!!!

I can, of course, only prove this theory by observation-which will, of course, get me severely beaten if not killed. Or-I can take a poll. Feel free to write...

I could do this on Facebook, but I would then have to go into hiding. Probably forever.

The best headline ever written (at least, in the UK)

I remember when Fergie married Andy - all those years ago - and I was walking up the road when I noticed a headline in one of the newspapers- clearly not one of the royalty-loving newspapers-I think it was the Socialist Worker, or something like that. I had to stop, look, and laugh, because I thought it was the best headline I have ever seen (and I've never seen one like it since-and I've not seen the paper since). It read: SCROUNGER MARRIES PARASITE. Whoever worked that out should have received an award; he (or she) probably got arrested and whipped.

It turned out to be prophetic: Fergie scrounged as much as she could for as long as she could from everyone she could (here in the UK and in Europe) and is now scrounging off everyone she can in the U.S. Maybe we are as stupid as the Brits say. And Andy-well, he flies all over the world (at the taxpayers' expense) and doesn't seem to be doing much of anything - except consorting with convicted pedophiles and call girls, and living off the taxpayer. What a nice couple: they so deserve each other!!

The latest from Andy is that he wants the taxpayers to pay for round the clock protection for his two daughters. Excuse me!! Have you seen his daughters?? They are so ugly, who on earth would ever want to kidnap them? They are so ugly, they would have to pay someone to kidnap them. What a nerve this tosser has! As if he hasn't lived off the people for all his life already. Someone tell the prat to go find a job.

No, I am NOT a royalist. I have no time for people whose ancestors clubbed someone over the head and declared themselves king (or queen). The fact is that the old girl (the queen) could dust off the cobwebs in her wallet and sign a cheque and save the NHS, which is rapidly imploding, even though the government tries to hide this fact. Cameron wants the NHS to become an HMO system, where people have to pay-and pay-and pay-and pay. What does he care? His family has private medicine. His children are privately educated. He couldn't give a rat's patootie about people who actually work for a living. He must live on Mars; he is completely out of touch with the people in this country.

Kate, who never worked a day in her life, has spent years trying to bag her balding prince-and now there is talk that she is in the club, so even more of the taxpayers' money will go toward ridiculously high expenses for the "royal" parasites. And people who are awaiting life saving treatment under the soon-to-be-defunct NHS are dying in droves. Do these so-called "royals" care? Of course they don't - or they would cough up the money to save their people: people they clearly hold in the deepest contempt.

We just celebrated the queen's sixty years on the throne. And all the people who have been brainwashed from birth were out in their millions. I wonder how the people who are dying from lack of medical treatment feel about that!! I support the large minority who want to end the monarchy, and take the billions and save lives.

The newspapers (who on earth would believe them? They lie like there is no tomorrow: just ask Rupert Murdoch) are filled with stories about Americans not having a royal family, so they will adopt this one. Errr...surely nobody could be that big a moron. Could they? Our country was formed to get away from the "royal" parasites, not to worship them two hundred years later. After all, they are only descended from a long line of thieves, rapists, murderers and lunatics. And the centuries of inbreeding certainly are obvious.

Nope. I pledge allegiance to my flag, and to my country, although I don't agree with everything my government does (that's for sure!). I want to be rid of the oaf that is in the White House-you know, the one who had the colossal nerve to point at the television cameras and take credit for Bin Laden's demise, although he had nothing whatsoever to do with it. He takes credit for all the good things, but denies responsibility for all the failures: Obama, like Cameron and Clegg, is a true politician: a liar, cheat and scumbag to the end. Sadly, the end is ours, not theirs!!

I won't pledge allegiance to anyone, especially someone who consorts with known terrorists and despots who torture and murder (and steal from) their own people.

HOWEVER: if someone put a loaded gun to my head, I would pledge allegiance to anyone, even Mickey Mouse (better than the incumbent President, the mouse is smarter, cuter, and has better ears).

Put a gun to my head and I will pledge allegiance to a Snickerdoodle. My mother didn't raise an idiot, after all!!

I've decided that, when someone asks me what I think of the royal parasites (ooops!! I mean the royal family. Duh!!), I will shrug and say that I bow and curtsy to nobody, and I pledge allegiance to something important.

I pledge allegiance to my teeth.

Murphy is a lurker

Last week, Murphy's Law was certainly here in force. I couldn't believe it: everything that could go wrong, went wrong!! The shower pump wouldn't switch off, and the electrician spent more than two hours trying to put the thing right. By the way, it's gone wrong again!! Another Murphy attack!

On Friday, I had my immunology consultant (Matt) telling me that I need to go back into Bart's as an inpatient for another two week course of intravenous antibiotics. When the oral ones don't work for a chest infection, the next step is bashing my veins and bruising my arms. Matt also told me that they would be careful this time, given that they nearly killed me with the gentamicin. Hah-I wish I had that disclosure on tape!!I should start wiring myself for sound every time I go in to see him!

I then had Dr. David (the stand-in for Margaret, who-thank God- will be back in mid-June) look me right in the eye and tell me earnestly that I need to remember that  I have a very serious genetic condition that will, at some point, kill me. Er-thanks so much for that!! As if I didn't know, and I try not to think about it too much. Actually, I'm too busy trying to stay upright!!

On Monday morning-at 2am- I heard a loud noise, grinding and whirring. It was the shower pump, turning itself on. So I had to get up-I promptly walked into the wardrobe, tripped over my desk and gashed my leg, smacked my face into the bedroom door, and decided that it would be a good idea to switch on the light!So I swore a lot, and turned off the pump, and put some antiseptic on my leg, and
went back to bed. And, wouldn't you know it, the neighbors from hell upstairs decided to turn on what passes for music at top volume? I understand why people attack their neighbors, I really do.

I rang the repairs people and the same man is coming to fix the pump (hopefully) on Wednesday. As you can see, Murphy's Law is still in action. It reminds me of the black dog (depression) that turns up, uninvited, at odd times, and brings a posse with it: all its friends, extended family, everyone who will turn up and bite me on the backside. Perhaps I should give it a name-like Harry. Here comes Harry with his entire family...sounds juvenile, I guess, but does giving it a name make it less obnoxious? I don't know; it's a theory, anyway, so I will test it and let you know.

I did manage to go to the storage unit yesterday. I spent a couple of hours sorting through and tossing out stuff; I was rather pleased with myself. And knackered at the end of it, and glad to get home. We have had some very hot and sunny weather this last week, and I noticed that bright sunlight and changes in the weather really adversely affect my balance. I fell over a few times. That really upset me; I felt as if I was regressing, not progressing. So I rang the physio, who told me that this would happen and I shouldn't let it discourage me. So I felt a bit better.

And I have a bit of feedback about Homes for Haringey: Anna Philippou is no longer our housing manager. And I am not on the list of Homes for Haringey's favorite people (aww, too bad!!). But I did it: I made such an almighty stink about it that they had to replace her.

Maybe I am more powerful than I thought I was. I'm certainly louder!!!!Want someone sacked? Just call me!!