Five woks and a nutcracker

This last week was the lead-in for yesterday: four years to the day since three cretins refused to stop gentamicin, and they succeeded in destroying my life. Actually, they destroyed my life as I knew it. I need to add that, since I am having to come to terms with it four years later. It has been a very tough week.

Yesterday was really bad. I didn't know what to do with myself; I didn't feel like cleaning (eeesh, I feel like I am always cleaning-especially when stressed), I didn't even go for the Kettle Chips. I must have really been in bad shape. I struggle to overcome the anger, hatred and bitterness I felt for three out of those four years-and, hey, some people hang onto things forever. I know it is unhealthy and unhelpful-I'm working on it. Some days are better than others. Yesterday wasn't one of them.

I was cleaning the kitchen on Friday (you can see I don't have a life, can't you?) and came across some woks. My sister used to tease me about having six woks: nobody needs six woks, what are you doing, opening a restaurant? But I am always ready to move on-wherever I'm living, I seem to be poised and ready to move if somewhere else looks like it might be better. And, every time I move, I'm so loaded with boxes that I can never find anything. So-actually, we are talking about five woks, not six (sorry, Jessie-close, though). One wok is still in storage-along with most of the rest of my life-and four were at home.

I couldn't palm off a wok no matter how much I tried. I gave one to the charity shop-they were delighted, but not as delighted as I was! And Claire decided to take one; she said that, since she is now single, she can cook what she wants, and she wants to learn how to stir-fry without the danger of burning the house down. I did offer Sara one-but she said that if she couldn't microwave it, she wouldn't eat it. That, she stated, is why someone invented the microwave-and the restaurant. So I now have two-and one is a mini-wok, so it doesn't count.

I had an incredible number of glasses. Who needs about sixty glasses? I collected them over the years: wine glasses, tumblers, rocks glasses, any number of glasses-I don't know anyone who drinks that much! So, off to the charity shop: a wok, dozens of glasses, saucepans, all kinds of kitchen stuff, and several nutcrackers. Okay, so who needs five nutcrackers? I don't even use one. I use a hammer. And it works better than any nutcracker I have ever used. Just use a hammer. Bang, wallop, Bob's your uncle: job done.

I remember years ago, in the Middle Ages sometime-I was an antiques dealer. I used to go around all the flea markets, and the antique markets, and one day I was looking in the window of a shop near mine and I had to go in and have a look. There were two items that I found really intriguing: one was (I was told) and old electroshock machine. I did ask the dealer (whom I knew) if it still worked, and he offered to try it on me. Er...no thanks, I said. And what is the other thing-the thing that looks like a medieval torture device?

He said that is really what it was: it was a castrating machine. It wasn't electric; it worked on a ratchet system. Great. I thought every woman in an abusive relationship should have one. In fact, I said I thought every woman should have one. You never know when it will come in handy, do you? But if you slip, it doesn't half hurt your thumbs. I thought it was phenomenal-to this day I wish I had bought it. Would I have sold it one? Hell, no. Now that's what I call a nutcracker.