I'll be a blue nosed reindeer

When I was growing up, my parents forbade me to say any bad words in the house. "Bad", to them, meant things like "damn"-which got me grounded for a week when I said it. The object was to ensure that I would grow up to be a lady (please, everyone who knows me, don't choke on your muesli when I say that-I'm still a work in progress. Damn.). Anything worse than that got me grounded for a month. Unfair, I thought-but I also was threatened with having my mouth washed out with soap and water-something my father tried because I cut my finger and shouted "oh, fuck"- well, excuse me, but I was bleeding all over the kitchen floor at the time. He only tried once-first, I threw up over him, then I kicked him. Hard. And he didn't try that again in a hurry. If someone did that today, they would be arrested for child cruelty. In those days? Hmmm...

So, off I went to university, and the first person I met was named Betty. Betty smoked about three packs of Marlboro a day-in fact, I never saw her without a cigarette in her mouth. She also had a mouth like a sewer, and she drank-well, I wondered where on earth she put it all. And that was my introduction to university. I hung out with Betty for my first year-but then, she was having so much fun, she flunked out. Bye bye Betty. Sad, really. I learned how to drink (and that was terrible, because I just wasn't good at it. I didn't like alcohol, and it certainly didn't like me. But I tried. What a trouper).I learned how to smoke (cigarettes, kids, cigarettes. And I did try the other stuff, but, of course, I didn't inhale. Yeah, right? If Bill Clinton can give us that load of crap, so can I).

Every time I went home to see my family, I had to watch my language. My mother had this bright idea of putting a "swear box" on the table. Bad word? That's a dollar in the box. I found it amusing until one day my mother dropped something in the kitchen, and said "oh, shit" (you did know that was coming, didn't you?), and I said "that will be a dollar in the swear box". We had a big fight over that; she refused, saying that she could swear, but I couldn't- and I told her where she could put her swear box, and I turned around and left. I didn't go back to see them for a year. When I told Betty all this, she said that she got around swearing in front of her parents by saying "I'll be a blue nosed reindeer!", instead of "I'll be damned". And-she said to shout oh sugar-and oh, poo, and-I love this one-oh, freak! You can't argue with those, can you? Still, by the time I graduated, the swear box was full several times over. I have a hunch that my parents bought a brand new car with the proceeds from the swear box-it's a hunch. Probably a good one.

I mention all this for a reason (don't I always?). The Friday before last (the 14th) I had to go see a cardiologist at the Royal Free. Several tests that had been taken at the Royal London (and Barts) were repeated. That turned out to be a good thing. It was at Barts that I was told in 2012 that I would never develop breast cancer (oops. Idiots!). It was at Barts that I was given gentamicin, and told that it was safe (as if) and that I would be monitored (oh yeah. That didn't happen)-and we all know what a huge success that wasn't. It was also at Barts (and the London-all part of the same hospital trust) that I was told several years ago, after a stress test and an echocardiogram, that I have a bad heart valve. They said they would "watch it" - no prizes if you guessed that never happened. So, I had all the same tests again at the Royal Free.

On the Friday, I went to meet the new cardiologist. He was great: great manner, very reassuring, professional, and his wife is one of my doctors (he laughed when I told him this. Then he was even more reassuring. He showed me the results of the tests, and showed me the echo, suggesting that I probably knew how to read the screen in front of me (I did). And-there is nothing wrong with my heart valve. It isn't defective, it is fine. In fact, there is nothing wrong with my heart at all. I have, he said, a perfect heart. That was such great news, I could have hugged him (I didn't). My heart, after all, is number 1 on my list of top ten organs. And I have a perfect heart. So much for Barts and the London. I practically skipped out the door (I didn't; I would have ended up falling and breaking something).

I wanted to come back and get online and post this on Friday-but, Murphy's Law being Murphy's Law, I was already feeling really sick by the time I got back from the hospital. I got hit by the vomiting virus-another virus that is going around (there are several), and leaves you with your head in a bucket for a week. The worst part-even worse than puking my guts up (so sorry if you're reading this while eating), was that I had to go and see Dr. Dimples on Monday. I managed-how, I don't know-but I sat in the clinic and kept thinking that someone had passed this virus along to me, and why are these people breathing? If they would only stop breathing, I would be perfectly healthy. Sad, really. But Dimples was great, very pleased with my progress, and wants me to carry the elbow crutch on the other side-and stay off it as much as possible. I'll see him again in 6 months; he is monitoring my progress, along with the folks at Queen Square.

I'm so happy that all my medical appointments are coming to a close for this year. I only have my infusions every two weeks-and one more test at the end of December-but this one won't be irradiating or magnetizing me, so I should be fine by New Year's.

Of course, I was incensed at the news that Obama (the odious Obama) has turned around and said that he is putting boots on the ground in Syria. Sure-he's a lying scumbag, because he promised not to do that. He is just another inept politician-and politicians, as we know, only lie when they are breathing. If they could lie in their sleep, they would. What a bastard (that's two dollars I owe the swear box). Why is it that it is always OUR men and women who have to go in first, risk their lives, when the only other people who seem keen are the French? And they are only keen because of Paris. Who knows how many of our men and women are going to die-after being hideously tortured?

This whole thing just really pisses me off (that's three dollars). The last time we sent our soldiers into someone else's country, fighting a war we couldn't possibly win, was Vietnam. And we all know what a huge success that wasn't, don't we? I wish I knew the answer.

I know what isn't the answer: Donald "Mr. Comb over" Trump, the chief dick of the United States (yes, another dollar. Well deserved). He has done more to damage the reputation of the United States overseas than (God help us) George W. Bush. And that is saying something, because people still sneer and comment on Bush. Now Trump. If anyone has added to the desire for terrorist attacks on US soil, it is Trump. What a prat (I'm losing count). There are online petitions to ban him from this country-and there are more than 500,000 signatures-and counting. Now, if we could also ban him from the United States, we could all have a party: a kick the crap out of Donald the Dickhead party (anyone keeping count? I've given up).

So, it just goes to show you: you can be a millionaire, or a billionaire, and still have zero common sense, and be a racist, bigot, misogynist, and general tosser-plus have no charm, no personality, probably very little hair, and be incredibly ugly. Did I miss anything?

And now you are up to date. I'm just keeping my head down and hoping that everyone who actually backs that piece of s**t (no money for that one!) returns to something resembling good sense. Hopefully. But if they voted for Bush-who is to say? This country sucks, my country is in the grip of Trump insanity, the French are-well, the French- and there is nowhere on earth where we can all go and hide. Yuck. Someone pass the Kettle Chips.