I spy with my little eye...

I spy with my little eye, something beginning with C. Umm...got it. It's Cretin. Or, in this country, the plural: cretins. They are absolutely everywhere. Last week one of them nearly shoved me down a set of concrete steps because he was in a rush. He was passing me, and called me a silly cow. So I told him he was a fat, ignorant bastard. But - the fat, ignorant bastard was in too much of a hurry to do anything about it except glare at me. And I held up the crutch with the intent of slamming it into him if he even dared to try something.

That was the only confrontation I had since I last posted. And I didn't even use the F word. Not once. Well, good for me, I learned my lesson with the Neanderthal outside the hospital two weeks ago. Of course, I have called a few people inbeciles...but not fucking imbeciles, so that doesn't really count. I am watching my temper-discretion is the better part of being punched in the face, or stabbed in the chest. I quite like having my nose in the middle of my face-and I have gone through a lot of pain with this chest; in a few weeks I will have the final reconstruction, changing the current implants for permanent ones. I don't want anyone to screw that up (plus, being stabbed in the chest would be a little bit painful, I suspect).

I just keep reminding myself that many-perhaps most- of the current crop of idiots are descended from thieves, rapists, murderers and lunatics-and that is just the royal family-so what behavior can I reasonably expect from them? And what can you expect from (biological-maybe) males whose idea of a great night out is to go to the pub and drink themselves comatose, then go out and shag anything that is still moving: their sisters/mothers/daughters-anyone. No wonder there is so much inbreeding in this country. They say that Britain is where men are men-and the sheep are nervous. Just go out into the countryside; all the sheep stand with their backs to the wall and have their legs crossed. No wonder sheep go around in packs. But, since most of the men are probably the size of pinheads, the sheep are probably pretty safe anyway. Poor sheep. Glad I'm a vegetarian. I'll bet that at Christmas even the turkeys aren't safe.

I also keep reminding myself that the average IQ in this country is 80-but I think it's more like 40. And my friends (yes, I do have British friends-but they don't know about this blog, or I would have been beaten up by now) are either the exceptions, or the braindeads are in the minority. It does feel like a very large minority- and I hope it isn't the majority.

I still believe that the majority of people in this country are decent, polite (ish), and reasonably kind. But I also believe in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy, so what do I know? Oh, yes- and I believe that the television works because it has little people running around in it. And the Brits say that we Americans don't have a sense of humor (or irony).

I've done all the things I was supposed to do since I last posted-except go to the gym. I struggled. For some strange reason I woke up one morning with severe pain in my left leg-and I do mean severe. I could barely walk, and I tried to find out why-with no success. So I thought about the symptoms (easy: pain, pain and more pain), and I hobbled around and decided that I didn't break anything, or I wouldn't be able to walk at all. So I consulted the Great God Google-I went to some of the education sites (like the National Institute of Health). On a hunch I checked out the vitamins I'm taking. I know that Tamoxifen has side effects (because I've experienced them over the last two and a half years). But vitamins? Could it be possible?

I am-or, rather, I was-of the school of thought that maintains that if a little is good, a lot is probably better. So, instead of taking a little vitamin D3 I took a lot. By a lot I mean 10,000 units a day (rather than a more normal dose of, say, 2000). Vitamin D isn't water soluble, and remains in the liver-and too much can cause all kinds of problems (including muscle, joint and nerve pain). Oh, bugger (and there is another pound for the swear box).

I did this research last Monday, and stopped taking the D3 just to see if stopping would have any effect. I didn't do anything else, really. I mostly rested my leg when I didn't have to walk. And today the pain is beginning to subside. So that's another lesson learned the hard way (for me, what other way is there?).

We just got through another Valentine's Day, and I feel like I need to mention that, because I'm sure a lot of women are flying solo, just like me. I'm happily divorced, and the longer I stay solo the more I realize that I no longer have to live with someone snoring in my ear, or nicking the duvet-or leaving the toilet seat up (yes, that is a pain-especially in the middle of the night, when I sometimes got up to go and got a nasty surprise). And I had to contend with his mother, who hated that he had married an American in the first place. She once told me that English women darn their husbands socks when they have holes in them. I turned around and said that if he wants his socks mended-rather than buying new ones, like we Americans do, because we aren't stupid, he should sew them himself, since he isn't crippled. That didn't go over too well-but I let her know that I couldn't care less what she thought. That is how to handle the mother-in-law from Hell.

Did you know that numerous studies have shown that married men live longer-and so do single women? Now there is something to ponder!