Last weekend was rather meh-I decided that I am not going to lose any more sleep over the possibility that I might have motor neurone. In fact, I'm quite certain that the neurologists are just doing tests to rule out anything nasty, and the person who said something did so out of turn. What a dummy! You just don't do that to a patient-or to anyone. It really is like saying to someone "You've got terminal cancer. But would you like a cup of tea? Want a biscuit with that?". Doctors should be more respectful of patients' feelings (unless, of course, you are an immunologist at the Royal London Hospital. Then it's a given that you don't give a shit).
Now-I never watch the Oscars-or the Baftas, or any of those awards shows, because they're filled with people whose main talent is patting themselves on the back so hard, I'm surprised that someone doesn't dislocate something. The air is filled with hypocrisy and phoniness, everyone sucking up to everyone else-really, it makes me want to start heaving and run for the sick bag. None of those people are doing important things-like, finding a cure for cancer, or finding a way to stop everyone from nuking everyone else.
So, on Monday morning, I heard the news about the disaster that was the Oscars-and I have to admit that I laughed so hard that I got a cramp in my side and nearly wet myself (no-I did say "nearly"). And, to add insult to injury-as if announcing the wrong film and waiting for the other guys to get up to give their acceptance speeches before springing the mistake onto an unsuspecting world-they managed to put a photo of a live person into the memorium section, thereby leaving some poor woman having to declare that no, she isn't really dead.
I'll bet that someone will try to pass the buck and blame some poor clerk-but whoever was responsible for the debacle is probably collecting unemployment. And leaving town-possibly the country-and the continent. You might find them somewhere in China.
I did something really stupid on Monday. One of my neighbors has cancer, and is so certain that he is going to die that he is liquidating everything he owns. I felt really terrible for him: first his dog ran away a couple of weeks ago, then his wife, on being told about his condition, proceeded to empty his bank account and take off. You can imagine what a state he was in! So he was left with less than a fiver, with no food or money for the next two weeks. So rather than just say that I was so sorry to hear that (which I did), I asked him what he is planning to do for the next two weeks. He said that he has a very good drill, and a saw, and a couple of little cameras, and a three year old laptop, and he was going to go around some building sites and try to sell everything (his wife apparently took anything of any value when she pissed off). I suggested putting signs in local shops, or posting everything online. But he said that he is also diabetic, and he couldn't wait that long. So I said that I have a friend who does a lot of building work, I could call him and explain the situation.
I did this-and my friend said that he would buy everything, but he was doing it because of the situation, and that he would move everything on, probably sell it at a loss. What a hero! So, I went to my neighbor, I gave him cash, took the items, and stuck them in the car, waiting for my friend to come and collect them. My neighbor still thanks me a million times for saving his life-which made me feel a bit uncomfortable, but I didn't feel as if I could do nothing, given the poor man's condition. He even showed me the hospital letter-so there you are, both my friend and I will take a hit, because the stuff isn't worth much. But-at least my neighbor can eat for a couple of weeks. The update I got from him when I saw him in the car park yesterday was a confirmation that his cancer has metastasized. Did I do a stupid thing? Am I a mug? Probably-but I have a tendency to believe people when they are in trouble, and I felt that he was in deep trouble.
That was my week, basically-I did a couple of hospital days, and I've emailed the head of the neurology department to ask him to review my notes and tell me exactly what is going on, since I don't get to see anyone until the end of March. People might call me a bitch because I insist on getting things done, getting answers to my questions, forcing people to actually do some work-but I don't sit on my ass, so I don't allow anyone else to sit on theirs.
You know how something happens and it triggers some random memory, something you thought you'd forgotten? Well, my head must be filled with all kinds of random junk, little bits and pieces of-I don't know what, but some of it's very entertaining. The Oscar disaster made me think of my old friend and neighbor, Hayley. I've got no idea why...
Hayley used to hold Ann Summers parties to earn a little extra cash. She would invite people over, and an Ann Summers rep would show all kinds of lingerie (some really racy stuff-for the time), whips, chains, handcuffs, and some battery operated devices that were so big they made my eyes water. It must have hurt like hell to insert one of those...but anyway, she invited her friend Linda to the same party I attended. And Linda was heavily pregnant.
Now, Linda sat there and whinged about being pregnant, and insisted that she was only pregnant because (you might want to sit for this) she left the lights on. Excuse me?? I asked her to repeat what she had just said, and she said that she used the rhythm method, but left the lights on and that's why she got pregnant. Want to guess where she's from? Yep-somewhere in Essex there's a village that's missing its idiot.
I ran into Hayley some years later, and she told me that Linda now had ten children, but from seven different fathers. She said that Essex council had to provide Linda with two council houses that they knocked together to accommodate all those children. And I said, she must have one hell of an electricity bill. Plus, with all those children, it must be like tossing a sausage into the Grand Canyon.
What a scary thought.
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