Sometimes life just sucks

All of us have a sucky day-or week-or, sadly, month- or, sometimes, year. Or seven in my case. Well, boo hoo. Moan, moan, whinge, whinge, kvetch, kvetch. You know how it goes. I haven't had a sucky life (yet), so I can consider myself very lucky.


I can bust a few myths, now that I'm cooled down and back at the computer. We had a blistering hot week last week, and right in the middle of it I had to go to central London to meet my new neurologist, the person who took over from Dr. D, who (sadly. Really sadly) retired. And it was the height of the heatwave, and temperatures soared to 100F. I can almost hear my friends in Florida, Pennsylvania, New York-and everywhere, saying "you call that a heatwave??". Well-it is for England. Railroad tracks and roads were buckling, it would have been entertaining, but in the absence of air conditioning-in the absence of air (period), it was just bloody hot. Is this what hell will feel like? Oops-well, yes, I nearly forgot where I am.


I sloshed my way into the hospital to find that they had only fans. So I had to race another patient (I was faster) to a seat immediately in front of a fan (the fan was about 12 feet away, behind a desk), where I proceeded to dry out. Anyone think a hot, sweaty, pissed off stranger is sexy? If so-you're really weird.


Who says that things happen in threes? I always heard that-but we've had four terrorist attacks in two months. There goes that myth, busted. And we know there will be more to come, because there is such a palaver about "human rights" and what is "PC" that people who probably should be watched closely aren't watched at all.


We've had a fire in a 24 story block of flats in one of the richest boroughs in London-yet there was only one way in, one way out, one staircase for 120 flats-and no working sprinkler system. It turns out that the cladding on the outside of the building was-flammable. Flammable! Incredible. And horrifying, because over six hundred tower blocks around the country are found to have the same unsafe cladding. Welcome to England, where incompetence reigns supreme and where poor people die.


Another myth is the myth of manners, intelligence and politeness in the UK. We all know about that bucket of fertilizer (aka sack of shit) because I've told you all the stories. I went to my Tai Chi class on Tuesday night and some beached whale in a pink tutu gave me grief about having an embow crutch. She clearly has an issue with crutches. Or women who don't wear lycra that is so tight they are in danger of bursting like an overstuffed sausage, probably asphyxiating anyone with fifty feet with all their flying fat. I admit I lost my temper, called her Jabba the Hut, and said that she should keep stuffing her face until she explodes. Then she hurled more abuse and I offered to go to reception and get someone to help her out by ordering a fork lift. That went down well...??


So here are some tips for survival over here:
1. Don't get engaged in conversation with anyone. You never know if they're armed. They probably are.
2. Never get involved in an argument with someone who is the size of Jabba the Hut-unless you are the size of Moby Dick, in which case drown them with something out of your blowhole.
3. Never get involved in a dispute with someone who clearly hasn't had a wash since-puberty. Not only will you have to suffer the stench, but you will be ducking anything they have that's crawling on them-and can probably jump. High. And far.


I'm going to Starbucks. I'll see you later. And there's more. Lots more...