The Cosmic Law of Mr. Murphy

Just when things are looking up. Ish...it's Murphy's Law in action. The joys of constant vertigo (thanks to gentamicin, the gift that keeps on giving). And BPPV- for anyone who is new to this blog, that's Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo-of course, that's for those who are really nerdy (like me), and who want to know what everything means. The crystals of the inner ear (needed for balance) decide to pack their bags and go walkies. While they're on holiday, I'm stumbling all over the place. Not a pretty sight, I can tell you. I bump into things while trying to remain upright. Even my bruises have bruises.

Add to that the fact that it is very, very hot. All my friends at home will laugh at me saying that-because it is summertime, and it's supposed to be in the 80s-and sometimes the 90s. But the only places that have come into the 21st century are the supermarkets (the larger ones) and the major department stores. Everyone else-well, we all just sweat. And when I say sweat, I do mean sweat. There' no such thing as women "glowing", or men "lightly perspiring"- what idiot decided on those terms, anyway? We all sweat. And some of us walk around leaving a trail behind us.

I have to say that this is my least favorite time of the year-I do not do heat very well. In fact, I do not do heat at all. I'm short, so when I'm on the Underground or in a bus-or anywhere with lots of people around- I inevitably come up to someone's armpit. And usually that someone hasn't ever heard of soap and water. And usually that someone has had a huge curry-or a huge amount of garlic-the night before. You get the picture.

So now you know what I've been up to since the last time I posted. I did get to Independence Day (belated happy 4th. I hope that you celebrated), had two lots of Epley maneuver from my physio for the BPPV, but still couldn't do much of any consequence. Only-in November the Brits celebrate Guy Fawkes Day-November 5th, when the poor sap tried (and failed) to blow up the houses of Parliament. No comment on we could use someone better at it today...

Every November I stock up on fireworks-I save them for July 4th, then wait until it's dark and go to the local park to set them off. This is, of course, an offense. Legally you are only allowed to set off fireworks in November 5th-so I could be arrested and imprisoned if I get caught. Trust them here to arrest and jail someone who is setting off fireworks, in a safe place, but not on their holiday-on mine. I would probably get a longer jail sentence than someone who commits mass murder.

The problem with the fireworks here-apart from the fact that they're hideously expensive- is that they're nowhere near as strong as the ones we get at home (from Georgia, the firework capital of the USA). Honestly, you could fart louder than some of the stuff they sell here.If you want proof, just stand in an Underground station and wait for a delayed train. Trust me.

Now-every Independence Day I phone everyone at home. And every Independence Day I get homesick. And maudlin. I was thinking back to everything important that ever happened to me-and I remember years of fireworks in the back garden and terrible limericks. My ex went to an all boys' school, and the boys all seemed to try to make up the grossest limericks.Some were hilarious, and some were-really cringe-worthy. But there are several about farting (of course. Boys will be boys), and I remember one that is somewhere in the middle range, depending on your mood at the time. And here goes:

There once was a fellow called Carter
He was known as a musical farter
He could fart anything from God Save the Queen
To Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata

Don't say I didn't warn you. At least it made me smile. I obviously have to get out more.

And where am I off to now? Starbucks, of course. I'm giving them so much free publicity!