Ahhh, the weeks since I last wrote. First, we had a blackout in the area - more than 65 properties had no power. People were freaking out, running from door to door to find out what happened and how to fix it. Did I do the same? Well...no, I did not.
I got on the phone (after I found my trusty flashlight, and patted myself on the back for just changing the batteries at the beginning of the month), and started calling people to actually discover why we all were blacked out and when we'd have the lights on again. I rang the council's emergency number. That was a waste of time. I got a numpty who could barely speak English, let alone tell me anything useful. He said to call my utility provider. More proof that the council is completely useless...
As I was calling around to find out what was going on, my phone suddenly rang. It was the power network, someone who had emailed me during lockdown and advising me that I'm a priority customer and if any power went out, they would contact me. I thought-oh, sure, who are these people and why would I believe them. How wrong I was! They were fantastic.
I was reassured that the electricity would be back on between the hours of 4pm and 5pm. I was asked if I have any medical devices that require electricity. I've got a heart monitor, and it requires electricity to work. So I was told not to worry, that underground cables had broken and needed to be repaired, so the power in the area needed to be shut down. Well-obviously!
I've made fun of just about every service (or lack thereof) I can think of - but I have to say that the power network was excellent. I went around and knocked on doors to tell people that the lights would be back on in about an hour. True to the lack of manners of people in this country, not a single person said thanks. I'm used to rudeness and stupidity, I've lived here long enough to expect it. And the power went back on in less than an hour, and the network both texted and phoned me. I wish that was the kind of service provided by everyone in this country. Sadly-no.
Mr. Murphy and his sodding law decided to reach up and bite me a few days later. I started to fall over-embarrassing as well as painful-as I realized that BPPV had returned with a vengeance. So I had to try to get an appointment with the vestibular physiotherapist to get it sorted. It's easier to get a date with the King than it is to get an emergency appointment with the physio. And for some weird reason there was a massive amount of traffic, so it took me three times longer than normal. There I was, staggering up Euston Road, trying to avoid the idiots and degenerates, rushing to get there in time to meet my friend, a nurse whom I've known for nearly twenty years, to have a cup of tea (desperately needed by now), and catch up. That was the highlight of my day. In fact, that was the highlight of my week (I really do need to get out more).
The blackout, the recurrence of BPPV, and various other annoyances (which, on their own, would be just minor stuff to be ignored. Piled on top of each other, however...) really increased my impatience and my grouchiness. But-today is another day, and I had my pity party over the past few days (actually, the past two weeks), and I'm done with wallowing. It's really easy to wallow-but it has no useful purpose. It wastes time. And, really, who knows how much time we've got?
I had the Epley yesterday, but it didn't work. Symptoms are back today. Yesterday I was told to do nothing after the treatment, so that's what I did: nothing. Today I've got cleaning to do, laundry to do, and I'll do my best to stay upright throughout. It could so easily have been worse. Count my blessings? I'm trying to do that and hang onto the doorframe at the same time.
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