When I was growing up, my parents forbade me to say any bad words in the house. "Bad", to them, meant things like "damn"-which got me grounded for a week when I said it. The object was to ensure that I would grow up to be a lady (please, everyone who knows me, don't choke on your muesli when I say that-I'm still a work in progress. Damn.). Anything worse than that got me grounded for a month. Unfair, I thought-but I also was threatened with having my mouth washed out with soap and water-something my father tried because I cut my finger and shouted "oh, fuck"- well, excuse me, but I was bleeding all over the kitchen floor at the time. He only tried once-first, I threw up over him, then I kicked him. Hard. And he didn't try that again in a hurry. If someone did that today, they would be arrested for child cruelty. In those days? Hmmm...
So, off I went to university, and the first person I met was named Betty. Betty smoked about three packs of Marlboro a day-in fact, I never saw her without a cigarette in her mouth. She also had a mouth like a sewer, and she drank-well, I wondered where on earth she put it all. And that was my introduction to university. I hung out with Betty for my first year-but then, she was having so much fun, she flunked out. Bye bye Betty. Sad, really. I learned how to drink (and that was terrible, because I just wasn't good at it. I didn't like alcohol, and it certainly didn't like me. But I tried. What a trouper).I learned how to smoke (cigarettes, kids, cigarettes. And I did try the other stuff, but, of course, I didn't inhale. Yeah, right? If Bill Clinton can give us that load of crap, so can I).
Every time I went home to see my family, I had to watch my language. My mother had this bright idea of putting a "swear box" on the table. Bad word? That's a dollar in the box. I found it amusing until one day my mother dropped something in the kitchen, and said "oh, shit" (you did know that was coming, didn't you?), and I said "that will be a dollar in the swear box". We had a big fight over that; she refused, saying that she could swear, but I couldn't- and I told her where she could put her swear box, and I turned around and left. I didn't go back to see them for a year. When I told Betty all this, she said that she got around swearing in front of her parents by saying "I'll be a blue nosed reindeer!", instead of "I'll be damned". And-she said to shout oh sugar-and oh, poo, and-I love this one-oh, freak! You can't argue with those, can you? Still, by the time I graduated, the swear box was full several times over. I have a hunch that my parents bought a brand new car with the proceeds from the swear box-it's a hunch. Probably a good one.
I mention all this for a reason (don't I always?). The Friday before last (the 14th) I had to go see a cardiologist at the Royal Free. Several tests that had been taken at the Royal London (and Barts) were repeated. That turned out to be a good thing. It was at Barts that I was told in 2012 that I would never develop breast cancer (oops. Idiots!). It was at Barts that I was given gentamicin, and told that it was safe (as if) and that I would be monitored (oh yeah. That didn't happen)-and we all know what a huge success that wasn't. It was also at Barts (and the London-all part of the same hospital trust) that I was told several years ago, after a stress test and an echocardiogram, that I have a bad heart valve. They said they would "watch it" - no prizes if you guessed that never happened. So, I had all the same tests again at the Royal Free.
On the Friday, I went to meet the new cardiologist. He was great: great manner, very reassuring, professional, and his wife is one of my doctors (he laughed when I told him this. Then he was even more reassuring. He showed me the results of the tests, and showed me the echo, suggesting that I probably knew how to read the screen in front of me (I did). And-there is nothing wrong with my heart valve. It isn't defective, it is fine. In fact, there is nothing wrong with my heart at all. I have, he said, a perfect heart. That was such great news, I could have hugged him (I didn't). My heart, after all, is number 1 on my list of top ten organs. And I have a perfect heart. So much for Barts and the London. I practically skipped out the door (I didn't; I would have ended up falling and breaking something).
I wanted to come back and get online and post this on Friday-but, Murphy's Law being Murphy's Law, I was already feeling really sick by the time I got back from the hospital. I got hit by the vomiting virus-another virus that is going around (there are several), and leaves you with your head in a bucket for a week. The worst part-even worse than puking my guts up (so sorry if you're reading this while eating), was that I had to go and see Dr. Dimples on Monday. I managed-how, I don't know-but I sat in the clinic and kept thinking that someone had passed this virus along to me, and why are these people breathing? If they would only stop breathing, I would be perfectly healthy. Sad, really. But Dimples was great, very pleased with my progress, and wants me to carry the elbow crutch on the other side-and stay off it as much as possible. I'll see him again in 6 months; he is monitoring my progress, along with the folks at Queen Square.
I'm so happy that all my medical appointments are coming to a close for this year. I only have my infusions every two weeks-and one more test at the end of December-but this one won't be irradiating or magnetizing me, so I should be fine by New Year's.
Of course, I was incensed at the news that Obama (the odious Obama) has turned around and said that he is putting boots on the ground in Syria. Sure-he's a lying scumbag, because he promised not to do that. He is just another inept politician-and politicians, as we know, only lie when they are breathing. If they could lie in their sleep, they would. What a bastard (that's two dollars I owe the swear box). Why is it that it is always OUR men and women who have to go in first, risk their lives, when the only other people who seem keen are the French? And they are only keen because of Paris. Who knows how many of our men and women are going to die-after being hideously tortured?
This whole thing just really pisses me off (that's three dollars). The last time we sent our soldiers into someone else's country, fighting a war we couldn't possibly win, was Vietnam. And we all know what a huge success that wasn't, don't we? I wish I knew the answer.
I know what isn't the answer: Donald "Mr. Comb over" Trump, the chief dick of the United States (yes, another dollar. Well deserved). He has done more to damage the reputation of the United States overseas than (God help us) George W. Bush. And that is saying something, because people still sneer and comment on Bush. Now Trump. If anyone has added to the desire for terrorist attacks on US soil, it is Trump. What a prat (I'm losing count). There are online petitions to ban him from this country-and there are more than 500,000 signatures-and counting. Now, if we could also ban him from the United States, we could all have a party: a kick the crap out of Donald the Dickhead party (anyone keeping count? I've given up).
So, it just goes to show you: you can be a millionaire, or a billionaire, and still have zero common sense, and be a racist, bigot, misogynist, and general tosser-plus have no charm, no personality, probably very little hair, and be incredibly ugly. Did I miss anything?
And now you are up to date. I'm just keeping my head down and hoping that everyone who actually backs that piece of s**t (no money for that one!) returns to something resembling good sense. Hopefully. But if they voted for Bush-who is to say? This country sucks, my country is in the grip of Trump insanity, the French are-well, the French- and there is nowhere on earth where we can all go and hide. Yuck. Someone pass the Kettle Chips.
Sunday, 13 December 2015
Tuesday, 1 December 2015
The Camel: redefined (by me)
You all know what a camel is: it's a horse that is designed by a committee. I wish I could take credit for that-but no, it came from my grandmother, who delivered many pearls of wisdom as I was growing up. That one was when I was old enough to be interested in politics (an interest which lasted about a year, but waned as I became totally disillusioned). Other brilliant pearls include: never volunteer for anything (I only just started to listen to that one. Talk about late!). Always wear clean underwear, you never know when you will be hit by a car (everyone has heard of that one, it seems to be universal). And-wear matching underwear so you don't embarrass yourself in the ambulance (huh?). Another firm favorite: if God wanted us to look back, he would have put our eyes in the back of our heads. Hmmm....good point. But my personal favorite: do squats. Do squats every day, at least 100 squats. That way, you will never, ever have to sit on a public toilet seat. (plus, you will have really strong quads. It's a win-win, isn't it?).
Granny was a very smart woman. And she made the best blueberry pie I have ever tasted. Forget the Jamie Olivers, the Niges, the bake off what's her face-granny's blueberry pie trumped them all. I went to visit her just for the pie-she always baked a fresh one when the grandkids came to see her-so whether we wanted to or not, we went for the pie. And there is the greatest lesson of all time: never underestimate the value of bribery.
The Thanksgiving weekend passed without incident-except that now everyone in the government is fighting everyone else. As usual. The French are peeved with the Belgians, because the Belgians let the one remaining terrorist lunatic over the border-when the borders were allegedly closed. The Russians are fuming at the Turks for blowing up one of their aircraft-which, the Russians say, was on the way to bomb Syria. The Brits have joined that battle, saying that of course, nobody trusts the Russians (ya think?) and they have to answer for the doping scandal at the Olympics. This, of course, has nothing to do with Syria, but the Brits are accusing Russia of drug taking-completely ignoring the fact that they (Britain) came a distant and humiliating third place in the Olympics anyway. To them, even third place is call for celebrations. Now that figures, doesn't it?
Now Parliament is having a debate-and all their committees are fighting to and against bombing Syria. Cameron, the chief dick of Britain, has finally come off the fence and said that Britain needs to join its allies, France and the United States, and bomb the hell out of all the strongholds in Syria. This is, of course, Britain being late to the party, as usual. They only join in after everyone else has done all the work, has taken financial responsibility, and has risked (and lost) the lives of brave men and women who have been fighting Islamic State terrorist maniacs for years. Britain wants everyone else to do the work, and then it will sneak in and say they did their part. And the most annoying part:
we have in this country, a total moron called Jeremy Corbyn, who is the leader of the Labour Party. Corbyn is so against dropping bombs, he has told all his MPs to vote against joining the fight; the voting on this is tomorrow. Corbyn says we should arrest these guys and bring them to trial. I wonder what planet Corbyn is living on-certainly not this one! Arrest them? Try to negotiate? EXCUSE ME? These are monsters who kill because they like it, not for any real religious ideology. What is Corbyn going to do: invite them to tea, and have a chat about ethics while the terrorists shoot up half of London? The man is delusional. Corbyn, sadly, has a lot of followers in Parliament. They call themselves "peaceful", and perhaps they think they can pray their way out of attacks here in Britain. I've got a better definition of these well-meaning but rather stupid people: cowards. They aren't reserved; they are cowardly. And this is where there is a problem, because Corbyn and his idiot followers are saying that no attacks will take place in this country. That is exactly what they said before the London bombings a decade ago. Well, their declarations didn't go so well then, did they?
I've now decided to just keep my head down, and to shut up in public. Stabbings are up, there are guns out there-crime is sky high, although the government claims that crime has dropped. Sure-crime and unemployment have dropped, but the death rate has risen dramatically. Fire engines are being sold off to save money-and the fire brigade chief says that this is still okay, and that everything can be handled as usual. Tell that to the people whose houses are burning down.
Everything the government does (or, more likely, doesn't do) affects me in one way or another, because I still have to live here, still have to travel, and I refuse to be conquered by fear. Been there, done that-I've lived with fear for five and a half years, and it was the fear (and anger at injustice) that kept me going. So no more fear-vigilance, caution, not swearing at anyone who crashes into me (at least, not out loud), because you never know who is armed. And a lot of people are armed.
Now I've got a question for any readers who are in the USA (and my friends over there keep up with this, so you get to answer): who on earth decided to back Donald Trump for President? Mr. Comb-over, who has a permanent bad hair day (call it a bad hair life-why not just be bald and be done with it?). The man is ignorant. He is a misogynist, racist (by all accounts), an absolute joke who will make us the laughing stock of the entire planet if he got anywhere near the White House, and, let's face it, he is the douche bag from Hell. Who is backing him: Bush supporters?
I consider the possibility of the Donald as President and I get an immediate stomach cramp. And who are these other contenders? And Obama-well, he's such a tool, I will be glad to be rid of him, but we need someone who is strong enough to try to undo the damage Obama's done in his tenure as chief prat of the world. Clinton-let's have a woman President, someone who has balls and will fight for us, not some idiot whose hair will go flying in a strong wind.
I wonder how the Donald keeps his few strands of hair down. Does he use tape? Or some kind of glue? Wouldn't it be more than mildly amusing if there was a debate among the hopefuls-and someone brought a really powerful wind machine? Now that would be a bit of fun! Perhaps he'll give Sarah Palin a second shot as Vice President. Then I predict there will be a mass exodus: about 300 million people moving out of the States until it is safe to return. Yikes??
Granny was a very smart woman. And she made the best blueberry pie I have ever tasted. Forget the Jamie Olivers, the Niges, the bake off what's her face-granny's blueberry pie trumped them all. I went to visit her just for the pie-she always baked a fresh one when the grandkids came to see her-so whether we wanted to or not, we went for the pie. And there is the greatest lesson of all time: never underestimate the value of bribery.
The Thanksgiving weekend passed without incident-except that now everyone in the government is fighting everyone else. As usual. The French are peeved with the Belgians, because the Belgians let the one remaining terrorist lunatic over the border-when the borders were allegedly closed. The Russians are fuming at the Turks for blowing up one of their aircraft-which, the Russians say, was on the way to bomb Syria. The Brits have joined that battle, saying that of course, nobody trusts the Russians (ya think?) and they have to answer for the doping scandal at the Olympics. This, of course, has nothing to do with Syria, but the Brits are accusing Russia of drug taking-completely ignoring the fact that they (Britain) came a distant and humiliating third place in the Olympics anyway. To them, even third place is call for celebrations. Now that figures, doesn't it?
Now Parliament is having a debate-and all their committees are fighting to and against bombing Syria. Cameron, the chief dick of Britain, has finally come off the fence and said that Britain needs to join its allies, France and the United States, and bomb the hell out of all the strongholds in Syria. This is, of course, Britain being late to the party, as usual. They only join in after everyone else has done all the work, has taken financial responsibility, and has risked (and lost) the lives of brave men and women who have been fighting Islamic State terrorist maniacs for years. Britain wants everyone else to do the work, and then it will sneak in and say they did their part. And the most annoying part:
we have in this country, a total moron called Jeremy Corbyn, who is the leader of the Labour Party. Corbyn is so against dropping bombs, he has told all his MPs to vote against joining the fight; the voting on this is tomorrow. Corbyn says we should arrest these guys and bring them to trial. I wonder what planet Corbyn is living on-certainly not this one! Arrest them? Try to negotiate? EXCUSE ME? These are monsters who kill because they like it, not for any real religious ideology. What is Corbyn going to do: invite them to tea, and have a chat about ethics while the terrorists shoot up half of London? The man is delusional. Corbyn, sadly, has a lot of followers in Parliament. They call themselves "peaceful", and perhaps they think they can pray their way out of attacks here in Britain. I've got a better definition of these well-meaning but rather stupid people: cowards. They aren't reserved; they are cowardly. And this is where there is a problem, because Corbyn and his idiot followers are saying that no attacks will take place in this country. That is exactly what they said before the London bombings a decade ago. Well, their declarations didn't go so well then, did they?
I've now decided to just keep my head down, and to shut up in public. Stabbings are up, there are guns out there-crime is sky high, although the government claims that crime has dropped. Sure-crime and unemployment have dropped, but the death rate has risen dramatically. Fire engines are being sold off to save money-and the fire brigade chief says that this is still okay, and that everything can be handled as usual. Tell that to the people whose houses are burning down.
Everything the government does (or, more likely, doesn't do) affects me in one way or another, because I still have to live here, still have to travel, and I refuse to be conquered by fear. Been there, done that-I've lived with fear for five and a half years, and it was the fear (and anger at injustice) that kept me going. So no more fear-vigilance, caution, not swearing at anyone who crashes into me (at least, not out loud), because you never know who is armed. And a lot of people are armed.
Now I've got a question for any readers who are in the USA (and my friends over there keep up with this, so you get to answer): who on earth decided to back Donald Trump for President? Mr. Comb-over, who has a permanent bad hair day (call it a bad hair life-why not just be bald and be done with it?). The man is ignorant. He is a misogynist, racist (by all accounts), an absolute joke who will make us the laughing stock of the entire planet if he got anywhere near the White House, and, let's face it, he is the douche bag from Hell. Who is backing him: Bush supporters?
I consider the possibility of the Donald as President and I get an immediate stomach cramp. And who are these other contenders? And Obama-well, he's such a tool, I will be glad to be rid of him, but we need someone who is strong enough to try to undo the damage Obama's done in his tenure as chief prat of the world. Clinton-let's have a woman President, someone who has balls and will fight for us, not some idiot whose hair will go flying in a strong wind.
I wonder how the Donald keeps his few strands of hair down. Does he use tape? Or some kind of glue? Wouldn't it be more than mildly amusing if there was a debate among the hopefuls-and someone brought a really powerful wind machine? Now that would be a bit of fun! Perhaps he'll give Sarah Palin a second shot as Vice President. Then I predict there will be a mass exodus: about 300 million people moving out of the States until it is safe to return. Yikes??
Thursday, 26 November 2015
HAPPY THANKSGIVING from your favorite London lurking twerker
Well, that might be going overboard slightly. But I am lurking-lurking near the turkey, as I am basting it and getting ready to stuff my face (one of my many talents). I'm using a soup spoon in lieu of a turkey baster. Gosh, I wish I had a turkey baster.
I'm on strike from talking about the government's latest asinine antics: no critique of the world class wankers today, it is Thanksgiving Day, and I am just really happy to be able to write. In fact, I'm happy to be able to walk! This is the first Thanksgiving since 2009 that I really feel like giving thanks. After that, life went all to hell: gentamicin (we all know how well that worked out, don't we?), cancer...I'm so very lucky to be alive, and lucky to be pretty healthy (yeah, I know: for my age. I'd like to slap people who say that, even if it is true).
I remember my mother using a turkey baster; it had a rubber bulb on one end, and a glass tube with a narrow hole at the end. All you did was suck up the juice and baste the bird.Easy peasy. I'm sure someone still makes them. I'll have to go hunting. In fact, that would be great for me to take on my travels. Just suck up something noxious, and when some idiot (invariably) knocks me and is nasty, all I have to do is take out my trusty turkey baster, aim-and shoot. What are they going to do, have me arrested? Can you imagine, being charged with assault with a turkey baster? How hilarious that would be. What will be next, a soup ladle?
I went to see The Book of Mormon yesterday. I braved both terrorists and imbeciles (none of the former, plenty of the latter), using the Underground (I try never to use the tube, I'm short and I always come up to someone's armpit. Usually that someone hasn't had a bath in a couple of-decades. Phew!) and the bus (almost as bad as the Underground). Piccadilly Circus was heaving with people, and there wasn't a policeman (or policewoman) in sight. No surprise there! They were knocking me, and knocking each other, and there was a lot of swearing in many different languages. Someone next to me was shouting abuse at someone who had run into him, and when he was finished, I asked him what language he was speaking (only I would do something like that. I'm either fearless or foolish. Or both). He said he was speaking Urdu. I asked him if he was telling the idiot to f*** off-and, if he was, would he teach me how to say it in Urdu. He just looked at me-then he shook his head, and said that I would be better off not knowing. Then he walked away. Damn-I can say it in a few languages, but they are all the popular ones. So much for Urdu. I would ask my friend Dani how to say it in Russian, but I don't think she would be at all amused. Oh, well-it was an idea, anyway.
So today I have to really think about all the things I am thankful for-and there are a lot. I know that people say that you should make a gratitude list, and that reminding yourself to feel grateful is a good antidote to stress (so is smacking someone with an elbow crutch).
Well. I'm grateful, I give thanks, for the fact that I can dance around the house, stick my butt out and twerk-or at least, jiggle my wobbly bits and do a good imitation of a twerk. To all those skinny people who do a mean twerk: I salute you. Maybe if I do it a lot, I will have a smaller butt. And, by the way, I didn't fall over. So that is a bloody miracle, considering how hard I was laughing at the time.
It has been a long, very tough-arduous, in fact-road I've traveled over the last few years, and I've amazed a lot of people with my strength and resilience. I've been told many times that I am an inspiration to other people. Mostly, I think I have been a royal pain in the ass-but this pain in the ass is still here, still pushing to get better, still in everyone's face (especially the doctors).
I've had a lot of support from some very good friends-but they aren't in this country. So, I've had to do everything on my own, without any help from anyone. I had to prove to myself that I could get better, that I could reach the point where I wouldn't have to rely on anyone else to look after me-and I've done exactly that. And I will keep doing exactly that, since it seems to be very difficult for me to ask anyone else for help. So the moral of my continuing story is: never give up. Never quit. Never.
I wish everyone a very happy Thanksgiving. I'm getting the parsnips, and potatoes, and sprouts-oh, sorry, I don't want to make you hungry (even though in about a half an hour I will be stuffing my face. Yum!). But I've been looking forward to being able to make a Thanksgiving dinner for five years-without burning the house down.
Then I'm going shopping. For a turkey baster.
I'm on strike from talking about the government's latest asinine antics: no critique of the world class wankers today, it is Thanksgiving Day, and I am just really happy to be able to write. In fact, I'm happy to be able to walk! This is the first Thanksgiving since 2009 that I really feel like giving thanks. After that, life went all to hell: gentamicin (we all know how well that worked out, don't we?), cancer...I'm so very lucky to be alive, and lucky to be pretty healthy (yeah, I know: for my age. I'd like to slap people who say that, even if it is true).
I remember my mother using a turkey baster; it had a rubber bulb on one end, and a glass tube with a narrow hole at the end. All you did was suck up the juice and baste the bird.Easy peasy. I'm sure someone still makes them. I'll have to go hunting. In fact, that would be great for me to take on my travels. Just suck up something noxious, and when some idiot (invariably) knocks me and is nasty, all I have to do is take out my trusty turkey baster, aim-and shoot. What are they going to do, have me arrested? Can you imagine, being charged with assault with a turkey baster? How hilarious that would be. What will be next, a soup ladle?
I went to see The Book of Mormon yesterday. I braved both terrorists and imbeciles (none of the former, plenty of the latter), using the Underground (I try never to use the tube, I'm short and I always come up to someone's armpit. Usually that someone hasn't had a bath in a couple of-decades. Phew!) and the bus (almost as bad as the Underground). Piccadilly Circus was heaving with people, and there wasn't a policeman (or policewoman) in sight. No surprise there! They were knocking me, and knocking each other, and there was a lot of swearing in many different languages. Someone next to me was shouting abuse at someone who had run into him, and when he was finished, I asked him what language he was speaking (only I would do something like that. I'm either fearless or foolish. Or both). He said he was speaking Urdu. I asked him if he was telling the idiot to f*** off-and, if he was, would he teach me how to say it in Urdu. He just looked at me-then he shook his head, and said that I would be better off not knowing. Then he walked away. Damn-I can say it in a few languages, but they are all the popular ones. So much for Urdu. I would ask my friend Dani how to say it in Russian, but I don't think she would be at all amused. Oh, well-it was an idea, anyway.
So today I have to really think about all the things I am thankful for-and there are a lot. I know that people say that you should make a gratitude list, and that reminding yourself to feel grateful is a good antidote to stress (so is smacking someone with an elbow crutch).
Well. I'm grateful, I give thanks, for the fact that I can dance around the house, stick my butt out and twerk-or at least, jiggle my wobbly bits and do a good imitation of a twerk. To all those skinny people who do a mean twerk: I salute you. Maybe if I do it a lot, I will have a smaller butt. And, by the way, I didn't fall over. So that is a bloody miracle, considering how hard I was laughing at the time.
It has been a long, very tough-arduous, in fact-road I've traveled over the last few years, and I've amazed a lot of people with my strength and resilience. I've been told many times that I am an inspiration to other people. Mostly, I think I have been a royal pain in the ass-but this pain in the ass is still here, still pushing to get better, still in everyone's face (especially the doctors).
I've had a lot of support from some very good friends-but they aren't in this country. So, I've had to do everything on my own, without any help from anyone. I had to prove to myself that I could get better, that I could reach the point where I wouldn't have to rely on anyone else to look after me-and I've done exactly that. And I will keep doing exactly that, since it seems to be very difficult for me to ask anyone else for help. So the moral of my continuing story is: never give up. Never quit. Never.
I wish everyone a very happy Thanksgiving. I'm getting the parsnips, and potatoes, and sprouts-oh, sorry, I don't want to make you hungry (even though in about a half an hour I will be stuffing my face. Yum!). But I've been looking forward to being able to make a Thanksgiving dinner for five years-without burning the house down.
Then I'm going shopping. For a turkey baster.
Wednesday, 25 November 2015
And just for the record...
Well, for the record: knitting? Seriously? There would be a lot of swearing, and blood loss. I cannot think of much that would be more boring (and painful) than sticking myself with a knitting needle.
So I am going to see The Book of Mormon in the West End. Any terrorists can be my guest and shove their explosives up their backsides. With all that I have gone through over the last five and a half years- one thing I most certainly not is afraid. And don't you be, either.
So I am going to see The Book of Mormon in the West End. Any terrorists can be my guest and shove their explosives up their backsides. With all that I have gone through over the last five and a half years- one thing I most certainly not is afraid. And don't you be, either.
Doing the Victory War Dance
The world seems to have gone completely nuts-even more nuts than it was already.
While I was doing my due diligence, going through all the tests, being magnetized, irradiated, blood-letted, poked, prodded, and everything except dissected (they probably would have wanted to do that, too, but I moved faster than they did), the French got the ringleader of the terrorists. I heard this on the news when I got back from seeing the throat people-and finding out that they need to do another biopsy. But more about that later.
Well, I heard the news about Abaaoud, and on went my happy face, I was punching the air, and doing a happy dance-which I called my victory war dance. I danced around my little apartment, did a little jig, and even did something which remotely resembled a twerk-and all without falling over, which is quite an accomplishment, I can tell you. The words "twerk", and "jig" will make my friends (who keep up with this blog) smile. Now there is a visual nobody will forget in a hurry! And so much for the Christian/Jewish/Buddhist/Taoist/Unitarian/Quaker/Wiccan/anyone else I have left out (sorry) qualities of compassion, love and forgiveness. Since when do homicidal maniacs deserve any of those? Nope-I'm a hard liner where that is concerned.
Don't go to Mali (who would want to, anyway?). Don't go to Germany (especially Hanover. People are being blown up in Hanover). Don't go to Brussels (it's been shut for awhile, anyway). Brussels is the Mecca of terrorists-there is an entire section of the city where these maniacs have settled in order to plan their next attacks. Plus, it's also the home of organized pedophile rings, and neo-Nazi groups.
Of course, don't come here, because-oh, that's right, there are very few police!! And Cameron and the rest of Parliament are pussy footing around, having debates about how to destroy IS-while the French and Americans are actually taking action.
In fact, don't go anywhere. Stay home. Learn how to knit.
I think that everyone, everywhere should be concerned-not terrified, but concerned. Vigilant. Everyone is a target. And it is difficult to eradicate homicidal maniacs who just love to kill, indiscriminately, while using their religion as an excuse. This isn't Islam. This is genocide.
My medical ordeal is nearly at an end. My throat guy managed to take a biopsy that was too small (what a total idiot!), so the biopsy needs to be repeated. It was horrendous enough the first time, and now they are going to do it all over again. Wonderful. I just love the feeling that a flame thrower has been shoved down my throat-and that someone seems to have punched me in the jaw while I was sedated. And-I'm pretty sure that nothing is terribly wrong, anyway.
All the results are showing that I am in excellent health - for my age, they tell me. I can live very nicely without the "for my age", thanks. But all my hard work is paying off, and even my balance has begun to improve, although the change in the weather left me stumbling around for a few days. That was a little disconcerting-but I was advised to expect it, so I simply decided that the setbacks are temporary. I just keep going. I fall, I pick myself up, I keep going. I won't give in.
And speaking of not giving in: in my opinion, we all need to be vigilant, but not be afraid to go out, to do things, to live as normally as possible. Of course, we can be in a situation like Paris-or Mali-or Brussels-or Hanover-or be on a plane and wonder if we are going to make it to our destination in one piece. But if we give in to the fear of being victims of terrorist lunatics, then we have lost. And they have won. They want to destroy us, and they want to destroy our way of life. Let's make sure they don't succeed. For that, it takes people power. It takes everyone to work together to defeat the terrorists-if, indeed, they can be defeated, since they seem to be everywhere. Is it do-able? I think so.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day-and I have given a great deal of thought over things that make me grateful. I will be posting tomorrow. And stuffing my face, of course. I'm still here. I've become a lot stronger than I ever imagined I could be-so I will be posting-and eating. What's not to like?
While I was doing my due diligence, going through all the tests, being magnetized, irradiated, blood-letted, poked, prodded, and everything except dissected (they probably would have wanted to do that, too, but I moved faster than they did), the French got the ringleader of the terrorists. I heard this on the news when I got back from seeing the throat people-and finding out that they need to do another biopsy. But more about that later.
Well, I heard the news about Abaaoud, and on went my happy face, I was punching the air, and doing a happy dance-which I called my victory war dance. I danced around my little apartment, did a little jig, and even did something which remotely resembled a twerk-and all without falling over, which is quite an accomplishment, I can tell you. The words "twerk", and "jig" will make my friends (who keep up with this blog) smile. Now there is a visual nobody will forget in a hurry! And so much for the Christian/Jewish/Buddhist/Taoist/Unitarian/Quaker/Wiccan/anyone else I have left out (sorry) qualities of compassion, love and forgiveness. Since when do homicidal maniacs deserve any of those? Nope-I'm a hard liner where that is concerned.
Don't go to Mali (who would want to, anyway?). Don't go to Germany (especially Hanover. People are being blown up in Hanover). Don't go to Brussels (it's been shut for awhile, anyway). Brussels is the Mecca of terrorists-there is an entire section of the city where these maniacs have settled in order to plan their next attacks. Plus, it's also the home of organized pedophile rings, and neo-Nazi groups.
Of course, don't come here, because-oh, that's right, there are very few police!! And Cameron and the rest of Parliament are pussy footing around, having debates about how to destroy IS-while the French and Americans are actually taking action.
In fact, don't go anywhere. Stay home. Learn how to knit.
I think that everyone, everywhere should be concerned-not terrified, but concerned. Vigilant. Everyone is a target. And it is difficult to eradicate homicidal maniacs who just love to kill, indiscriminately, while using their religion as an excuse. This isn't Islam. This is genocide.
My medical ordeal is nearly at an end. My throat guy managed to take a biopsy that was too small (what a total idiot!), so the biopsy needs to be repeated. It was horrendous enough the first time, and now they are going to do it all over again. Wonderful. I just love the feeling that a flame thrower has been shoved down my throat-and that someone seems to have punched me in the jaw while I was sedated. And-I'm pretty sure that nothing is terribly wrong, anyway.
All the results are showing that I am in excellent health - for my age, they tell me. I can live very nicely without the "for my age", thanks. But all my hard work is paying off, and even my balance has begun to improve, although the change in the weather left me stumbling around for a few days. That was a little disconcerting-but I was advised to expect it, so I simply decided that the setbacks are temporary. I just keep going. I fall, I pick myself up, I keep going. I won't give in.
And speaking of not giving in: in my opinion, we all need to be vigilant, but not be afraid to go out, to do things, to live as normally as possible. Of course, we can be in a situation like Paris-or Mali-or Brussels-or Hanover-or be on a plane and wonder if we are going to make it to our destination in one piece. But if we give in to the fear of being victims of terrorist lunatics, then we have lost. And they have won. They want to destroy us, and they want to destroy our way of life. Let's make sure they don't succeed. For that, it takes people power. It takes everyone to work together to defeat the terrorists-if, indeed, they can be defeated, since they seem to be everywhere. Is it do-able? I think so.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day-and I have given a great deal of thought over things that make me grateful. I will be posting tomorrow. And stuffing my face, of course. I'm still here. I've become a lot stronger than I ever imagined I could be-so I will be posting-and eating. What's not to like?
Wednesday, 18 November 2015
Fluctuat nec mergitur: France goes to war. Again.
I had all good intentions on Saturday morning. I was on a roll; I would return to the gym. Unfortunately, this would involve being able to raise my arms and move my legs-and I truly was walking like I had just lost my virginity (yes, I can remember back that far!).
In fact, if you'd put some makeup on me I would have been terrific as an extra from The Walking Dead. And that is what I get for being so enthusiastic about returning to the gym after a very, very long time away. Not a good idea to overdo it at any age-age is irrelevant, it's the fitness (or lack thereof) that makes all the difference.
So I walked-in the rain, in the cold, and for another day I was cold, wet and p***ed off. But I walked, because, as you know, if I don't I will lose what I have worked so hard to achieve: some balance. The more I walk, and bend, and twist, and fall over and get up again, the harder my brain has to work to compensate for the total vestibular destruction. It's a real pain (many times literal pain, too), but it is a huge challenge, and I'm damned if I am going to spend the rest of my life using an elbow crutch.
On the way back, I stopped to buy the newspaper-and there it was, all over every paper, even the tabloid rags (I'm still amazed that they actually were able to spell Paris. Must have had someone do a spell check). So I came back and read through the Times, and learned that on Friday night there was another massacre in the French capital. I suddenly wasn't hungry. Or thirsty. And I was definitely not in a "let's take the mickey" kind of mood. It's a moratorium on French jokes. Even the idea hurts.
This was at the end of a week that saw an 87 year old woman, sitting on a London bus and minding her own business (as one does when one is 87, I would imagine), being punched in the face by a 14 year old girl. The poor woman suffered a black eye and other injuries, the unprovoked attack made all the headlines, and she will probably get off with a warning-because that is what "justice" means in this country: there isn't any. Knife crimes are up; there are shootings; the government massages the figures to show that unemployment is down-sure, it's down, but the death rate is zooming.
This was the end of a week in which the NHS was found to have missed all its targets for the year, because there isn't any money (unless you are a politician, a consultant, the managers of hospitals, of course, because that is clearly where the money is going).
This was a week in which we learned that the budget cuts in every council in every borough have to be so severe that in London they have even cut the police force: by ten thousand officers. Yes, that is what I said: ten thousand policemen (and women) are now unemployed. And Paris suffers a terrorist attack in which 129 people are dead, over 350 are injured, and 99 out of those 350 are in critical condition. And the French are now fighting back. And good for them, too.
The Eiffel Tower is bathed in the French colors, red, white and blue-and across it are the words "fluctuat nec mergitur": tossed but not sunk. President Hollande wasted no time in sending bombers to hit IS in Syria, and has said that they will defeat Islamic State. Every day there is something else. Every day. It's unbelievable that these homicidal maniacs have not been decimated.
David Cameron, the head turd of this government, stated that Britain will stand "shoulder to shoulder" with the French. Of course-until there is a problem, and then Cameron will disappear, as he always does in a crisis. He expressed "sympathy"-and sympathy, as we know, can be found in the dictionary-between shit and syphilis. So much for his sympathy: it's as worthless as he is.
So all the in-fighting has begun. The French let the lead terrorist go over the border into Belgium, even though the borders were (allegedly) closed. So they got some stick for that. And, of course, we ("we" meaning America) will be wading in there, too. Not the Brits: they would much prefer that it is our soldiers who are risking their lives, and our money that is paying for any skirmishes. That is the British way. It all makes me want to puke.
The police in London (what is left of them, that is) are telling us that we are all "safe". They said that just before the London bombings, too, so I don't really believe anything anyone tells us. The Islamic State maniacs (and they are maniacs. What sane, rational people would commit so much slaughter?) have shown that everyone is a target and that nobody is safe. Even in Germany a football game was cancelled because a bomb was found inside the stadium.
As for me, I feel a general sense of unease. I've got the Muslim maniac still upstairs, so that makes me extra careful-but I refuse to be intimidated by fear of anyone.
I had the last of my scans yesterday: a bone density scan, which I will need every two years, since I take anti-cancer medication that affects the bones-and I will have to take it for another eight years, by which time, who knows if I will have any bones left? But I am no longer radioactive, so it is safe for anyone who wants children to come near me!
I'm also back at the gym, now that I am able to walk normally. It really was a bit funny: people were actually getting out of my way as I was walking up the road. I must have looked scary. I'll have to try that again.
While all the politicians from everywhere are pointing fingers and apportioning blame, I am keeping quiet. I have learned the hard way to keep schtum-now if I can only do that when I am outside, that would be such a good idea. You never know who is going to turn around stick one on you-or in you.
Telling off the braindeads just isn't worth the risk-they are not worth the risk.
I'll just hit them with my stick (accidentally, of course). And carry my mace.
In fact, if you'd put some makeup on me I would have been terrific as an extra from The Walking Dead. And that is what I get for being so enthusiastic about returning to the gym after a very, very long time away. Not a good idea to overdo it at any age-age is irrelevant, it's the fitness (or lack thereof) that makes all the difference.
So I walked-in the rain, in the cold, and for another day I was cold, wet and p***ed off. But I walked, because, as you know, if I don't I will lose what I have worked so hard to achieve: some balance. The more I walk, and bend, and twist, and fall over and get up again, the harder my brain has to work to compensate for the total vestibular destruction. It's a real pain (many times literal pain, too), but it is a huge challenge, and I'm damned if I am going to spend the rest of my life using an elbow crutch.
On the way back, I stopped to buy the newspaper-and there it was, all over every paper, even the tabloid rags (I'm still amazed that they actually were able to spell Paris. Must have had someone do a spell check). So I came back and read through the Times, and learned that on Friday night there was another massacre in the French capital. I suddenly wasn't hungry. Or thirsty. And I was definitely not in a "let's take the mickey" kind of mood. It's a moratorium on French jokes. Even the idea hurts.
This was at the end of a week that saw an 87 year old woman, sitting on a London bus and minding her own business (as one does when one is 87, I would imagine), being punched in the face by a 14 year old girl. The poor woman suffered a black eye and other injuries, the unprovoked attack made all the headlines, and she will probably get off with a warning-because that is what "justice" means in this country: there isn't any. Knife crimes are up; there are shootings; the government massages the figures to show that unemployment is down-sure, it's down, but the death rate is zooming.
This was the end of a week in which the NHS was found to have missed all its targets for the year, because there isn't any money (unless you are a politician, a consultant, the managers of hospitals, of course, because that is clearly where the money is going).
This was a week in which we learned that the budget cuts in every council in every borough have to be so severe that in London they have even cut the police force: by ten thousand officers. Yes, that is what I said: ten thousand policemen (and women) are now unemployed. And Paris suffers a terrorist attack in which 129 people are dead, over 350 are injured, and 99 out of those 350 are in critical condition. And the French are now fighting back. And good for them, too.
The Eiffel Tower is bathed in the French colors, red, white and blue-and across it are the words "fluctuat nec mergitur": tossed but not sunk. President Hollande wasted no time in sending bombers to hit IS in Syria, and has said that they will defeat Islamic State. Every day there is something else. Every day. It's unbelievable that these homicidal maniacs have not been decimated.
David Cameron, the head turd of this government, stated that Britain will stand "shoulder to shoulder" with the French. Of course-until there is a problem, and then Cameron will disappear, as he always does in a crisis. He expressed "sympathy"-and sympathy, as we know, can be found in the dictionary-between shit and syphilis. So much for his sympathy: it's as worthless as he is.
So all the in-fighting has begun. The French let the lead terrorist go over the border into Belgium, even though the borders were (allegedly) closed. So they got some stick for that. And, of course, we ("we" meaning America) will be wading in there, too. Not the Brits: they would much prefer that it is our soldiers who are risking their lives, and our money that is paying for any skirmishes. That is the British way. It all makes me want to puke.
The police in London (what is left of them, that is) are telling us that we are all "safe". They said that just before the London bombings, too, so I don't really believe anything anyone tells us. The Islamic State maniacs (and they are maniacs. What sane, rational people would commit so much slaughter?) have shown that everyone is a target and that nobody is safe. Even in Germany a football game was cancelled because a bomb was found inside the stadium.
As for me, I feel a general sense of unease. I've got the Muslim maniac still upstairs, so that makes me extra careful-but I refuse to be intimidated by fear of anyone.
I had the last of my scans yesterday: a bone density scan, which I will need every two years, since I take anti-cancer medication that affects the bones-and I will have to take it for another eight years, by which time, who knows if I will have any bones left? But I am no longer radioactive, so it is safe for anyone who wants children to come near me!
I'm also back at the gym, now that I am able to walk normally. It really was a bit funny: people were actually getting out of my way as I was walking up the road. I must have looked scary. I'll have to try that again.
While all the politicians from everywhere are pointing fingers and apportioning blame, I am keeping quiet. I have learned the hard way to keep schtum-now if I can only do that when I am outside, that would be such a good idea. You never know who is going to turn around stick one on you-or in you.
Telling off the braindeads just isn't worth the risk-they are not worth the risk.
I'll just hit them with my stick (accidentally, of course). And carry my mace.
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