A humorous look at bodily ills and daily woes, and tips from someone who has suffered everything from arthritis to athlete's foot.
Monday, 17 March 2008
My friends know me so well. What was I inundated with for my birthday? Plain chocolate (milk choc brings on the sniffles) and gorgeous, sparkly notebooks just crying out to be filled with poems and ideas. I even got a chocolate birthday cake (left), made by Mr G. Considering that until a couple of months ago he could hardly use his right hand following his strokes of last July, this achievement was a miracle. The cake was divine, too. So this was why he sneaked off to Sainsbury's at the crack of dawn - not to get party fare, but cake ingredients. He did grumble that it cost him £45 to make it and a dozen muffins from the leftover cake mix, and it would have been much cheaper to go to Marks and Sparks and buy one!
I met two friends at Frederick's restaurant in Islington (where the husband of one of them met Tony Blair coming down from a private do in the upstairs room and didn't recognise him!). We had tender lamb cooked to perfection, saute potatoes in a cheesy sauce, spinach, three different blobs of ice cream with a strawberry on top, and a bottle of Cava, then went back to the house of one of my friends and ate chocolate. What else?
Got home an hour ago and Mr G asked, "Would you like some of last night's curry for dinner?" and I went a fetching shade of Eau de Nil.
Read through the first two chapters of the book and found a horrifying number of really stupid typos. I'm also changing it here and there, editing as I go. By Wednesday, I should be ready to start Chapter Four. Early days....
To cheer us all up following yesterday's sad entry, here is a poem I wrote a couple of years ago that's quite appropriate for someone who has had as many birthdays as I have.
I am an old-age delinquent. Some people might think me quite sad, For I wake up each day and shout, "Hip, Hip, Hooray!" as I think of new ways to be bad.
I block up the aisles in buses, with my trolley and zimmer and stick. And if there's a crowd, I'll cough ever so loud and sound like I'm going to be sick.
I'm a pest at pedestrian crossings. I like to show who is the boss. Once I've made the cars stop, I go wandering off and don't even bother to cross.
My diet's amazingly simple. There's ten tins of beans on my shelf, 'Cos you don't have to race for a seat or a space if you fart and you talk to yourself.
People tell me I've reached second childhood as I lurk in my fusty old den. Yes, with rancid old undies and socks changed on Sundays, I'm a perfect teenager again.