Like another heroine of mine [Joella] suddenly it dawns on me I don't care what time it is. Phil has left his blackberry here, the only person who could possibly calculate the correct (and I MEAN correct) time is some astrophysicist/TimeLord/Goddess/parent and would it matter anyway?
And then I start thinking about the other Y axisses (or is it Axes?). Truth, Love, Faith, Hope. How on earth would they measure them? And what about enjoyment? Light of course should be on the Y axis, but then without Time what the hell does it matter? Then you have matter itself. And then the Blackberry rings; it is Kingston. Phil has left his bleep in theatre. I suggest they try the Doctors' Mess.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Blog Time - PLease God help me
I am writing this at 1.47am yet the stupid blog says whatever it says. The only reason I did the last blog was that it would be the second one for July and according to this American bloody rubbish it is the same day. Somebody please help.
Parental Censorship : PC
Both parents, despite missing my campaign of about 12 months ago to get comments on my blog, are now the most frequent commentators. Better than both John Motson or Mark Lawrenson.
But, a bit like fascism, they work in mysterious ways. Rather than post a comment as say 'Anna's Mum' or 'Anna's Dad' they use supposedly obscure pseudonyms, or even, (so very 1980s) ring me up in person and say that 'using the word scum is using the same language as the BNP'. And I think to myself 'Are they advocates of freedom of speech or do they mean to suppress it?'. And a bit like George Orwell, I am caught, between the two (or three in my case) should I go with them - and delete a bit of history? Or go with my gut instinct and delete slightly less history at a later point?
I met a self-confessed fascist tonight. I was shocked, that in 2006 with gay rights etc in London this could happen, but yes it did. He said "If anyone laid a finger on my Sinead I would kill them, wouldn't you try and kill someone who tried to kill your partner?' I said 'No of course not, I'm a pacifist. Every human life has value and it's terrible that you think this way. It's wrong. I would never hurt a human being'. Simon, the true anarchist, with a shaved head and no job said 'Well yes, I would and if it was the state doing it I would disagree with you and say no the State cannot intervene'. And socialism appeals again. We don't let people get away with murder. That's what happened in the Spanish Civil War. The fascists won because the pacifists wouldn't side with the anarchists. But who's who? I was asking myself as I downed some more anaestically pleasing alcohol.
But, a bit like fascism, they work in mysterious ways. Rather than post a comment as say 'Anna's Mum' or 'Anna's Dad' they use supposedly obscure pseudonyms, or even, (so very 1980s) ring me up in person and say that 'using the word scum is using the same language as the BNP'. And I think to myself 'Are they advocates of freedom of speech or do they mean to suppress it?'. And a bit like George Orwell, I am caught, between the two (or three in my case) should I go with them - and delete a bit of history? Or go with my gut instinct and delete slightly less history at a later point?
I met a self-confessed fascist tonight. I was shocked, that in 2006 with gay rights etc in London this could happen, but yes it did. He said "If anyone laid a finger on my Sinead I would kill them, wouldn't you try and kill someone who tried to kill your partner?' I said 'No of course not, I'm a pacifist. Every human life has value and it's terrible that you think this way. It's wrong. I would never hurt a human being'. Simon, the true anarchist, with a shaved head and no job said 'Well yes, I would and if it was the state doing it I would disagree with you and say no the State cannot intervene'. And socialism appeals again. We don't let people get away with murder. That's what happened in the Spanish Civil War. The fascists won because the pacifists wouldn't side with the anarchists. But who's who? I was asking myself as I downed some more anaestically pleasing alcohol.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Engagement Bliss
Spoke to one of the last people - my beautiful, face of an angel friend Allison from Middlesborough - about the bad news last night. She was shocked and upset, but I said that we were planning to come up and visit in between my radiotherapy sessions in the summer, some time in August, when also visiting Jenny and Derek, surrogate parents in York.
But I do feel absolutely marvellous (apart from some pain). Had the best evening ever with Phil on Tuesday, if married life is even 20% as good as that I'll be happy. Utterly spoilt. Never had so much chocolate in the house ever. It's all Green and Black too apart from some incredibly expensive French stuff from our gay French neighbour, Fabrice. Had a full house of about five guests on Wednesday night when my brother Joe came down from Leeds. Phil was working and GG from work came over. My best mate Paolo from Italy had also popped round and helped with some odd jobs like putting the washing out. We all sat outside drinking some rather excellent red wine. Malcolm, a musician mate of Joe's also turned up and we were playing Neil Young with Paolo saying 'I used to listen to this twenty years ago and not understand the words', and other such intellectual, fascinating nuggets. He got talking to GG which was quite good as both can talk for England/Italy so keeping them both going together was quite a neat trick. One of my ambitions is to write a character profile of Paolo. He is so funny that he needs to be written about he is so uniquely boring, predictable yet hilarious, Italian, beautiful-life-esque as to be unbelieveable and some of the scrapes we've got up to need documenting. You can tell Malcolm and Joe are also getting slightly more successful as they spent the entire evening shouting on their mobile phones trying to get bass players to different gigs. Malcolm was saying that he was fed up of World tours as they are 'boring'. Both Joe and Malcolm are currently riding on the back of the successful Corrine Bailey Rae, claiming that 'pop' is dead simultaneously.
The ideal thing about writing a character assasination of Paolo is 1) He is IT illiterate 2) He knows I don't mean it 3) It won't ruin my career 4) It will be funny yet correct
GG promised not to talk about work or the NHS until I return to work and instead got me a lovely card, more chocolate, a Philip Pullman book (socialist) plus Thelma and Louise DVD. I asked her for funny photos of staffside/unison people to put in my Rainy Day box. That's the thing about socialists - they need their sense of humour injection from the anarchists.
Then on Thursday we went to Cambridge to visit the beautiful baby Zia, daughter of our best man Joel and his wife Zoe. She is only six weeks old and virtually (although possibly not quite) as pampered as I am at the moment. I gave Joel a hard time saying that the one thing people remember about a wedding is whether the best man's speech is funny or not. He said he wasn't a stand up comedian. I said he'd better start practising. Phil is more concerned about the stag do. Phil was very dismissive of the present I had got Zia - a folio society hard back edition of 'Anne of Green Gables' with an introduction by Margaret Atwood. But it went down a storm, as of course it was Mummy's favourite book (which she had disclosed whilst pregnant, admitting crying whilst watching the video). The other link which I hadn't realised is the Canadian link (LM Montgomery Canadian and Zoe spent some years there) so it was even better and something that can be kept for generations. We ended up spending the night in Cambridge - in the wonderful camper-van which is still code-word for Anna&Phil special time 'Camper-van time' as we had such an amazing holiday in J&Z's campervan a year ago.
But I do feel absolutely marvellous (apart from some pain). Had the best evening ever with Phil on Tuesday, if married life is even 20% as good as that I'll be happy. Utterly spoilt. Never had so much chocolate in the house ever. It's all Green and Black too apart from some incredibly expensive French stuff from our gay French neighbour, Fabrice. Had a full house of about five guests on Wednesday night when my brother Joe came down from Leeds. Phil was working and GG from work came over. My best mate Paolo from Italy had also popped round and helped with some odd jobs like putting the washing out. We all sat outside drinking some rather excellent red wine. Malcolm, a musician mate of Joe's also turned up and we were playing Neil Young with Paolo saying 'I used to listen to this twenty years ago and not understand the words', and other such intellectual, fascinating nuggets. He got talking to GG which was quite good as both can talk for England/Italy so keeping them both going together was quite a neat trick. One of my ambitions is to write a character profile of Paolo. He is so funny that he needs to be written about he is so uniquely boring, predictable yet hilarious, Italian, beautiful-life-esque as to be unbelieveable and some of the scrapes we've got up to need documenting. You can tell Malcolm and Joe are also getting slightly more successful as they spent the entire evening shouting on their mobile phones trying to get bass players to different gigs. Malcolm was saying that he was fed up of World tours as they are 'boring'. Both Joe and Malcolm are currently riding on the back of the successful Corrine Bailey Rae, claiming that 'pop' is dead simultaneously.
The ideal thing about writing a character assasination of Paolo is 1) He is IT illiterate 2) He knows I don't mean it 3) It won't ruin my career 4) It will be funny yet correct
GG promised not to talk about work or the NHS until I return to work and instead got me a lovely card, more chocolate, a Philip Pullman book (socialist) plus Thelma and Louise DVD. I asked her for funny photos of staffside/unison people to put in my Rainy Day box. That's the thing about socialists - they need their sense of humour injection from the anarchists.
Then on Thursday we went to Cambridge to visit the beautiful baby Zia, daughter of our best man Joel and his wife Zoe. She is only six weeks old and virtually (although possibly not quite) as pampered as I am at the moment. I gave Joel a hard time saying that the one thing people remember about a wedding is whether the best man's speech is funny or not. He said he wasn't a stand up comedian. I said he'd better start practising. Phil is more concerned about the stag do. Phil was very dismissive of the present I had got Zia - a folio society hard back edition of 'Anne of Green Gables' with an introduction by Margaret Atwood. But it went down a storm, as of course it was Mummy's favourite book (which she had disclosed whilst pregnant, admitting crying whilst watching the video). The other link which I hadn't realised is the Canadian link (LM Montgomery Canadian and Zoe spent some years there) so it was even better and something that can be kept for generations. We ended up spending the night in Cambridge - in the wonderful camper-van which is still code-word for Anna&Phil special time 'Camper-van time' as we had such an amazing holiday in J&Z's campervan a year ago.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Four days after breast cancer surgery
I'm still reading Alan Clark's diaries while Phil is mastering Level Five of Grand Theft Auto. Was in a bit more pain this morning and have necked a couple of mega drugs which are now reserved for real pain following my codeine overdose on Sunday.
Anyway the trick with Alan Clark is - first his dialogue is very good. Also he assasinates his characters and shows his own hypocrisies; whilst Employment Minsister in the depths of the highest unemployement figures in the early eigthies he challenges the unemployed saying there isn't enough demand in the economy then says he's lucky they don't know how much him and Nicholas Soames spend on a night's meal out. He desperately wants to work at the MOD which he eventually does. I desperately want to see Ken Livingstone as Prime Minister which I probably won't.
It's interesting comparing his diaries say, compared to WF Deedes memoirs (the Editor of the Telegraph). I read these when we went to Spain last year to stay in Auntie Shirley's flat. (Uncle Derrick is a Tory, well probably New Labour now, God knows, but he had Deedes memoirs). This Deedes guy was apparently happily married with three kids, AND HE NEVER MENTIONED THEM. It put me off him, and journalism. Alan Clark very fondly talks about his wife, which although I'm sure he was racist sexist scum, somehow makes him more endearing. There are a couple of nice photos of her in the book.
The problem with following Alan Clark's example of putting some decent dialogue on this blog, is that in my case there is very little going on.
It's things like Phil saying 'The reason you're so stiff is because you haven't done your exercises... Can I just finish this stage darling? ... [And when I do my exercises] 'Well done, That's so much better than yesterday'.
Clark's hatred of his job certainly puts me off rushing back to work in a hurry. The thing that Alan Clark will be best remembered for are his funny, entertaining and quite frankly historical diaries. He takes the piss out of people like Tom King. Like him I'd rather be remembered for something like that than sorting out car parking for health centres in Hackney, or in his case putting a report through the committee stage. But can my blog live up to his diaries? In my case I'm deliberately trying to be polite about people in case they sue me, or worse stop speaking to me. Also I don't know the people I hate like he does so can't comment about them properly (eg Patricia Hewitt).
The upper class is a funny old phenomenon, mutating to firmly establish itself as still in control. They're probably more popular now than when Clark was in office. (Take Prince Charles or David Cameron).
Now I'm about to marry Phil, AND I've attended the Fulham Breast Cancer Haven place I'm practically one of them already so I'd better shut up. Only joking, there is no doubt that I am middle class. You do have to be born into upper class, but then look at Kate Middleton...
Anyway the trick with Alan Clark is - first his dialogue is very good. Also he assasinates his characters and shows his own hypocrisies; whilst Employment Minsister in the depths of the highest unemployement figures in the early eigthies he challenges the unemployed saying there isn't enough demand in the economy then says he's lucky they don't know how much him and Nicholas Soames spend on a night's meal out. He desperately wants to work at the MOD which he eventually does. I desperately want to see Ken Livingstone as Prime Minister which I probably won't.
It's interesting comparing his diaries say, compared to WF Deedes memoirs (the Editor of the Telegraph). I read these when we went to Spain last year to stay in Auntie Shirley's flat. (Uncle Derrick is a Tory, well probably New Labour now, God knows, but he had Deedes memoirs). This Deedes guy was apparently happily married with three kids, AND HE NEVER MENTIONED THEM. It put me off him, and journalism. Alan Clark very fondly talks about his wife, which although I'm sure he was racist sexist scum, somehow makes him more endearing. There are a couple of nice photos of her in the book.
The problem with following Alan Clark's example of putting some decent dialogue on this blog, is that in my case there is very little going on.
It's things like Phil saying 'The reason you're so stiff is because you haven't done your exercises... Can I just finish this stage darling? ... [And when I do my exercises] 'Well done, That's so much better than yesterday'.
Clark's hatred of his job certainly puts me off rushing back to work in a hurry. The thing that Alan Clark will be best remembered for are his funny, entertaining and quite frankly historical diaries. He takes the piss out of people like Tom King. Like him I'd rather be remembered for something like that than sorting out car parking for health centres in Hackney, or in his case putting a report through the committee stage. But can my blog live up to his diaries? In my case I'm deliberately trying to be polite about people in case they sue me, or worse stop speaking to me. Also I don't know the people I hate like he does so can't comment about them properly (eg Patricia Hewitt).
The upper class is a funny old phenomenon, mutating to firmly establish itself as still in control. They're probably more popular now than when Clark was in office. (Take Prince Charles or David Cameron).
Now I'm about to marry Phil, AND I've attended the Fulham Breast Cancer Haven place I'm practically one of them already so I'd better shut up. Only joking, there is no doubt that I am middle class. You do have to be born into upper class, but then look at Kate Middleton...
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Day 23 of Breast Cancer
I'm back at home and it is absolutely marvellous! The sun is shining on my resplendant golden showers roses plus the chamomile. Mum is cooking a massive brunch for me and Dad who is due any second. I can just about type and am in minimal pain - despite having had an operation on Thursday!
I was the first on the list which was great as it meant no waiting and the team were fresh. I was up and about in no time at all and the breast is hardly different. They have done a neat cut around the nipple which will hardly show, so fingers crossed (and everything else) that the damn thing hasn't spread. We find out the results a week on Friday.
I tried reading Miss Marple in hospital, but found it too saccarhin, instead turned to 'How to Enjoy your operation' a humour book from 1963 which I quite enjoyed. Now I'm reading Alan Clark's diaries which is very good indeed. Can't put it down. Except I hate his racist sexist self. He reminds me of me though - hates his job and would prefer to be out in the countryside, or in my case the garden.
Phil was wonderful, although we both had a little cry when I had to go to have an Xray and I was fussing about my photos when he got back. He had just been saying how terrible it would be if I had Lung cancer. Of course that hasn't been ruled out yet. He went on a little walk and then we were ok. Mum was there too and I was so delighted with how well I felt than I rang everyone in my address book.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Breast Cancer – Week Three
A matter of hours before I go in for the op and I’m at the computer (but brilliantly for the first time this week!). Am doing all the right things – just got back from the Alexander Technique – a double session for us both to get us nice and relaxed.
Have created a ‘rainy day box’ the size of a small house, and deciding on reading material. Also – and this is terrible, it’s taken me to get breast cancer for work to decide they need a car park attendant! But I did smile when I saw him as I was delivering my sick note on Monday.
Had lovely cards from people and still getting excited about the wedding. Hollinsclough School has agreed for us to use their field for a marquee. Doing meditation like it’s going out of business, including a session at the London Buddhist Centre ‘ Let me be well, Let me be happy, Let me be free from suffering, Let me learn, grow and develop’; my new mantra.
Saw my lovely friend Anni and her three kids yesterday – Nina and the two twins Jamie and Alexander. They are all absolutely gorgeous. Tried on my wedding shoes yesterday. Going to have a bird theme – on the shoes anyway, I’m thinking two swallows and then a dove as a decoration for the dress. The EPP gang have got me some beautiful flowers. Phil is building some garden furniture.
And the Druids (plus friends) are dancing for me – at Stone Henge!
Have created a ‘rainy day box’ the size of a small house, and deciding on reading material. Also – and this is terrible, it’s taken me to get breast cancer for work to decide they need a car park attendant! But I did smile when I saw him as I was delivering my sick note on Monday.
Had lovely cards from people and still getting excited about the wedding. Hollinsclough School has agreed for us to use their field for a marquee. Doing meditation like it’s going out of business, including a session at the London Buddhist Centre ‘ Let me be well, Let me be happy, Let me be free from suffering, Let me learn, grow and develop’; my new mantra.
Saw my lovely friend Anni and her three kids yesterday – Nina and the two twins Jamie and Alexander. They are all absolutely gorgeous. Tried on my wedding shoes yesterday. Going to have a bird theme – on the shoes anyway, I’m thinking two swallows and then a dove as a decoration for the dress. The EPP gang have got me some beautiful flowers. Phil is building some garden furniture.
And the Druids (plus friends) are dancing for me – at Stone Henge!
Monday, June 12, 2006
Week Two of Breast Cancer
Since I got my diagnosis so far it hasn't rained. In fact it's beautiful and I've asked Connie (our cleaner) to water the plants in pots today. But yet again I'm indoors, at a computer updating my blog. But there is a lovely water feature in the Fulham Haven (where I am exploiting their facilities at the moment) and I've been here all day.
It's an old church with a beautiful stained glass window someone gave. The Haven itself was set up by a rich woman as she decided her nanny wasn't getting enough support on the NHS. It's only ten years old and it's great.
I've been keeping incredibly upbeat - probably the least depressed I've been in the last six years. Amazing how if your life suddenly may be in danger you actually start to appreciate it. The room we had our meditation and relaxation sessions in was the same temperature as a glass oven, but even so I went back there early from lunch as the other 'contestants' (I do feel like I'm on some bizarre game show where we all want each other to survive) starting comparing notes on chemotherapy which didn't sound like the summery picnic I'm enjoying at the moment. They're thrusting a healthy diet on us like there's no tomorrow, but at the moment I'm fattening myself up for surgery. For lunch we had rice salad followed by some stange stuff they claimed was cake with strawberries. Dairy and soya are no-nos.
I feel like a world expert on meditation after just one week, people were scribbling down the book I'm using (John Hudson - Meditation). Mum's best friend Elspeth said it the cancer couldn't have happened at a worse time, but I think it couldn't have happened at a better time. It's early summer for a start, I had learnt meditation already, I'm an Expert Patient volunteer tutor, just got engaged, my fiancee is a surgeon of all things and Work is actually Hell itself.
The methodists are praying for me, the Catholics are asking for my forgiveness, the Jews are gesticulating (or whatever they do) the Church of England are letting me go round their graveyards, The Baptists are also praying for me and the Seventh Day adventists. The Muslims are praying for peace on my behalf. The Atheists are getting angry and the agnostics are asking a load of questions. I'm trying everything. No stone will be unturned (literally - I was on my tummy getting stones out of Mum's stream in the garden for my new engagement/recouperation water feature present). Surgery a week on Thursday (22nd June).
Love to all
It's an old church with a beautiful stained glass window someone gave. The Haven itself was set up by a rich woman as she decided her nanny wasn't getting enough support on the NHS. It's only ten years old and it's great.
I've been keeping incredibly upbeat - probably the least depressed I've been in the last six years. Amazing how if your life suddenly may be in danger you actually start to appreciate it. The room we had our meditation and relaxation sessions in was the same temperature as a glass oven, but even so I went back there early from lunch as the other 'contestants' (I do feel like I'm on some bizarre game show where we all want each other to survive) starting comparing notes on chemotherapy which didn't sound like the summery picnic I'm enjoying at the moment. They're thrusting a healthy diet on us like there's no tomorrow, but at the moment I'm fattening myself up for surgery. For lunch we had rice salad followed by some stange stuff they claimed was cake with strawberries. Dairy and soya are no-nos.
I feel like a world expert on meditation after just one week, people were scribbling down the book I'm using (John Hudson - Meditation). Mum's best friend Elspeth said it the cancer couldn't have happened at a worse time, but I think it couldn't have happened at a better time. It's early summer for a start, I had learnt meditation already, I'm an Expert Patient volunteer tutor, just got engaged, my fiancee is a surgeon of all things and Work is actually Hell itself.
The methodists are praying for me, the Catholics are asking for my forgiveness, the Jews are gesticulating (or whatever they do) the Church of England are letting me go round their graveyards, The Baptists are also praying for me and the Seventh Day adventists. The Muslims are praying for peace on my behalf. The Atheists are getting angry and the agnostics are asking a load of questions. I'm trying everything. No stone will be unturned (literally - I was on my tummy getting stones out of Mum's stream in the garden for my new engagement/recouperation water feature present). Surgery a week on Thursday (22nd June).
Love to all
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Breast Cancer: Day Four – The Story so Far
Having suffered from serious depression/anxiety [God knows - in fact He probably thinks it was cannabis psychosis] when splitting up with my ex-boyfriend (Mick) about four years ago, this is a totally different kettle of fish. I remember when my first boyfriend (Steve) and his sister (Ang) were told they needed to have their wisdom teeth out. This is more like that; they went in perfectly fine and came out looking like the Hunch Back of Notre Dame. In my case it’ll be more like the Saggy Tit of Stoke Newington. To be honest, if you can’t laugh about it, then you may as well cry, which I don’t find at all useful. And that really is the hilarious thing. I seem to have spent virtually my entire life looking for some reason or another to wallow in self pity, and then the reason finally comes along and it’s the last bloody thing you want to do.
I’m really appreciating even my step brother’s kids. And my step brother/s. And Buxton Pavillion Gardens. The list is endless, but I will continue; B&Q, the Today Programme (now I’ve got Cancer when it annoys me Phil allows me to switch to Capital), the sunshine, the rain, Homerton Hospital.
Meditation is coming into its own: I’m going to dump my membership of the Folio Society (need self help books instead and now I’ve got a legitimate reason), Take the £50 worth of History books I bought from Waterstones on Wednesday back. I’m going to Hypnotherapy tomorrow. Phil is going to manage my pain. I’m going to use every trick in the book to manage fatigue. And I get six months off work. I’ve already done a list of my 100 guests to the evening do of the wedding and got all sorts of people investigating wedding things (Steve’s Dad for example – see above for genetic teeth information).
The most tiring thing so far is telling people. Of course because I had such wonderful news (engagement) two weeks ago, people are still sending me congratulations cards. I’m having to go round them one by one and say ‘Ive got a bit of bad news. I’ve got breast cancer, diagnosed on Friday’.
Slight pause. Then they normally say ‘Oh My God’, Oh Goodness Me (Catholic response) ‘What?’ (Sound of car crashing/screeching to a halt) ‘No’ ‘I can’t believe it’ (very common and this is the sort of response I would give) ‘I don’t know what to say’.
Then I take on a sort of Doctor-ish authorative air, putting them at their ease. Saying ‘Well It’s a grade 2 lump, Two centimetres, I will have to have surgery and radiotherapy, and it’ll be taken out a week on Thursday, but we find out the test results from today on Friday which determines the extent of surgery and whether I have to have chemo or not so I’ll ring you back then’.
Then there’s another five minutes of them saying ‘I can’t believe it’ sound of sobbing, croaky voice, complaints of hangover/just coming of shower which explains their shakiness etc etc. 95% of the time they say ‘Well you’ve caught it early’ which they assume they have because I’m only 32. Then I say ‘Well actually it’s not that early because the earliest to catch the lumps are by mammogram which aren’t routinely done on anyone our age as it’s considered too risky. It would be Grade One if I got it on a mammogram and it’s grade Two’.
Then we have a little chat about the wedding. Definitely Hollinsclough Chapel. A few jokes about this and that. Then, because I’ve told them some horrific news, they start revealing theirs. But I actually quite like that. Mine is worse and at the moment I can talk about it as though I’m talking about what to do about the greenfly problem on my climbing rose.
Phil keeps on saying ‘It’s so unfair’. But I think it’s fine. I wouldn’t wish illness or suffering on my worst enemy (don’t think they exist anyway) but there couldn’t be a better prepared patient. In fact Phil said ‘You’ve just been waiting for a disease and now it’s happened’ which I thought was slightly unfair, but I’m (almost) an accredited tutor on the Expert Patient Programme, got heaps of experience of Health care and Phil is now my fiancee. He is suggesting that if there is a worse case scenario (get given 18 months to live next week) that we bring the wedding forward – ie to next month. I think having a wedding to look forward to might help me get better.
If I could just get more people involved in ‘Keep our NHS Public’ then my mind would be at rest…
I’m really appreciating even my step brother’s kids. And my step brother/s. And Buxton Pavillion Gardens. The list is endless, but I will continue; B&Q, the Today Programme (now I’ve got Cancer when it annoys me Phil allows me to switch to Capital), the sunshine, the rain, Homerton Hospital.
Meditation is coming into its own: I’m going to dump my membership of the Folio Society (need self help books instead and now I’ve got a legitimate reason), Take the £50 worth of History books I bought from Waterstones on Wednesday back. I’m going to Hypnotherapy tomorrow. Phil is going to manage my pain. I’m going to use every trick in the book to manage fatigue. And I get six months off work. I’ve already done a list of my 100 guests to the evening do of the wedding and got all sorts of people investigating wedding things (Steve’s Dad for example – see above for genetic teeth information).
The most tiring thing so far is telling people. Of course because I had such wonderful news (engagement) two weeks ago, people are still sending me congratulations cards. I’m having to go round them one by one and say ‘Ive got a bit of bad news. I’ve got breast cancer, diagnosed on Friday’.
Slight pause. Then they normally say ‘Oh My God’, Oh Goodness Me (Catholic response) ‘What?’ (Sound of car crashing/screeching to a halt) ‘No’ ‘I can’t believe it’ (very common and this is the sort of response I would give) ‘I don’t know what to say’.
Then I take on a sort of Doctor-ish authorative air, putting them at their ease. Saying ‘Well It’s a grade 2 lump, Two centimetres, I will have to have surgery and radiotherapy, and it’ll be taken out a week on Thursday, but we find out the test results from today on Friday which determines the extent of surgery and whether I have to have chemo or not so I’ll ring you back then’.
Then there’s another five minutes of them saying ‘I can’t believe it’ sound of sobbing, croaky voice, complaints of hangover/just coming of shower which explains their shakiness etc etc. 95% of the time they say ‘Well you’ve caught it early’ which they assume they have because I’m only 32. Then I say ‘Well actually it’s not that early because the earliest to catch the lumps are by mammogram which aren’t routinely done on anyone our age as it’s considered too risky. It would be Grade One if I got it on a mammogram and it’s grade Two’.
Then we have a little chat about the wedding. Definitely Hollinsclough Chapel. A few jokes about this and that. Then, because I’ve told them some horrific news, they start revealing theirs. But I actually quite like that. Mine is worse and at the moment I can talk about it as though I’m talking about what to do about the greenfly problem on my climbing rose.
Phil keeps on saying ‘It’s so unfair’. But I think it’s fine. I wouldn’t wish illness or suffering on my worst enemy (don’t think they exist anyway) but there couldn’t be a better prepared patient. In fact Phil said ‘You’ve just been waiting for a disease and now it’s happened’ which I thought was slightly unfair, but I’m (almost) an accredited tutor on the Expert Patient Programme, got heaps of experience of Health care and Phil is now my fiancee. He is suggesting that if there is a worse case scenario (get given 18 months to live next week) that we bring the wedding forward – ie to next month. I think having a wedding to look forward to might help me get better.
If I could just get more people involved in ‘Keep our NHS Public’ then my mind would be at rest…
Monday, June 05, 2006
Breast Cancer
Unfortunately I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer on Friday. Apologies to anyone who knows me that I haven't managed to ring to let them know, but you know now!
I don't really know where to start on this one, except to predict that I don't think this is the end of the blogging as I predicted in my last entry. Mum tried to be helpful by giving me a book called 'Writing your Way through Cancer' which I'm sure is a great book. My next entry will be 'Politicising your Way through Cancer'. I'm using the Cancer as an reason to try and get everyone else doing all the political stuff I was doing, instead of which I'm doing a tour of family and friends trying to look optimistic before I get really ill. Having the segmentegtomy or whatever it's called a week on Thursday.
Dad already thought the blog was self indulgent, but he ain't seen nothing yet.
I don't really know where to start on this one, except to predict that I don't think this is the end of the blogging as I predicted in my last entry. Mum tried to be helpful by giving me a book called 'Writing your Way through Cancer' which I'm sure is a great book. My next entry will be 'Politicising your Way through Cancer'. I'm using the Cancer as an reason to try and get everyone else doing all the political stuff I was doing, instead of which I'm doing a tour of family and friends trying to look optimistic before I get really ill. Having the segmentegtomy or whatever it's called a week on Thursday.
Dad already thought the blog was self indulgent, but he ain't seen nothing yet.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
A time to search on the internet and a time to give up
Because both wedding planning and saving the NHS are such labour intensive activities, unfortunately the blogging is the first thing to go. Of course the best day of your life needs planning in the most minutest of details (eg date stamping your shoes, different perfumes in the toilets). Losing your job could be arguably one of the worst things to happen too, so that also takes a hell of a lot more work to be quite honest, to try to avoid, not just for me but the other hundred or so who I'm helping to represent.
Hollinsclough Chapel may necessitate a Sacred Text. My knowledge of the Bible (increasing on an hourly basis, thank the Lord) is limited to my recently purchased 3.99 'Wedding Readings' book. Fortunately my beloved already knew one off by heart (Catholic/Boarding School/Choir Boy/Scout/Army etc upbringing) which doesn't mention His Name, so united as committed atheist/agnostic, we may go with that: Paul's letter to the Corinthians, apparently common as Sacred Muck, but still the best.
Better than 'Wives submit to your husbands' or 'The greatest commandment'.
Hollinsclough Chapel may necessitate a Sacred Text. My knowledge of the Bible (increasing on an hourly basis, thank the Lord) is limited to my recently purchased 3.99 'Wedding Readings' book. Fortunately my beloved already knew one off by heart (Catholic/Boarding School/Choir Boy/Scout/Army etc upbringing) which doesn't mention His Name, so united as committed atheist/agnostic, we may go with that: Paul's letter to the Corinthians, apparently common as Sacred Muck, but still the best.
Better than 'Wives submit to your husbands' or 'The greatest commandment'.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
TOTAL MORGANISATION AND IT IS ABSOLUTELY AWESOME!
I can hardly contain myself I am so happy and excited. Yes, we are now engaged to be married. It is wonderful! It was our year anniversary at the weekend and I had always said to Phil that anniversaries are more important than, say, Valentines Day as it is a unique day for us. So we had always said we’d do something special, but I didn’t expect that special! It was a complete surprise, as he had been totally throwing me off the scent. Only a few weeks ago he was saying, he wasn’t ready for the commitment of engagement and two years of going out was the right time for him to propose. I think I actually asked him what he’d say if I’d propose and I think he said he wouldn’t like it as that’s his job. He’s quite traditional and romantic like that. But, as he’s a terrible liar he had told me he’d got me an expensive present, so I was quite excited anyway. I’d roped in people at work to help me guess what it was, telling them that it wasn’t an engagement ring as he had said he didn’t want to get engaged. So based on his clues (could fit it in a skip, it was ‘heartfelt’, and I might not like the package) the best guess was a rowing machine. They also came up with a waterbed and a Nile cruise. The reality was much, much more amazing! Not only a propsal of marriage from the person I'm incredibly in love with, but the most bling diamond solitaire you could find – a carat with a hexagonal setting on a platinum band. Absolutely gorgeous. And I have a certificate which shows the pattern of the cuts – which is beautiful in itself. He went down on one knee at ‘Mr UnderHill’s’ in Ludlow, where we’d gone on a gastro-camping extravaganza, after I presented him with some significantly cheaper Art Nouveau gold plated cufflinks. I suppose the correct thing to do is cry, but I couldn’t stop laughing I was so happy! It was the happiest day of my life (so far) as I’m hoping my wedding day will beat it, not to mention taking my children home for the first time! Of course, I said of course straightaway. He is the most wonderful person in the world and I want us to spend the rest of our lives together. Thanks Gorgeous and I love you very much!
Tattontastic Morganisation! xxx
Tattontastic Morganisation! xxx
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Significant presence
I had managed to stop counting my blessings for the past three days as I was still buzzing from visiting the Houses of Parliament. It was so amazing – a feeling of togetherness, unity, ‘solidarity’ (mentioned three times on their platform!) with the nurses. Then we went to the lobby, a wonderful historic room with glistening stained glass windows with seven gothic passageways off the beautifully tiled central area, with us lobbyists sitting on lovely sofas waiting for our MPs. It is no wonder that the beautiful Noun begat the verb, ‘to lobby’. It was busy with nurses seeing their MPs, campaigning to save the NHS from all over the country (England that is). The lobby is very church-like, with mosaics of the four saints of England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales in New Romantic style. Virtually as soon as the mosaics were finished, they must have been out of date I thought to myself, thinking about the Bloody Sunday protests of 1916. How much of history is interpreted correctly even if every word in the houses of parliament was documented? There were statues of the eighteenth and nineteenth prime ministers; no female subjects of course, apart from angels on the arms of the saints. The impact of women, apart from the nurses and angels was evident only from the damage a suffragette had done by chaining herself to one of the statue’s swords. But the very fact that I was sitting there, as John Reid, the new Home Secretary was being interviewed – the Health Secretary did not lose her job – gave me confidence. I am a part of history and not insignificant. My ‘leaders’ at work talk about ‘Change Management’. I create change – and in a good way.
Friday, May 12, 2006
"We will fight any compulsory redundancies tooth and nail"
Not the words of Hatton or Tatton, but Catton. Howard Catton, Head of Policy at the Royal College of Nursing yesterday afternoon. I couldn't believe my ears, then three other Nursing big wigs mentioned the word 'solidarity' on the platform. Perhaps my blog should be called 'Attontastic'.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
How to become ridiculously peed-off in one evening
I wasn't really peed-off at the weekend, but one thing that was incredibly irritating was that Amazon rejected my brilliant review of 'How to become ridiculously well read in one evening'.
I wrote a limerick which Phil's brother and his mate contributed to (it was a team effort) and then, Amazon won't publish it! I don't know what the world's coming to.
Here it is:
I once read a book by E Parrott
It quaffed well like a good claret
T’was written in the eighties
And was a bit dated
But don’t agree with A Woollard, ‘e says it ain’t shit hot
I would put in the website address but still don't know how to.>IS this it?
I wrote a limerick which Phil's brother and his mate contributed to (it was a team effort) and then, Amazon won't publish it! I don't know what the world's coming to.
Here it is:
I once read a book by E Parrott
It quaffed well like a good claret
T’was written in the eighties
And was a bit dated
But don’t agree with A Woollard, ‘e says it ain’t shit hot
I would put in the website address but still don't know how to.>IS this it?
Friday, April 28, 2006
How to become ridculously well read in one evening
Despite time spent writing my blog, my hits have not gone up. Apparently there is some bloke with a bet who has seen his hits go from 100 to one million in about two days.
To cut a long story short, I don't give a shit. More to the point is my googlewhacking obsession. Until yesterday my whole family were world googlewhacks, then it turns out my brother has a namesake in Rotherham. But, and this is a big but, my favourite books are 'blooglewhacks'. Noone else seems to have read them.
'How to become ridiculously well-read in one evening' is an all time classic. It's a 1980s literature gem. It sums up classics so you don't have to read them. This also means it gives you brilliant ideas for stories.
To cut a long story short, I don't give a shit. More to the point is my googlewhacking obsession. Until yesterday my whole family were world googlewhacks, then it turns out my brother has a namesake in Rotherham. But, and this is a big but, my favourite books are 'blooglewhacks'. Noone else seems to have read them.
'How to become ridiculously well-read in one evening' is an all time classic. It's a 1980s literature gem. It sums up classics so you don't have to read them. This also means it gives you brilliant ideas for stories.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Artonomics Part Deux
Had a wonderful evening last night with a darling girl, a friend of Phil’s who speaks like the Queen (especially when drunk) but who has a heart of gold. One of her birthday presents was a glossy photograph book by some rich idiot, who is essentially nicking all my ideas from this website and making a fortune from it. It was portrait photos of a load of actors who suggested a famous actor friend of theirs for the next photo (see my Coincidence or Fact entry from a while back).
About three years ago I went to a party in Stoke Newington, invited by my acquaintance S. I turn up; there’s about 20 people there including an acquaintance F. Did F know S? No. But both F and S knew me. Then an acquaintance I turns up. Did he know F or S? No, but I, F & S all had met me before, but had never met each other. Then C turns up, then K and then T, and this situation was repeated again, each time another person I knew turning up and then not knowing anyone else there apart from me. There were six people at the party, which was not organized by me (S, F, I, C, K and T) all who I knew, but who had never met each other before. By the time T turned up, I had to leave early as I was so freaked out by this improbable and mind boggling experience.
I drew a mind map when I got home as to how this had happened, but I’ve probably lost it now. Anyway I didn’t take any photos so it would be really difficult to display that artistically and it’s not much to do with economics.
But my new idea for artonomics is to have the 5 richest people in the world, contrasted with the 5 poorest people in the world. It probably wouldn’t be that difficult to find photos of the richest people in the world. But taking photos of the poorest people in the world would be a bit of a mission. I’ll ask my blogging heroine J about this.
About three years ago I went to a party in Stoke Newington, invited by my acquaintance S. I turn up; there’s about 20 people there including an acquaintance F. Did F know S? No. But both F and S knew me. Then an acquaintance I turns up. Did he know F or S? No, but I, F & S all had met me before, but had never met each other. Then C turns up, then K and then T, and this situation was repeated again, each time another person I knew turning up and then not knowing anyone else there apart from me. There were six people at the party, which was not organized by me (S, F, I, C, K and T) all who I knew, but who had never met each other before. By the time T turned up, I had to leave early as I was so freaked out by this improbable and mind boggling experience.
I drew a mind map when I got home as to how this had happened, but I’ve probably lost it now. Anyway I didn’t take any photos so it would be really difficult to display that artistically and it’s not much to do with economics.
But my new idea for artonomics is to have the 5 richest people in the world, contrasted with the 5 poorest people in the world. It probably wouldn’t be that difficult to find photos of the richest people in the world. But taking photos of the poorest people in the world would be a bit of a mission. I’ll ask my blogging heroine J about this.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Tatski - PR Watch 5
Tatton can ski - on blue runs!
Amazing! Had a brilliant time skiing with a load of Tories (and I mean it). Feel the most refreshed I have ever felt after coming back from holiday - it is all that exercise. Marvellous.
Also the Today programme plus the rest of the media is finally catching up with last year's news and they mentioned the NHS cuts today, plus their complaints man rang me to 'deal' with my complaint from two weeks ago. The NHS cuts were on the front page of the Guardian, the Mail and the Times, so my personal onslaught against them all is starting to pay off a bit.
In a good mood all round. Professor Pat Thane described my proposal for an MA as 'very good'. Chuffed.
Me and Phil have been dancing round to 'Billie Jean' substituting the last bit 'but the child is not my son', for 'but the NHS is not for sale'. That bit was my contribtuion, Phil rhymed some other bits saying something a bit rude about a lefty colleague of mine.
Then I went to 'Hackney's Health Hustings' which was like the Life of Brian meets Yes Prime Minister meets the Green Wing meets the Darling Buds of May meets City of God if you can imagine such a thing. Utter Hilarity. Monty Goldman, my hero and an absolute legend is standing as the Communist candidate in the election for Mayor and has this poster of himself looking like Che Guevara, which has gone straight up in our hall. The Tories (and I mean it) didn't turn up! Apparently the socialist unity party have nothing to do with the communists or unification socialists, who have nothing to do with the Socialist Workers Party (Respect) who are also having nothing to do with the new workers socialist party being set up by the socialist party. Brilliant!
Amazing! Had a brilliant time skiing with a load of Tories (and I mean it). Feel the most refreshed I have ever felt after coming back from holiday - it is all that exercise. Marvellous.
Also the Today programme plus the rest of the media is finally catching up with last year's news and they mentioned the NHS cuts today, plus their complaints man rang me to 'deal' with my complaint from two weeks ago. The NHS cuts were on the front page of the Guardian, the Mail and the Times, so my personal onslaught against them all is starting to pay off a bit.
In a good mood all round. Professor Pat Thane described my proposal for an MA as 'very good'. Chuffed.
Me and Phil have been dancing round to 'Billie Jean' substituting the last bit 'but the child is not my son', for 'but the NHS is not for sale'. That bit was my contribtuion, Phil rhymed some other bits saying something a bit rude about a lefty colleague of mine.
Then I went to 'Hackney's Health Hustings' which was like the Life of Brian meets Yes Prime Minister meets the Green Wing meets the Darling Buds of May meets City of God if you can imagine such a thing. Utter Hilarity. Monty Goldman, my hero and an absolute legend is standing as the Communist candidate in the election for Mayor and has this poster of himself looking like Che Guevara, which has gone straight up in our hall. The Tories (and I mean it) didn't turn up! Apparently the socialist unity party have nothing to do with the communists or unification socialists, who have nothing to do with the Socialist Workers Party (Respect) who are also having nothing to do with the new workers socialist party being set up by the socialist party. Brilliant!
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Maundy Thursday
I'm not the world's religion expert, and I know I felt like God last week when I did that personality test and this week, having been dumped with the bastard child of all time, I feel like the mother of Jesus Christ. Slightly overweight, a bit of cellulite around the buttocks, quite miserable and not looking forward to the immediate future with any relish. OK, I may not have my own son's crucifixion to contend with (was the Vigin Mary still alive when he got crucified?)but I have got saving the NHS on my shoulders, which is a bloody great weight I can tell you.
Presumably on this day (which we know it wasn't, it was probably in July) approximately 1973 years ago the poor Virgin Mary was not looking forward to a skiing holiday next week. More to the point, rather than going on to be leader of the Christian faith or whatever he was, Jesus would have been treated for paranoid delusions in the NHS. So, I'm having a week off my heavenly duties and I will enjoy the pagan festivities whilst skiing down some hills and thank my lucky stars I wasn't around 2006 years ago, as just like now there's not much I could have done about it.
Presumably on this day (which we know it wasn't, it was probably in July) approximately 1973 years ago the poor Virgin Mary was not looking forward to a skiing holiday next week. More to the point, rather than going on to be leader of the Christian faith or whatever he was, Jesus would have been treated for paranoid delusions in the NHS. So, I'm having a week off my heavenly duties and I will enjoy the pagan festivities whilst skiing down some hills and thank my lucky stars I wasn't around 2006 years ago, as just like now there's not much I could have done about it.
Monday, April 03, 2006
Artonomics
I'm always getting brilliant ideas for exhibitions and just generally for things, but rather than carry them out I do some gardening. My new brilliant idea is to combine Art and Economics - Artonomics. Basically to display economics visually. Or to inject economics with a bit of creativity.
I've been thinking about this for a couple of weeks and already had some excellent ideas for an exhibition:
1) Have ten portrait photos of the world's richest people, the same size, in their own environment.
2) Have a photo of a bank statement of someone who's very rich, or even a copy, or a fake.
3) Have a selection of photos of when the super-rich get paid, the reasonably well-off, the poor and the very poor; the same moment when they receive their largest income for that month.
4) Have ten sausages or ten crisp bags or ten CD cases with the ten most expensive works of art printed on them.
5) Have a supply and demand chart (price). It's called something but I can't remember what. Have the supply curve made out of ten pence pieces, and the demand curve made out of those penny chews shaped like lips. Then you could have a fake diamond as the price.
6) could have five photos of something someone poor does in a day, then 5 photos at the same time of what someone ok-off does, then someone super rich.
7) Capital displayed visually. Perhaps displayed in sculture form. You could form a queue outside the museum looking at the building itself, with a balance sheet drawn up by accountants, with a tour from architects explaining why it's worth so much. The blind could be given samples of the items and what they're made of to feel. Then you could have Karl Marx's book - in braile, on audio and someone summarising it on braille, with a lovely painting of a capital city in the background.
I've been thinking about this for a couple of weeks and already had some excellent ideas for an exhibition:
1) Have ten portrait photos of the world's richest people, the same size, in their own environment.
2) Have a photo of a bank statement of someone who's very rich, or even a copy, or a fake.
3) Have a selection of photos of when the super-rich get paid, the reasonably well-off, the poor and the very poor; the same moment when they receive their largest income for that month.
4) Have ten sausages or ten crisp bags or ten CD cases with the ten most expensive works of art printed on them.
5) Have a supply and demand chart (price). It's called something but I can't remember what. Have the supply curve made out of ten pence pieces, and the demand curve made out of those penny chews shaped like lips. Then you could have a fake diamond as the price.
6) could have five photos of something someone poor does in a day, then 5 photos at the same time of what someone ok-off does, then someone super rich.
7) Capital displayed visually. Perhaps displayed in sculture form. You could form a queue outside the museum looking at the building itself, with a balance sheet drawn up by accountants, with a tour from architects explaining why it's worth so much. The blind could be given samples of the items and what they're made of to feel. Then you could have Karl Marx's book - in braile, on audio and someone summarising it on braille, with a lovely painting of a capital city in the background.
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